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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2c300e8 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #51710 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51710) diff --git a/old/51710-0.txt b/old/51710-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 61f2e36..0000000 --- a/old/51710-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5743 +0,0 @@ -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 51710 *** - -THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON - -PART ONE - -DAVID STRAUSS, THE CONFESSOR - -AND THE WRITER - -RICHARD WAGNER IN BAYREUTH - -By - -FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE - -TRANSLATED BY - -ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI - - - -The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche - -The First Complete and Authorised English Translation - -Edited by Dr Oscar Levy - -Volume Four - -T.N. FOULIS - -13 & 15 FREDERICK STREET - -EDINBURGH: AND LONDON - -1910 - - - - CONTENTS. - EDITORIAL NOTE - NIETZSCHE IN ENGLAND (BY THE EDITOR) - TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE TO DAVID STRAUSS - AND RICHARD WAGNER IN BAYREUTH - DAVID STRAUSS, THE CONFESSOR AND THE WRITER - RICHARD WAGNER IN BAYREUTH - - - - -EDITORIAL NOTE. - - -The Editor begs to call attention to some of the difficulties he had -to encounter in preparing this edition of the complete works of -Friedrich Nietzsche. Not being English himself, he had to rely upon -the help of collaborators, who were somewhat slow in coming forward. -They were also few in number; for, in addition to an exact knowledge -of the German language, there was also required sympathy and a certain -enthusiasm for the startling ideas of the original, as well as a -considerable feeling for poetry, and that highest form of it, -religious poetry. - -Such a combination--a biblical mind, yet one open to new thoughts--was -not easily found. And yet it was necessary to find translators with -such a mind, and not be satisfied, as the French are and must be, with -a free though elegant version of Nietzsche. What is impossible and -unnecessary in French--a faithful and powerful rendering of the -psalmistic grandeur of Nietzsche--is possible and necessary in -English, which is a rougher tongue of the Teutonic stamp, and -moreover, like German, a tongue influenced and formed by an excellent -version of the Bible. The English would never be satisfied, as -Bible-ignorant France is, with a Nietzsche _à l'Eau de Cologne_--they -would require the natural, strong, real Teacher, and would prefer his -outspoken words to the finely-chiselled sentences of the _raconteur_. It -may indeed be safely predicted that once the English people have -recovered from the first shock of Nietzsche's thoughts, their biblical -training will enable them, more than any other nation, to appreciate -the deep piety underlying Nietzsche's Cause. - -As this Cause is a somewhat holy one to the Editor himself, he is -ready to listen to any suggestions as to improvements of style or -sense coming from qualified sources. The Editor, during a recent visit -to Mrs. Foerster-Nietzsche at Weimar, acquired the rights of -translation by pointing out to her that in this way her brother's -works would not fall into the hands of an ordinary publisher and his -staff of translators: he has not, therefore, entered into any -engagement with publishers, not even with the present one, which could -hinder his task, bind him down to any text found faulty, or make him -consent to omissions or the falsification or "sugaring" of the -original text to further the sale of the books. He is therefore in a -position to give every attention to a work which he considers as of no -less importance for the country of his residence than for the country -of his birth, as well as for the rest of Europe. - -It is the consciousness of the importance of this work which makes the -Editor anxious to point out several difficulties to the younger -student of Nietzsche. The first is, of course, not to begin reading -Nietzsche at too early an age. While fully admitting that others may -be more gifted than himself, the Editor begs to state that he began to -study Nietzsche at the age of twenty-six, and would not have been able -to endure the weight of such teaching before that time. Secondly, the -Editor wishes to dissuade the student from beginning the study of -Nietzsche by reading first of all his most complicated works. Not -having been properly prepared for them, he will find the _Zarathustra_ -abstruse, the _Ecce Homo_ conceited, and the _Antichrist_ violent. He -should rather begin with the little pamphlet on Education, the -_Thoughts out of Season, Beyond Good and Evil_, or the _Genealogy of -Morals_. Thirdly, the Editor wishes to remind students of Nietzsche's -own advice to them, namely: to read him slowly, to think over what -they have read, and not to accept too readily a teaching which they -have only half understood. By a too ready acceptance of Nietzsche it -has come to pass that his enemies are, as a rule, a far superior body -of men to those who call themselves his eager and enthusiastic -followers. Surely it is not every one who is chosen to combat a -religion or a morality of two thousand years' standing, first within -and then without himself; and whoever feels inclined to do so ought at -least to allow his attention to be drawn to the magnitude of his task. - - - - -NIETZSCHE IN ENGLAND: - - -AN INTRODUCTORY ESSAY BY THE EDITOR. - - -DEAR ENGLISHMEN,--In one of my former writings I have made the remark -that the world would have seen neither the great Jewish prophets nor -the great German thinkers, if the people from among whom these eminent -men sprang had not been on the whole such a misguided, and, in their -misguidedness, such a tough and stubborn race. The arrow that is to -fly far must be discharged from a well distended bow: if, therefore, -anything is necessary for greatness, it is a fierce and tenacious -opposition, an opposition either of open contempt, or of malicious -irony, or of sly silence, or of gross stupidity, an opposition -regardless of the wounds it inflicts and of the precious lives it -sacrifices, an opposition that nobody would dare to attack who was not -prepared, like the Spartan of old, to return either with his shield or -on it. - -An opposition so devoid of pity is not as a rule found amongst you, -dear and fair-minded Englishmen, which may account for the fact that -you have neither produced the greatest prophets nor the greatest -thinkers in this world. You would never have crucified Christ, as did -the Jews, or driven Nietzsche into madness, as did the Germans--you -would have made Nietzsche, on account of his literary faculties, -Minister of State in a Whig Ministry, you would have invited Jesus -Christ to your country houses, where he would have been worshipped by -all the ladies on account of his long hair and interesting looks, and -tolerated by all men as an amusing, if somewhat romantic, foreigner. I -know that the current opinion is to the contrary, and that your -country is constantly accused, even by yourselves, of its insularity; -but I, for my part, have found an almost feminine receptivity amongst -you in my endeavour to bring you into contact with some ideas of my -native country--a receptivity which, however, has also this in common -with that of the female mind, that evidently nothing sticks deeply, -but is quickly wiped out by what any other lecturer, or writer, or -politician has to tell you. I was prepared for indifference--I was not -prepared for receptivity and that benign lady's smile, behind which -ladies, like all people who are only clever, usually hide their inward -contempt for the foolishness of mere men! I was prepared for abuse, -and even a good fight--I was not prepared for an extremely -faint-hearted criticism; I did not expect that some of my opponents -would be so utterly inexperienced in that most necessary work of -literary execution. No, no: give me the Germans or the Jews for -executioners: they can do the hanging properly, while the English -hangman is like the Russian, to whom, when the rope broke, the -half-hanged revolutionary said: "What a country, where they cannot -hang a man properly!" What a country, where they do not hang -philosophers properly--which would be the proper thing to do to -them--but smile at them, drink tea with them, discuss with them, and -ask them to contribute to their newspapers! - -To get to the root of the matter: in spite of many encouraging signs, -remarks and criticisms, adverse or benevolent, I do not think I have -been very successful in my crusade for that European thought which -began with Goethe and has found so fine a development in Nietzsche. -True, I have made many a convert, but amongst them are very -undesirable ones, as, for instance, some enterprising publishers, who -used to be the toughest disbelievers in England, but who have now come -to understand the "value" of the new gospel--but as neither this -gospel is exactly Christian, nor I, the importer of it, I am not -allowed to count my success by the conversion of publishers and -sinners, but have to judge it by the more spiritual standard of the -quality of the converted. In this respect, I am sorry to say, my -success has been a very poor one. - -As an eager missionary, I have naturally asked myself the reason of my -failure. Why is there no male audience in England willing to listen to -a manly and daring philosophy? Why are there no eyes to see, no ears -to hear, no hearts to feel, no brains to understand? Why is my -trumpet, which after all I know how to blow pretty well, unable to -shatter the walls of English prejudice against a teacher whose school -cannot possibly be avoided by any European with a higher purpose in -his breast?... There is plenty of time for thought nowadays for a man -who does not allow himself to be drawn into that aimless bustle of -pleasure business or politics, which is called modern life because -outside that life there is--just as outside those noisy Oriental -cities-a desert, a calmness, a true and almost majestic leisure, a -leisure unprecedented in any age, a leisure in which one may arrive at -several conclusions concerning English indifference towards the new -thought. - -First of all, of course, there stands in the way the terrible abuse -which Nietzsche has poured upon the heads of the innocent Britishers. -While France and the Latin countries, while the Orient and India, are -within the range of his sympathies, this most outspoken of all -philosophers, this prophet and poet-philosopher, cannot find words -enough to express his disgust at the illogical, plebeian, shallow, -utilitarian Englishman. It must certainly be disagreeable to be -treated like this, especially when one has a fairly good opinion of -one's self; but why do you take it so very, very seriously? Did -Nietzsche, perchance, spare the Germans? And aren't you accustomed to -criticism on the part of German philosophers? Is it not the ancient -and time-honoured privilege of the whole range of them from Leibnitz -to Hegel--even of German poets, like Goethe and Heine--to call you -bad names and to use unkind language towards you? Has there not always -been among the few thinking heads in Germany a silent consent and an -open contempt for you and your ways; the sort of contempt you -yourselves have for the even more Anglo-Saxon culture of the -Americans? I candidly confess that in my more German moments I have -felt and still feel as the German philosophers do; but I have also my -European turns and moods, and then I try to understand you and even -excuse you, and take your part against earnest and thinking Germany. -Then I feel like telling the German philosophers that if you, poor -fellows, had practised everything they preached, they would have had -to renounce the pleasure of abusing you long ago, for there would now -be no more Englishmen left to abuse! As it is, you have suffered -enough on account of the wild German ideals you luckily only partly -believed in: for what the German thinker wrote on patient paper in his -study, you always had to write the whole world over on tender human -skins, black and yellow skins, enveloping ungrateful beings who -sometimes had no very high esteem for the depth and beauty of German -philosophy. And you have never taken revenge upon the inspired masters -of the European thinking-shop, you have never reabused them, you have -never complained of their want of worldly wisdom: you have invariably -suffered in silence and agony, just as brave and staunch Sancho Panza -used to do. For this is what you are, dear Englishmen, and however -well you brave, practical, materialistic John Bulls and Sancho Panzas -may know this world, however much better you may be able to perceive, -to count, to judge, and to weigh things than your ideal German Knight: -there is an eternal law in this world that the Sancho Panzas have to -follow the Don Quixotes; for matter has to follow the spirit, even the -poor spirit of a German philosopher! So it has been in the past, so it -is at present, and so it will be in the future; and you had better -prepare yourselves in time for the eventuality. For if Nietzsche were -nothing else but this customary type of German philosopher, you would -again have to pay the bill largely; and it would be very wise on your -part to study him: Sancho Panza may escape a good many sad experiences -by knowing his master's weaknesses. But as Nietzsche no longer belongs -to the Quixotic class, as Germany seems to emerge with him from her -youthful and cranky nebulosity, you will not even have the pleasure of -being thrashed in the company of your Master: no, you will be thrashed -all alone, which is an abominable thing for any right-minded human -being. "_Solamen miseris socios habuisse malorum_."[1] - -[1] It is a comfort to the afflicted to have companions in their -distress. - -The second reason for the neglect of Nietzsche in this country is that -you do not need him yet. And you do not need him yet because you have -always possessed the British virtue of not carrying things to -extremes, which, according to the German version, is an euphemism for -the British want of logic and critical capacity. You have, for -instance, never let your religion have any great influence upon your -politics, which is something quite abhorrent to the moral German, and -makes him so angry about you. For the German sees you acting as a -moral and law-abiding Christian at home, and as an unscrupulous and -Machiavellian conqueror abroad; and if he refrains from the reproach -of hypocrisy, with which the more stupid continentals invariably -charge you, he will certainly call you a "British muddlehead." Well, I -myself do not take things so seriously as that, for I know that men of -action have seldom time to think. It is probably for this reason also -that liberty of thought and speech has been granted to you, the -law-giver knowing very well all the time that you would be much too -busy to use and abuse such extraordinary freedom. Anyhow, it might now -be time to abuse it just a little bit, and to consider what an -extraordinary amalgamation is a Christian Power with imperialistic -ideas. True, there has once before been another Christian conquering -and colonising empire like yours, that of Venice--but these Venetians -were thinkers compared with you, and smuggled their gospel into the -paw of their lion.... Why don't you follow their example, in order not -to be unnecessarily embarrassed by it in your enterprises abroad? In -this manner you could also reconcile the proper Germans, who -invariably act up to their theories, their Christianity, their -democratic principles, although, on the other hand, in so doing you -would, I quite agree, be most unfaithful to your own traditions, which -are of a more democratic character than those of any other European -nation. - -For Democracy, as every schoolboy knows, was born in an English -cradle: individual liberty, parliamentary institutions, the sovereign -rights of the people, are ideas of British origin, and have been -propagated from this island over the whole of Europe. But as the -prophet and his words are very often not honoured in his own country, -those ideas have been embraced with much more fervour by other nations -than by that in which they originated. The Continent of Europe has -taken the desire for liberty and equality much more seriously than -their levelling but also level-headed inventors, and the fervent -imagination of France has tried to put into practice all that was -quite hidden to the more sober English eye. Every one nowadays knows -the good and the evil consequences of the French Revolution, which -swept over the whole of Europe, throwing it into a state of unrest, -shattering thrones and empires, and everywhere undermining authority -and traditional institutions. While this was going on in Europe, the -originator of the merry game was quietly sitting upon his island -smiling broadly at the excitable foreigners across the Channel, -fishing as much as he could out of the water he himself had so -cleverly disturbed, and thus in every way reaping the benefit from the -mighty fight for the apple of Eros which he himself had thrown amongst -them. As I have endeavoured above to draw a parallel between the -Germans and the Jews, I may now be allowed to follow this up with one -between the Jews and the English. It is a striking parallel, which -will specially appeal to those religious souls amongst you who -consider themselves the lost tribes of our race (and who are perhaps -even more lost than they think),--and it is this: Just as the Jews -have brought Christianity into the world, but never accepted it -themselves, just as they, in spite of their democratic offspring, have -always remained the most conservative, exclusive, aristocratic, and -religious people, so have the English never allowed themselves to be -intoxicated by the strong drink of the natural equality of men, which -they once kindly offered to all Europe to quaff; but have, on the -contrary, remained the most sober, the most exclusive, the most -feudal, the most conservative people of our continent. - -But because the ravages of Democracy have been less felt here than -abroad, because there is a good deal of the mediæval building left -standing over here, because things have never been carried to that -excess which invariably brings a reaction with it--this reaction has -not set in in this country, and no strong desire for the necessity of -it, no craving for the counterbalancing influence of a Nietzsche, has -arisen yet in the British mind. I cannot help pointing out the grave -consequences of this backwardness of England, which has arisen from -the fact that you have never taken any ideas or theories, not even -your own, seriously. Democracy, dear Englishmen, is like a stream, -which all the peoples of Europe will have to cross: they will come out -of it cleaner, healthier, and stronger, but while the others are -already in the water, plunging, puffing, paddling, losing their -ground, trying to swim, and even half-drowned, you are still standing -on the other side of it, roaring unmercifully about the poor swimmers, -screamers, and fighters below,--but one day you will have to cross -this same river too, and when you enter it the others will just be out -of it, and will laugh at the poor English straggler in their turn! - -The third and last reason for the icy silence which has greeted -Nietzsche in this country is due to the fact that he has--as far as I -know--no literary ancestor over here whose teachings could have -prepared you for him. Germany has had her Goethe to do this; France -her Stendhal; in Russia we find that fearless curiosity for all -problems, which is the sign of a youthful, perhaps too youthful -nation; while in Spain, on the other hand, we have an old and -experienced people, with a long training away from Christianity under -the dominion of the Semitic Arabs, who undoubtedly left some of their -blood behind,--but I find great difficulty in pointing out any man -over here who could serve as a useful guide to the heights of the -Nietzschean thought, except one, who was not a Britisher. I am -alluding to a man whose politics you used to consider and whose -writings you even now consider as fantastic, but who, like another -fantast of his race, may possess the wonderful gift of resurrection, -and come again to life amongst you--to Benjamin Disraeli. - -The Disraelian Novels are in my opinion the best and only preparation -for those amongst you who wish gradually to become acquainted with the -Nietzschean spirit. There, and nowhere else, will you find the true -heroes of coming times, men of moral courage, men whose failures and -successes are alike admirable, men whose noble passions have -altogether superseded the ordinary vulgarities and moralities of lower -beings, men endowed with an extraordinary imagination, which, however, -is balanced by an equal power of reason, men already anointed with a -drop of that sacred and noble oil, without which the High -Priest-Philosopher of Modern Germany would not have crowned his Royal -Race of the Future. - -Both Disraeli and Nietzsche you perceive starting from the same -pessimistic diagnosis of the wild anarchy, the growing melancholy, the -threatening Nihilism of Modern Europe, for both recognised the danger -of the age behind its loud and forced "shipwreck gaiety," behind its -big-mouthed talk about progress and evolution, behind that veil of -business-bustle, which hides its fear and utter despair--but for all -that black outlook they are not weaklings enough to mourn and let -things go, nor do they belong to that cheap class of society doctors -who mistake the present wretchedness of Humanity for sinfulness, and -wish to make their patient less sinful and still more wretched. Both -Nietzsche and Disraeli have clearly recognised that this patient of -theirs is suffering from weakness and not from sinfulness, for which -latter some kind of strength may still be required; both are therefore -entirely opposed to a further dieting him down to complete moral -emaciation, but are, on the contrary, prescribing a tonic, a -roborating, a natural regime for him--advice for which both doctors -have been reproached with Immorality by their contemporaries as well -as by posterity. But the younger doctor has turned the tables upon -their accusers, and has openly reproached his Nazarene colleagues with -the Immorality of endangering life itself, he has clearly demonstrated -to the world that their trustful and believing patient was shrinking -beneath their very fingers, he has candidly foretold these Christian -quacks that one day they would be in the position of the quack -skin-specialist at the fair, who, as a proof of his medical skill, -used to show to the peasants around him the skin of a completely cured -patient of his. Both Nietzsche and Disraeli know the way to health, -for they have had the disease of the age themselves, but they -have--the one partly, the other entirely--cured themselves of it, -they have resisted the spirit of their time, they have escaped the -fate of their contemporaries; they therefore, and they alone, know -their danger. This is the reason why they both speak so violently, why -they both attack with such bitter fervour the utilitarian and -materialistic attitude of English Science, why they both so ironically -brush aside the airy and fantastic ideals of German Philosophy--this -is why they both loudly declare (to use Disraeli's words) "that we are -the slaves of false knowledge; that our memories are filled with ideas -that have no origin in truth; that we believe what our fathers -credited, who were convinced without a cause; that we study human -nature in a charnel house, and, like the nations of the East, pay -divine honours to the maniac and the fool." But if these two great men -cannot refrain from such outspoken vituperation--they also lead the -way: they both teach the divinity of ideas and the vileness of action -without principle; they both exalt the value of personality and -character; they both deprecate the influence of society and -socialisation; they both intensely praise and love life, but they both -pour contempt and irony upon the shallow optimist, who thinks it -delightful, and the quietist, who wishes it to be calm, sweet, and -peaceful. They thus both preach a life of danger, in opposition to -that of pleasure, of comfort, of happiness, and they do not only -preach this noble life, they also act it: for both have with equal -determination staked even their lives on the fulfilment of their -ideal. - -It is astonishing--but only astonishing to your superficial student of -the Jewish character--that in Disraeli also we find an almost -Nietzschean appreciation of that eternal foe of the Jewish race, the -Hellenist, which makes Disraeli, just like Nietzsche, confess that the -Greek and the Hebrew are both amongst the highest types of the human -kind. It is not less astonishing--but likewise easily intelligible for -one who knows something of the great Jews of the Middle Ages--that in -Disraeli we discover that furious enmity against the doctrine of the -natural equality of men which Nietzsche combated all his life. It was -certainly the great Maimonides himself, that spiritual father of -Spinoza, who guided the pen of his Sephardic descendant, when he thus -wrote in his _Tancred_: "It is to be noted, although the Omnipotent -Creator might have formed, had it pleased him, in the humblest of his -creations, an efficient agent for his purpose that Divine Majesty has -never thought fit to communicate except with human beings of the very -highest order." - -But what about Christianity, to which Disraeli was sincerely attached, -and whose creation he always considered as one of the eternal glories -of his race? Did not the Divine Majesty think it fit then to -communicate with the most humble of its creatures, with the fishermen -of Galilee, with the rabble of Corinth, with the slaves, the women, -the criminals of the Roman Empire? As I wish to be honest about -Disraeli, I must point out here, that his genius, although the most -prominent in England during his lifetime, and although violently -opposed to its current superstitions, still partly belongs to his -age--and for this very pardonable reason, that in his Jewish pride he -overrated and even misunderstood Christianity. He all but overlooked -the narrow connection between Christianity and Democracy. He did not -see that in fighting Liberalism and Nonconformity all his life, he was -really fighting Christianity, the Protestant Form of which is at the -root of British Liberalism and Individualism to this very day. And -when later in his life Disraeli complained that the disturbance in the -mind of nations has been occasioned by "the powerful assault on the -Divinity of the Semitic Literature by the Germans," he overlooked -likewise the connection of this German movement with the same -Protestantism, from the narrow and vulgar middle-class of which have -sprung all those rationalising, unimaginative, and merely clever -professors, who have so successfully undermined the ancient and -venerable lore. And thirdly, and worst of all, Disraeli never -suspected that the French Revolution, which in the same breath he once -contemptuously denounced as "the Celtic Rebellion against Semitic -laws," was, in spite of its professed attack against religion, really -a profoundly Christian, because a democratic and revolutionary -movement. What a pity he did not know all this! What a shower of -splendid additional sarcasms he would have poured over those -flat-nosed Franks, had he known what I know now, that it is the -eternal way of the Christian to be a rebel, and that just as he has -once rebelled against us, he has never ceased pestering and rebelling -against any one else either of his own or any other creed. - -But it is so easy for me to be carried away by that favourite sport of -mine, of which I am the first inventor among the Jews--Christian -baiting. You must forgive this, however, in a Jew, who, while he has -been baited for two thousand years by you, likes to turn round now -that the opportunity has come, and tries to indulge on his part also -in a little bit of that genial pastime. I candidly confess it is -delightful, and I now quite understand your ancestors hunting mine as -much as they could--had I been a Christian, I would, probably, have -done the same; perhaps have done it even better, for no one would now -be left to write any such impudent truisms against me--rest assured -of that! But as I am a Jew, and have had too much experience of the -other side of the question, I must try to control myself in the midst -of victory; I must judge things calmly; I must state fact honestly; I -must not allow myself to be unjust towards you. First of all, then, -this rebelling faculty of yours is a Jewish inheritance, an -inheritance, however, of which you have made a more than generous, a -truly Christian use, because you did not keep it niggardly for -yourselves, but have distributed it all over the earth, from Nazareth -to Nishni-Novgorod, from Jerusalem to Jamaica, from Palestine to -Pimlico, so that every one is a rebel and an anarchist nowadays. But, -secondly, I must not forget that in every Anarchist, and therefore in -every Christian, there is also, or may be, an aristocrat--a man who, -just like the anarchist, but with a perfectly holy right, wishes to -obey no laws but those of his own conscience; a man who thinks too -highly of his own faith and persuasion, to convert other people to it; -a man who, therefore, would never carry it to Caffres and Coolis; a -man, in short, with whom even the noblest and exclusive Hebrew could -shake hands. In Friedrich Nietzsche this aristocratic element which -may be hidden in a Christian has been brought to light, in him the -Christian's eternal claim for freedom of conscience, for his own -priesthood, for justification by his own faith, is no longer used for -purposes of destruction and rebellion, but for those of command and -creation; in him--and this is the key to the character of this -extraordinary man, who both on his father's and mother's side was the -descendant of a long line of Protestant Parsons--the Christian and -Protestant spirit of anarchy became so strong that he rebelled even -against his own fellow-Anarchists, and told them that Anarchy was a -low and contemptible thing, and that Revolution was an occupation fit -only for superior slaves. But with this event the circle of -Christianity has become closed, and the exclusive House of Israel is -now under the delightful obligation to make its peace with its once -lost and now reforming son. - -The venerable Owner of this old house is still standing on its -threshold: his face is pale, his expression careworn, his eyes -apparently scanning something far in the distance. The wind--for there -is a terrible wind blowing just now--is playing havoc with his long -white Jew-beard, but this white Jew-beard of his is growing black -again at the end, and even the sad eyes are still capable of quite -youthful flashes, as may be noticed at this very moment. For the eyes -of the old Jew, apparently so dreamy and so far away, have suddenly -become fixed upon something in the distance yonder. The old Jew looks -and looks--and then he rubs his eyes--and then he eagerly looks -again. And now he is sure of himself. His old and haggard face is -lighting up, his stooped figure suddenly becomes more erect, and a -tear of joy is seen running over his pale cheek into that long beard -of his. For the old Jew has recognised some one coming from afar--some -one whom he had missed, but never mentioned, for his Law forbade him -to do this--some one, however, for whom he had secretly always -mourned, as only the race of the psalmists and the prophets can -mourn--and he rushes toward him, and he falls on his neck and he -kisses him, and he says to his servants: "Bring forth the best robe -and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand and shoes on his feet. -And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it and let us eat and be -merry!" AMEN. - - OSCAR LEVY. - -LONDON, - January 1909. - - - - -TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. - - -To the reader who knows Nietzsche, who has studied his _Zarathustra_ and -understood it, and who, in addition, has digested the works entitled -_Beyond Good and Evil, The Genealogy of Morals, The Twilight of the -Idols_, and _The Antichrist_,--to such a reader everything in this -volume will be perfectly clear and comprehensible. In the attack on -Strauss he will immediately detect the germ of the whole of -Nietzsche's subsequent attitude towards too hasty contentment and the -foolish beatitude of the "easily pleased"; in the paper on Wagner he -will recognise Nietzsche the indefatigable borer, miner and -underminer, seeking to define his ideals, striving after -self-knowledge above all, and availing himself of any contemporary -approximation to his ideal man, in order to press it forward as the -incarnation of his thoughts. Wagner the reformer of mankind! Wagner -the dithyrambic dramatist!--The reader who knows Nietzsche will not be -misled by these expressions. - -To the uninitiated reader, however, some words of explanation are due, -not only in regard to the two papers before us, but in regard to -Nietzsche himself. So much in our time is learnt from hearsay -concerning prominent figures in science, art, religion, or philosophy, -that it is hardly possible for anybody to-day, however badly informed -he may be, to begin the study of any great writer or scientist with a -perfectly open mind. It were well, therefore, to begin the study of -Nietzsche with some definite idea as to his unaltered purpose, if he -ever possessed such a thing; as to his lifelong ideal, if he ever kept -one so long; and as to the one direction in which he always travelled, -despite apparent deviations and windings. Had he such a purpose, such -an ideal, such a direction? We have no wish to open a controversy -here, neither do we think that in replying to this question in the -affirmative we shall give rise to one; for every careful student of -Nietzsche, we know, will uphold us in our view. Nietzsche had one very -definite and unaltered purpose, ideal and direction, and this was "the -elevation of the type man." He tells us in _The Will to Power_: "All is -truth to me that tends to elevate man!" To this principle he was -already pledged as a student at Leipzig; we owe every line that he -ever wrote to his devotion to it, and it is the key to all his -complexities, blasphemies, prolixities, and terrible earnestness. All -was good to Nietzsche that tended to elevate man; all was bad that -kept man stationary or sent him backwards. Hence he wrote _David -Strauss, the Confessor and Writer_ (1873). - -The Franco-German War had only just come to an end, and the keynote of -this polemical pamphlet is, "Beware of the intoxication of success." -When the whole of Germany was delirious with joy over her victory, at -a time when the unquestioned triumph of her arms tended rather to -reflect unearned glory upon every department of her social -organisation, it required both courage and discernment to raise the -warning voice and to apply the wet blanket. But Nietzsche did both, -and with spirit, because his worst fears were aroused. Smug content -(_erbärmliches Behagen_) was threatening to thwart his one purpose--the -elevation of man; smug content personified in the German scholar was -giving itself airs of omniscience, omnipotence, and ubiquity, and all -the while it was a mere cover for hidden rottenness and jejune -pedantry. - -Nietzsche's attack on Hegelian optimism alone (pp. 46, 53-54), in the -first paper, fully reveals the fundamental idea underlying this essay; -and if the personal attack on Strauss seems sometimes to throw the -main theme into the background, we must remember the author's own -attitude towards this aspect of the case. Nietzsche, as a matter of -fact, had neither the spite nor the meanness requisite for the purely -personal attack. In his _Ecce Homo_, he tells us most emphatically: "I -have no desire to attack particular persons--I do but use a -personality as a magnifying glass; I place it over the subject to -which I wish to call attention, merely that the appeal may be -stronger." David Strauss, in a letter to a friend, soon after the -publication of the first _Thought out of Season_, expresses his utter -astonishment that a total stranger should have made such a dead set at -him. The same problem may possibly face the reader on every page of -this essay: if, however, we realise Nietzsche's purpose, if we -understand his struggle to be one against "Culture-Philistinism" in -general, as a stemming, stultifying and therefore degenerate factor, -and regard David Strauss--as the author himself did, that is to say, -simply as a glass, focusing the whole light of our understanding upon -the main theme--then the Strauss paper is seen to be one of such -enormous power, and its aim appears to us so lofty, that, whatever our -views may be concerning the nature of the person assailed, we are -forced to conclude that, to Nietzsche at least, he was but the -incarnation and concrete example of the evil and danger then -threatening to overtake his country, which it was the object of this -essay to expose. - -When we read that at the time of Strauss's death (February 7th, 1874) -Nietzsche was greatly tormented by the fear that the old scholar might -have been hastened to his end by the use that had been made of his -personality in the first _Unzeitgemässe Betrachtung_; when we remember -that in the midst of this torment he ejaculated, "I was indeed not -made to hate and have enemies!"--we are then in a better position to -judge of the motives which, throughout his life, led him to engage -such formidable opponents and to undertake such relentless attacks. It -was merely his ruling principle that, all is true and good that tends -to elevate man; everything is bad and false that keeps man stationary -or sends him backwards. - -Those who may think that his attacks were often unwarrantable and -ill-judged will do well, therefore, to bear this in mind, that -whatever his value or merits may have been as an iconoclast, at least -the aim he had was sufficiently lofty and honourable, and that he -never shirked the duties which he rightly or wrongly imagined would -help him to. - -In that Wagner paper (1875-1876) we are faced by a somewhat different problem. -Most readers who will have heard of Nietzsche's subsequent -denunciation of Wagner's music will probably stand aghast before this -panegyric of him; those who, like Professor Saintsbury, will fail to -discover the internal evidence in this essay which points so -infallibly to Nietzsche's _real_ but still subconscious opinion of his -hero, may even be content to regard his later attitude as the result -of a complete _volte-face_, and at any rate a flat contradiction of the -one revealed in this paper. Let us, however, examine the internal -evidence we speak of, and let us also discuss the purpose and spirit -of the essay. - -We have said that Nietzsche was a man with a very fixed and powerful -ideal, and we have heard what this ideal was. Can we picture him, -then,--a young and enthusiastic scholar with a cultured love of music, -and particularly of Wagner's music, eagerly scanning all his circle, -the whole city and country in which he lived--yea, even the whole -continent on which he lived--for something or some one that would set -his doubts at rest concerning the feasibility of his ideal? Can we now -picture this young man coming face to face with probably one of the -greatest geniuses of his age--with a man whose very presence must have -been electric, whose every word or movement must have imparted some -power to his surroundings--with Richard Wagner? - -If we can conceive of what the mere attention, even, of a man like -Wagner must have meant to Nietzsche in his twenties, if we can form -any idea of the intoxicating effect produced upon him when this -attention developed into friendship, we almost refuse to believe that -Nietzsche could have been critical at all at first. In Wagner, as was -but natural, he soon began to see the ideal, or at least the means to -the ideal, which was his one obsession. All his hope for the future of -Germany and Europe cleaved, as it were, to this highest manifestation -of their people's life, and gradually he began to invest his already -great friend with all the extra greatness which he himself drew from -the depths of his own soul. - -The friendship which grew between them was of that rare order in which -neither can tell who influences the other more. Wagner would often -declare that the beautiful music in the third act of Siegfried was to -be ascribed to Nietzsche's influence over him; he also adopted the -young man's terminology in art matters, and the concepts implied by -the words "Dionysian" and "Apollonian" were borrowed by him from his -friend's discourses. How much Nietzsche owed to Wagner may perhaps -never be definitely known; to those who are sufficiently interested to -undertake the investigation of this matter, we would recommend Hans -Bélart's book, _Nietzsche's Ethik_; in it references will be found which -give some clue as to the probable sources from which the necessary -information may be derived. In any case, however, the reciprocal -effects of their conversations will never be exactly known; and -although it would be ridiculous to assume that Nietzsche was -essentially the same when he left as when he met him, what the real -nature of the change was it is now difficult to say. - -For some years their friendship continued firm, and grew ever more and -more intimate. _The Birth Of Tragedy_ was one of the first public -declarations of it, and after its publication many were led to -consider that Wagner's art was a sort of resurrection of the Dionysian -Grecian art. Enemies of Nietzsche began to whisper that he was merely -Wagner's "literary lackey"; many friends frowned upon the promising -young philologist, and questioned the exaggerated importance he was -beginning to ascribe to the art of music and to art in general, in -their influence upon the world; and all the while Nietzsche's one -thought and one aim was to help the cause and further the prospects of -the man who he earnestly believed was destined to be the salvation of -European culture. - -Every great ideal coined in his own brain he imagined to be the ideal -of his hero; all his sublimest hopes for society were presented -gratis, in his writings, to Wagner, as though products of the latter's -own mind; and just as the prophet of old never possessed the requisite -assurance to suppose that his noblest ideas were his own, but -attributed them to some higher and supernatural power, whom he thereby -learnt to worship for its fancied nobility of sentiment, so Nietzsche, -still doubting his own powers, created a fetich out of his most -distinguished friend, and was ultimately wounded and well-nigh wrecked -with disappointment when he found that the Wagner of the -Götterdämmerung and Parsifal was not the Wagner of his own mind. - -While writing _Ecce Homo_, he was so well aware of the extent to which -he had gone in idealising his friend, that he even felt able to say: -"_Wagner in Bayreuth_ is a vision of my own future.... Now that I can -look back upon this work, I would not like to deny that, at bottom, it -speaks only of myself" (p. 74). And on another page of the same book -we read: "... What I heard, as a young man, in Wagnerian music, had -absolutely nothing to do with Wagner: when I described Dionysian -music, I only described what I had heard, and I thus translated and -transfigured all that I bore in my own soul into the spirit of the new -art. The strongest proof of this is my essay, _Wagner in Bayreuth_: in -all decidedly psychological passages of this book the reader may -simply read my name, or the name 'Zarathustra,' wherever the text -contains the name 'Wagner'" (p. 68). - -As we have already hinted, there are evidences of his having -subconsciously discerned the _real_ Wagner, even in the heyday of their -friendship, behind the ideal he had formed of him; for his eyes were -too intelligent to be deceived, even though his understanding refused -at first to heed the messages they sent it: both the _Birth of Tragedy_ -and _Wagner in Bayreuth_ are with us to prove this, and not merely when -we read these works between the lines, but when we take such passages -as those found on pp. 115, 149, 150, 151, 156, 158, 159 of this book -quite literally. - -Nietzsche's infatuation we have explained; the consequent idealisation -of the object of his infatuation he himself has confessed; we have -also pointed certain passages which we believe show beyond a doubt -that almost everything to be found in _The Case of Wagner_ and _Nietzsche -contra Wagner_ was already subconscious in our author, long before he -had begun to feel even a coolness towards his hero: let those who -think our interpretation of the said passages is either strained or -unjustified turn to the literature to which we have referred and judge -for themselves. It seems to us that those distinguished critics who -complain of Nietzsche's complete _volte-face_ and his uncontrollable -recantations and revulsions of feeling have completely overlooked this -aspect of the question. - -It were well for us to bear in mind that we are not altogether free to -dispose of Nietzsche's attitude to Wagner, at any given period in -their relationship, with a single sentence of praise or of blame. -After all, we are faced by a problem which no objectivity or -dispassionate detachment on our parts can solve. Nietzsche endowed -both Schopenhauer and Wagner with qualities and aspirations so utterly -foreign to them both, that neither of them would have recognised -himself in the images he painted of them. His love for them was -unusual; perhaps it can only be fully understood emotionally by us: -like all men who are capable of very great love, Nietzsche lent the -objects of his affection anything they might happen to lack in the way -of greatness, and when at last his eyes were opened, genuine pain, not -malice, was the motive of even the most bitter of his diatribes. - -Finally, we should just like to give one more passage from _Ecce Homo_ -bearing upon the subject under discussion. It is particularly -interesting from an autobiographical standpoint, and will perhaps -afford the best possible conclusion to this preface. - -Nietzsche is writing about Wagner's music, and he says: "The world -must indeed be empty for him who has never been unhealthy enough for -this 'infernal voluptuousness'; it is allowable and yet almost -forbidden to use a mystical expression in this behalf. I suppose I -know better than any one the prodigies Wagner was capable of, the -fifty worlds of strange raptures to which no one save him could soar; -and as I stand to-day--strong enough to convert even the most -suspicious and dangerous phenomenon to my own use and be the stronger -for it--I declare Wagner to be the great benefactor of my life. -Something will always keep our names associated in the minds of men, -and that is, that we are two who have suffered more -excruciatingly--even at each other's hands--than most men are able to -suffer nowadays. And just as Wagner is merely a misunderstanding among -Germans, so am I and ever will be. You lack two centuries of -psychological and artistic discipline, my dear countrymen!... But it -will be impossible for you ever to recover the time now lost" (p. 43). - - ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI. - - - - -DAVID STRAUSS, - - -THE CONFESSOR AND THE WRITER. - - -DAVID STRAUSS - - - -I. - - -Public opinion in Germany seems strictly to forbid any allusion to the -evil and dangerous consequences of a war, more particularly when the -war in question has been a victorious one. Those writers, therefore, -command a more ready attention who, regarding this public opinion as -final, proceed to vie with each other in their jubilant praise of the -war, and of the powerful influences it has brought to bear upon -morality, culture, and art. Yet it must be confessed that a great -victory is a great danger. Human nature bears a triumph less easily -than a defeat; indeed, it might even be urged that it is simpler to -gain a victory of this sort than to turn it to such account that it -may not ultimately prove a serious rout. - -But of all evil results due to the last contest with France, the most -deplorable, perhaps, is that widespread and even universal error of -public opinion and of all who think publicly, that German culture was -also victorious in the struggle, and that it should now, therefore, be -decked with garlands, as a fit recognition of such extraordinary -events and successes. This error is in the highest degree pernicious: -not because it is an error,--for there are illusions which are both -salutary and blessed,--but because it threatens to convert our victory -into a signal defeat. A defeat?--I should say rather, into the -uprooting of the "German Mind" for the benefit of the "German Empire." - -Even supposing that the fight had been between the two cultures, the -standard for the value of the victor would still be a very relative -one, and, in any case, would certainly not justify such exaggerated -triumph or self-glorification. For, in the first place, it would be -necessary to ascertain the worth of the conquered culture. This might -be very little; in which case, even if the victory had involved the -most glorious display of arms, it would still offer no warrant for -inordinate rapture. - -Even so, however, there can be no question, in our case, of the -victory of German culture; and for the simple reason, that French -culture remains as heretofore, and that we depend upon it as -heretofore. It did not even help towards the success of our arms. -Severe military discipline, natural bravery and sustaining power, the -superior generalship, unity and obedience in the rank and file--in -short, factors which have nothing to do with culture, were -instrumental in making us conquer an opponent in whom the most -essential of these factors were absent. The only wonder is, that -precisely what is now called "culture" in Germany did not prove an -obstacle to the military operations which seemed vitally necessary to -a great victory. Perhaps, though, this was only owing to the fact that -this "thing" which dubs itself "culture" saw its advantage, for once, -in keeping in the background. - -If however, it be permitted to grow and to spread, if it be spoilt by -the flattering and nonsensical assurance that it has been -victorious,--then, as I have said, it will have the power to extirpate -German mind, and, when that is done, who knows whether there will -still be anything to be made out of the surviving German body! - -Provided it were possible to direct that calm and tenacious bravery -which the German opposed to the pathetic and spontaneous fury of the -Frenchman, against the inward enemy, against the highly suspicious -and, at all events, unnative "cultivation" which, owing to a dangerous -misunderstanding, is called "culture" in Germany, then all hope of a -really genuine German "culture"--the reverse of that -"cultivation"--would not be entirely lost. For the Germans have never -known any lack of clear-sighted and heroic leaders, though these, -often enough, probably, have lacked Germans. But whether it be -possible to turn German bravery into a new direction seems to me to -become ever more and more doubtful; for I realise how fully convinced -every one is that such a struggle and such bravery are no longer -requisite; on the contrary, that most things are regulated as -satisfactorily as they possibly can be--or, at all events, that -everything of moment has long ago been discovered and accomplished: in -a word, that the seed of culture is already sown everywhere, and is -now either shooting up its fresh green blades, or, here and there, -even bursting forth into luxuriant blossom. In this sphere, not only -happiness but ecstasy reigns supreme. I am conscious of this ecstasy -and happiness, in the ineffable, truculent assurance of German -journalists and manufacturers of novels, tragedies, poems, and -histories (for it must be clear that these people belong to one -category), who seem to have conspired to improve the leisure and -ruminative hours--that is to say, "the intellectual lapses"--of the -modern man, by bewildering him with their printed paper. Since the -war, all is gladness, dignity, and self-consciousness in this merry -throng. After the startling successes of German culture, it regards -itself, not only as approved and sanctioned, but almost as sanctified. -It therefore speaks with gravity, affects to apostrophise the German -People, and issues complete works, after the manner of the classics; -nor does it shrink from proclaiming in those journals which are open -to it some few of its adherents as new German classical writers and -model authors. It might be supposed that the dangers of such an _abuse -of success_ would be recognised by the more thoughtful and enlightened -among cultivated Germans; or, at least, that these would feel how -painful is the comedy that is being enacted around them: for what in -truth could more readily inspire pity than the sight of a cripple -strutting like a cock before a mirror, and exchanging complacent -glances with his reflection! But the "scholar" caste willingly allow -things to remain as they are, and are too much concerned with their own -affairs to busy themselves with the care of the German mind. Moreover, -the units of this caste are too thoroughly convinced that their own -scholarship is the ripest and most perfect fruit of the age--in fact, -of all ages--to see any necessity for a care of German culture in -general; since, in so far as they and the legion of their brethren are -concerned, preoccupations of this order have everywhere been, so to -speak, surpassed. The more conscientious observer, more particularly -if he be a foreigner, cannot help noticing withal that no great -disparity exists between that which the German scholar regards as his -culture and that other triumphant culture of the new German classics, -save in respect of the quantum of knowledge. Everywhere, where -knowledge and not ability, where information and not art, hold the -first rank,--everywhere, therefore, where life bears testimony to the -kind of culture extant, there is now only one specific German -culture--and this is the culture that is supposed to have conquered -France? - -The contention appears to be altogether too preposterous. It was -solely to the more extensive knowledge of German officers, to the -superior training of their soldiers, and to their more scientific -military strategy, that all impartial Judges, and even the French -nation, in the end, ascribed the victory. Hence, if it be intended to -regard German erudition as a thing apart, in what sense can German -culture be said to have conquered? In none whatsoever; for the moral -qualities of severe discipline, of more placid obedience, have nothing -in common with culture: these were characteristic of the Macedonian -army, for instance, despite the fact that the Greek soldiers were -infinitely more cultivated. To speak of German scholarship and culture -as having conquered, therefore, can only be the outcome of a -misapprehension, probably resulting from the circumstance that every -precise notion of culture has now vanished from Germany. - -Culture is, before all things, the unity of artistic style, in every -expression of the life of a people. Abundant knowledge and learning, -however, are not essential to it, nor are they a sign of its -existence; and, at a pinch, they might coexist much more harmoniously -with the very opposite of culture--with barbarity: that is to say, -with a complete lack of style, or with a riotous jumble of all styles. -But it is precisely amid this riotous jumble that the German of to-day -subsists; and the serious problem to be solved is: how, with all his -learning, he can possibly avoid noticing it; how, into the bargain, he -can rejoice with all his heart in his present "culture"? For -everything conduces to open his eyes for him--every glance he casts at -his clothes, his room, his house; every walk he takes through the -streets of his town; every visit he pays to his art-dealers and to his -trader in the articles of fashion. In his social intercourse he ought -to realise the origin of his manners and movements; in the heart of -our art-institutions, the pleasures of our concerts, theatres, and -museums, he ought to become apprised of the super- and juxta-position -of all imaginable styles. The German heaps up around him the forms, -colours, products, and curiosities of all ages and zones, and thereby -succeeds in producing that garish newness, as of a country fair, which -his scholars then proceed to contemplate and to define as "Modernism -per se"; and there he remains, squatting peacefully, in the midst of -this conflict of styles. But with this kind of culture, which is, at -bottom, nothing more nor less than a phlegmatic insensibility to real -culture, men cannot vanquish an enemy, least of all an enemy like the -French, who, whatever their worth may be, do actually possess a -genuine and productive culture, and whom, up to the present, we have -systematically copied, though in the majority of cases without skill. - -Even supposing we had really ceased copying them, it would still not -mean that we had overcome them, but merely that we had lifted their -yoke from our necks. Not before we have succeeded in forcing an -original German culture upon them can there be any question of the -triumph of German culture. Meanwhile, let us not forget that in all -matters of form we are, and must be, just as dependent upon Paris now -as we were before the war; for up to the present there has been no -such thing as a original German culture. - -We all ought to have become aware of this, of our own accord. Besides, -one of the few who had he right to speak to Germans in terms of -reproach Publicly drew attention to the fact. "We Germans are of -yesterday," Goethe once said to Eckermann. "True, for the last hundred -years we have diligently cultivated ourselves, but a few centuries may -yet have to run their course before our fellow-countrymen become -permeated with sufficient intellectuality and higher culture to have -it said of them, _it is a long time since they were barbarians_." - - - -II. - - -If, however, our public and private life is so manifestly devoid of -all signs of a productive and characteristic culture; if, moreover, -our great artists, with that earnest vehemence and honesty which is -peculiar to greatness admit, and have admitted, this monstrous -fact--so very humiliating to a gifted nation; how can it still be -possible for contentment to reign to such an astonishing extent among -German scholars? And since the last war this complacent spirit has -seemed ever more and more ready to break forth into exultant cries and -demonstrations of triumph. At all events, the belief seems to be rife -that we are in possession of a genuine culture, and the enormous -incongruity of this triumphant satisfaction in the face of the -inferiority which should be patent to all, seems only to be noticed by -the few and the select. For all those who think with the public mind -have blindfolded their eyes and closed their ears. The incongruity is -not even acknowledged to exist. How is this possible? What power is -sufficiently influential to deny this existence? What species of men -must have attained to supremacy in Germany that feelings which are so -strong and simple should be denied or prevented from obtaining -expression? This power, this species of men, I will name--they are the -_Philistines of Culture_. - -As every one knows, the word "Philistine" is borrowed from the -vernacular of student-life, and, in its widest and most popular sense, -it signifies the reverse of a son of the Muses, of an artist, and of -the genuine man of culture. The Philistine of culture, however, the -study of whose type and the hearing of whose confessions (when he -makes them) have now become tiresome duties, distinguishes himself -from the general notion of the order "Philistine" by means of a -superstition: he fancies that he is himself a son of the Muses and a -man of culture. This incomprehensible error clearly shows that he does -not even know the difference between a Philistine and his opposite. We -must not be surprised, therefore, if we find him, for the most part, -solemnly protesting that he is no Philistine. Owing to this lack of -self-knowledge, he is convinced that his "culture" is the consummate -manifestation of real German culture; and, since he everywhere meets -with scholars of his own type, since all public institutions, whether -schools, universities, or academies, are so organised as to be in -complete harmony with his education and needs, wherever he goes he -bears with him the triumphant feeling that he is the worthy champion -of prevailing German culture, and he frames his pretensions and claims -accordingly. - -If, however, real culture takes unity of style for granted (and even -an inferior and degenerate culture cannot be imagined in which a -certain coalescence of the profusion of forms has not taken place), it -is just possible that the confusion underlying the Culture-Philistine's -error may arise from the fact that, since he comes into contact -everywhere with creatures cast in the same mould as himself, he -concludes that this uniformity among all "scholars" must point to a -certain uniformity in German education--hence to culture. All round -him, he sees only needs and views similar to his own; wherever he goes, -he finds himself embraced by a ring of tacit conventions concerning -almost everything, but more especially matters of religion and art. -This imposing sameness, this _tutti unisono_ which, though it responds to -no word of command, is yet ever ready to burst forth, cozens him into -the belief that here a culture must be established and flourishing. But -Philistinism, despite its systematic organisation and power, does not -constitute a culture by virtue of its system alone; it does not even -constitute an inferior culture, but invariably the reverse--namely, -firmly established barbarity. For the uniformity of character which is -so apparent in the German scholars of to-day is only the result of a -conscious or unconscious exclusion and negation of all the artistically -productive forms and requirements of a genuine style. The mind of the -cultured Philistine must have become sadly unhinged; for precisely -what culture repudiates he regards as culture itself; and, since he -proceeds logically, he succeeds in creating a connected group of these -repudiations--a system of non-culture, to which one might at a pinch -grant a certain "unity of style," provided of course it were not -nonsense to attribute style to barbarity. If he have to choose between -a stylish act and its opposite, he will invariably adopt the latter, -and, since this rule holds good throughout, every one of his acts bears -the same negative stamp. Now, it is by means of this stamp that he is -able to identify the character of the "German culture," which is his -own patent; and all things that do not bear it are so many enemies and -obstacles drawn up against him. In the presence of these arrayed forces -the Culture-Philistine either does no more than ward off the blows, or -else he denies, holds his tongue, stops his ears, and refuses to face -facts. He is a negative creature--even in his hatred and animosity. -Nobody, however, is more disliked by him than the man who regards him -as a Philistine, and tells him what he is--namely, the barrier in the -way of all powerful men and creators, the labyrinth for all who doubt -and go astray, the swamp for all the weak and the weary, the fetters -of those who would run towards lofty goals, the poisonous mist that -chokes all germinating hopes, the scorching sand to all those German -thinkers who seek for, and thirst after, a new life. For the mind of -Germany is seeking; and ye hate it because it is seeking, and because -it will not accept your word, when ye declare that ye have found what -it is seeking. How could it have been possible for a type like that of -the Culture-Philistine to develop? and even granting its development, -how was it able to rise to the powerful position of supreme judge -concerning all questions of German culture? How could this have been -possible, seeing that a whole procession of grand and heroic figures -has already filed past us, whose every movement, the expression of -whose every feature, whose questioning voice and burning eye betrayed -the one fact, _that they were seekers_, and that they sought that which -the Culture-Philistine had long fancied he had found--to wit, a genuine -original German culture? Is there a soil--thus they seemed to ask--a -soil that is pure enough, unhandselled enough, of sufficient virgin -sanctity, to allow the mind of Germany to build its house upon it? -Questioning thus, they wandered through the wilderness, and the woods -of wretched ages and narrow conditions, and as seekers they disappeared -from our vision; one of them, at an advanced age, was even able to -say, in the name of all: "For half a century my life has been hard and -bitter enough; I have allowed myself no rest, but have ever striven, -sought and done, to the best and to the utmost of my ability." - -What does our Culture-Philistinism say of these seekers? It regards -them simply as discoverers, and seems to forget that they themselves -only claimed to be seekers. We have our culture, say her sons; for -have we not our "classics"? Not only is the foundation there, but the -building already stands upon it--we ourselves constitute that -building. And, so saying, the Philistine raises his hand to his brow. - -But, in order to be able thus to misjudge, and thus to grant -left-handed veneration to our classics, people must have ceased to -know them. This, generally speaking, is precisely what has happened. -For, otherwise, one ought to know that there is only one way of -honouring them, and that is to continue seeking with the same spirit -and with the same courage, and not to weary of the search. But to -foist the doubtful title of "classics" upon them, and to "edify" -oneself from time to time by reading their works, means to yield to -those feeble and selfish emotions which all the paying public may -purchase at concert-halls and theatres. Even the raising of monuments -to their memory, and the christening of feasts and societies with -their names--all these things are but so many ringing cash payments by -means of which the Culture-Philistine discharges his indebtedness to -them, so that in all other respects he may be rid of them, and, above -all, not bound to follow in their wake and prosecute his search -further. For henceforth inquiry is to cease: that is the Philistine -watchword. - -This watchword once had some meaning. In Germany, during the first -decade of the nineteenth century, for instance, when the heyday and -confusion of seeking, experimenting, destroying, promising, surmising, -and hoping was sweeping in currents and cross-currents over the land, -the thinking middle-classes were right in their concern for their own -security. It was then quite right of them to dismiss from their minds -with a shrug of their shoulders the _omnium gatherum_ of fantastic and -language-maiming philosophies, and of rabid special-pleading -historical studies, the carnival of all gods and myths, and the -poetical affectations and fooleries which a drunken spirit may be -responsible for. In this respect they were quite right; for the -Philistine has not even the privilege of licence. With the cunning -proper to base natures, however, he availed himself of the -opportunity, in order to throw suspicion even upon the seeking spirit, -and to invite people to join in the more comfortable pastime of -finding. His eye opened to the joy of Philistinism; he saved himself -from wild experimenting by clinging to the idyllic, and opposed the -restless creative spirit that animates the artist, by means of a -certain smug ease--the ease of self-conscious narrowness, -tranquillity, and self-sufficiency. His tapering finger pointed, -without any affectation of modesty, to all the hidden and intimate -incidents of his life, to the many touching and ingenuous joys which -sprang into existence in the wretched depths of his uncultivated -existence, and which modestly blossomed forth on the bog-land of -Philistinism. - -There were, naturally, a few gifted narrators who, with a nice touch, -drew vivid pictures of the happiness, the prosaic simplicity, the -bucolic robustness, and all the well-being which floods the quarters -of children, scholars, and peasants. With picture-books of this class -in their hands, these smug ones now once and for all sought to escape -from the yoke of these dubious classics and the command which they -contained--to seek further and to find. They only started the notion -of an epigone-age in order to secure peace for themselves, and to be -able to reject all the efforts of disturbing innovators summarily as -the work of epigones. With the view of ensuring their own -tranquillity, these smug ones even appropriated history, and sought to -transform all sciences that threatened to disturb their wretched ease -into branches of history--more particularly philosophy and classical -philology. Through historical consciousness, they saved themselves -from enthusiasm; for, in opposition to Goethe, it was maintained that -history would no longer kindle enthusiasm. No, in their desire to -acquire an historical grasp of everything, stultification became the -sole aim of these philosophical admirers of "_nil admirari_." While -professing to hate every form of fanaticism and intolerance, what they -really hated, at bottom, was the dominating genius and the tyranny of -the real claims of culture. They therefore concentrated and utilised -all their forces in those quarters where a fresh and vigorous movement -was to be expected, and then paralysed, stupefied, and tore it to -shreds. In this way, a philosophy which veiled the Philistine -confessions of its founder beneath neat twists and flourishes of -language proceeded further to discover a formula for the canonisation -of the commonplace. It expatiated upon the rationalism of all reality, -and thus ingratiated itself with the Culture-Philistine, who also -loves neat twists and flourishes, and who, above all, considers -himself real, and regards his reality as the standard of reason for -the world. From this time forward he began to allow every one, and -even himself, to reflect, to investigate, to æstheticise, and, more -particularly, to make poetry, music, and even pictures--not to -mention systems philosophy; provided, of course, that everything were -done according to the old pattern, and that no assault were made upon -the "reasonable" and the "real"--that is to say, upon the Philistine. -The latter really does not at all mind giving himself up, from time to -time, to the delightful and daring transgressions of art or of -sceptical historical studies, and he does not underestimate the charm -of such recreations and entertainments; but he strictly separates "the -earnestness of life" (under which term he understands his calling, his -business, and his wife and child) from such trivialities, and among -the latter he includes all things which have any relation to culture. -Therefore, woe to the art that takes itself seriously, that has a -notion of what it may exact, and that dares to endanger his income, -his business, and his habits! Upon such an art he turns his back, as -though it were something dissolute; and, affecting the attitude of a -guardian of chastity, he cautions every unprotected virtue on no -account to look. - -Being such an adept at cautioning people, he is always grateful to any -artist who heeds him and listens to caution. He then assures his -protege that things are to be made more easy for him; that, as a -kindred spirit, he will no longer be expected to make sublime -masterpieces, but that his work must be one of two kinds--either the -imitation of reality to the point of simian mimicry, in idylls or -gentle and humorous satires, or the free copying of the best-known and -most famous classical works, albeit with shamefast concessions to the -taste of the age. For, although he may only be able to appreciate -slavish copying or accurate portraiture of the present, still he knows -that the latter will but glorify him, and increase the well-being of -"reality"; while the former, far from doing him any harm, rather helps -to establish his reputation as a classical judge of taste, and is not -otherwise troublesome; for he has, once and for all, come to terms -with the classics. Finally, he discovers the general and effective -formula "Health" for his habits, methods of observation, judgments, -and the objects of his patronage; while he dismisses the importunate -disturber of the peace with the epithets "hysterical" and "morbid." It -is thus that David Strauss--a genuine example of the _satisfait_ in -regard to our scholastic institutions, and a typical Philistine--it is -thus that he speaks of "the philosophy of Schopenhauer" as being -"thoroughly intellectual, yet often unhealthy and unprofitable." It is -indeed a deplorable fact that intellect should show such a decided -preference for the "unhealthy" and the "unprofitable"; and even the -Philistine, if he be true to himself, will admit that, in regard to -the philosophies which men of his stamp produce, he is conscious of a -frequent lack of intellectuality, although of course they are always -thoroughly healthy and profitable. - -Now and again, the Philistines, provided they are by themselves, -indulge in a bottle of wine, and then they grow reminiscent, and speak -of the great deeds of the war, honestly and ingenuously. On such -occasions it often happens that a great deal comes to light which -would otherwise have been most stead-fastly concealed, and one of them -may even be heard to blurt out the most precious secrets of the whole -brotherhood. Indeed, a lapse of this sort occurred but a short while -ago, to a well-known æsthete of the Hegelian school of reasoning. It -must, however, be admitted that the provocation thereto was of an -unusual character. A company of Philistines were feasting together, in -celebration of the memory of a genuine anti-Philistine--one who, -moreover, had been, in the strictest sense of the words, wrecked by -Philistinism. This man was Hölderlin, and the aforementioned æsthete -was therefore justified, under the circumstances, in speaking of the -tragic souls who had foundered on "reality"--reality being understood, -here, to mean Philistine reason. But the "reality" is now different, -and it might well be asked whether Hölderlin would be able to find his -way at all in the present great age. "I doubt," says Dr. Vischer, -"whether his delicate soul could have borne all the roughness which is -inseparable from war, and whether it had survived the amount of -perversity which, since the war, we now see flourishing in every -quarter. Perhaps he would have succumbed to despair. His was one of -the unarmed souls; he was the Werther of Greece, a hopeless lover; his -life was full of softness and yearning, but there was strength and -substance in his will, and in his style, greatness, riches and life; -here and there it is even reminiscent of Æschylus. His spirit, -however, lacked hardness. He lacked the weapon humour; he could not -grant that one may be a Philistine and still be no barbarian." Not the -sugary condolence of the post-prandial speaker, but this last sentence -concerns us. Yes, it is admitted that one is a Philistine; but, a -barbarian?--No, not at any price! Unfortunately, poor Hölderlin could -not make such fine distinctions. If one reads the reverse of -civilisation, or perhaps sea-pirating, or cannibalism, into the word -"barbarian," then the distinction is justifiable enough. But what the -æsthete obviously wishes to prove to us is, that we may be -Philistines and at the same time men of culture. Therein lies the -humour which poor Hölderlin lacked and the need of which ultimately -wrecked him.[2] - -[2] Nietzsche's allusion to Hölderlin here is full of tragic -significance; for, like Hölderlin, he too was ultimately wrecked and -driven insane by the Philistinism of his age.--Translator's note. - -On this occasion a second admission was made by the speaker: "It is -not always strength of will, but weakness, which makes us superior to -those tragic souls which are so passionately responsive to the -attractions of beauty," or words to this effect. And this was said in -the name of the assembled "We"; that is to say, the "superiors," the -"superiors through weakness." Let us content ourselves with these -admissions. We are now in possession of information concerning two -matters from one of the initiated: first, that these "We" stand beyond -the passion for beauty; secondly, that their position was reached by -means of weakness. In less confidential moments, however, it was just -this weakness which masqueraded in the guise of a much more beautiful -name: it was the famous "healthiness" of the Culture-Philistine. In -view of this very recent restatement of the case, however, it would be -as well not to speak of them any longer as the "healthy ones," but as -the "weakly," or, still better, as the "feeble." Oh, if only these -feeble ones were not in power! How is it that they concern themselves -at all about what we call them! They are the rulers, and he is a poor -ruler who cannot endure to be called by a nickname. Yes, if one only -have power, one soon learns to poke fun--even at oneself. It cannot -matter so very much, therefore, even if one do give oneself away; for -what could not the purple mantle of triumph conceal? The strength of -the Culture-Philistine steps into the broad light of day when he -acknowledges his weakness; and the more he acknowledges it--the more -cynically he acknowledges it--the more completely he betrays his -consciousness of his own importance and superiority. We are living in -a period of cynical Philistine confessions. Just as Friedrich Vischer -gave us his in a word, so has David Strauss handed us his in a book; -and both that word and that book are cynical. - - - -III. - - -Concerning Culture-Philistinism, David Strauss makes a double -confession, by word and by deed; that is to say, by the word of the -confessor, and the act of the writer. His book entitled _The Old Faith -and the New _is, first in regard to its contents, and secondly in -regard to its being a book and a literary production, an uninterrupted -confession; while, in the very fact that he allows himself to write -confessions at all about his faith, there already lies a confession. -Presumably, every one seems to have the right to compile an -autobiography after his fortieth year; for the humblest amongst us may -have experienced things, and may have seen them at such close -quarters, that the recording of them may prove of use and value to the -thinker. But to write a confession of one's faith cannot but be -regarded as a thousand times more pretentious, since it takes for -granted that the writer attaches worth, not only to the experiences -and investigations of his life, but also to his beliefs. Now, what the -nice thinker will require to know, above all else, is the kind of -faith which happens to be compatible with natures of the Straussian -order, and what it is they have "half dreamily conjured up" (p. 10) -concerning matters of which those alone have the right to speak who -are acquainted with them at first hand. Whoever would have desired to -possess the confessions, say, of a Ranke or a Mommsen? And these men -were scholars and historians of a very different stamp from David -Strauss. If, however, they had ever ventured to interest us in their -faith instead of in their scientific investigations, we should have -felt that they were overstepping their limits in a most irritating -fashion. Yet Strauss does this when he discusses his faith. Nobody -wants to know anything about it, save, perhaps, a few bigoted -opponents of the Straussian doctrines, who, suspecting, as they do, a -substratum of satanic principles beneath these doctrines, hope that he -may compromise his learned utterances by revealing the nature of those -principles. These clumsy creatures may, perhaps, have found what they -sought in the last book; but we, who had no occasion to suspect a -satanic substratum, discovered nothing of the sort, and would have -felt rather pleased than not had we been able to discern even a dash -of the diabolical in any part of the volume. But surely no evil spirit -could speak as Strauss speaks of his new faith. In fact, spirit in -general seems to be altogether foreign to the book--more particularly -the spirit of genius. Only those whom Strauss designates as his "We," -speak as he does, and then, when they expatiate upon their faith to -us, they bore us even more than when they relate their dreams; be they -"scholars, artists, military men, civil employés, merchants, or landed -proprietors; come they in their thousands, and not the worst people in -the land either!" If they do not wish to remain the peaceful ones in -town or county, but threaten to wax noisy, then let not the din of -their _unisono_ deceive us concerning the poverty and vulgarity of the -melody they sing. How can it dispose us more favourably towards a -profession of faith to hear that it is approved by a crowd, when it is -of such an order that if any individual of that crowd attempted to -make it known to us, we should not only fail to hear him out, but -should interrupt him with a yawn? If thou sharest such a belief, we -should say unto him, in Heaven's name, keep it to thyself! Maybe, in -the past, some few harmless types looked for the thinker in David -Strauss; now they have discovered the "believer" in him, and are -disappointed. Had he kept silent, he would have remained, for these, -at least, the philosopher; whereas, now, no one regards him as such. -He no longer craved the honours of the thinker, however; all he wanted -to be was a new believer, and he is proud of his new belief. In making -a written declaration of it, he fancied he was writing the catechism -of "modern thought," and building the "broad highway of the world's -future." Indeed, our Philistines have ceased to be faint-hearted and -bashful, and have acquired almost cynical assurance. There was a time, -long, long ago, when the Philistine was only tolerated as something -that did not speak, and about which no one spoke; then a period ensued -during which his roughness was smoothed, during which he was found -amusing, and people talked about him. Under this treatment he -gradually became a prig, rejoiced with all his heart over his rough -places and his wrongheaded and candid singularities, and began to -talk, on his own account, after the style of Riehl's music for the -home. - -"But what do I see? Is it a shadow? Is it reality? How long and broad -my poodle grows!" - -For now he is already rolling like a hippopotamus along "the broad -highway of the world's future," and his growling and barking have -become transformed into the proud incantations of a religious founder. -And is it your own sweet wish, Great Master, to found the religion of -the future? "The times seem to us not yet ripe (p. 7). It does not -occur to us to wish to destroy a church." But why not, Great Master? -One but needs the ability. Besides, to speak quite openly in the -latter, you yourself are convinced that you Possess this ability. Look -at the last page of your book. There you actually state, forsooth, -that your new way "alone is the future highway of the world, which now -only requires partial completion, and especially general use, in order -also to become easy and pleasant." - -Make no further denials, then. The religious founder is unmasked, the -convenient and agreeable highway leading to the Straussian Paradise is -built. It is only the coach in which you wish to convey us that does -not altogether satisfy you, unpretentious man that you are! You tell -us in your concluding remarks: "Nor will I pretend that the coach to -which my esteemed readers have been obliged to trust themselves with -me fulfils every requirement,... all through one is much jolted" (p. -438). Ah! you are casting about for a compliment, you gallant old -religious founder! But let us be straightforward with you. If your -reader so regulates the perusal of the 368 pages of your religious -catechism as to read only one page a day--that is to say, if he take -it in the smallest possible doses-then, perhaps, we should be able to -believe that he might suffer some evil effect from the book--if only -as the outcome of his vexation when the results he expected fail to -make themselves felt. Gulped down more heartily, however, and as much -as possible being taken at each draught, according to the prescription -to be recommended in the case of all modern books, the drink can work -no mischief; and, after taking it, the reader will not necessarily be -either out of sorts or out of temper, but rather merry and -well-disposed, as though nothing had happened; as though no religion -had been assailed, no world's highway been built, and no profession of -faith been made. And I do indeed call this a result! The doctor, the -drug, and the disease--everything forgotten! And the joyous laughter! -The continual provocation to hilarity! You are to be envied, Sir; for -you have founded the most attractive of all religions--one whose -followers do honour to its founder by laughing at him. - - - -IV. - - -The Philistine as founder of the religion of the future--that is the -new belief in its most emphatic form of expression. The Philistine -becomes a dreamer--that is the unheard-of occurrence which -distinguishes the German nation of to-day. But for the present, in any -case, let us maintain an attitude of caution towards this fantastic -exaltation. For does not David Strauss himself advise us to exercise -such caution, in the following profound passage, the general tone of -which leads us to think of the Founder of Christianity rather than of -our particular author? (p. 92): "We know there have been noble -enthusiasts--enthusiasts of genius; the influence of an enthusiast can -rouse, exalt, and produce prolonged historic effects; but we do not -wish to choose him as the guide of our life. He will be sure to -mislead us, if we do not subject his influence to the control of -reason." But we know something more: we know that there are -enthusiasts who are not intellectual, who do not rouse or exalt, and -who, nevertheless, not only expect to be the guides of our lives, but, -as such, to exercise a very lasting historical influence into the -bargain, and to rule the future;--all the more reason why we should -place their influence under the control of reason. Lichtenberg even -said: "There are enthusiasts quite devoid of ability, and these are -really dangerous people." In the first place, as regards the -above-mentioned control of reason, we should like to have candid -answers to the three following questions: First, how does the new -believer picture his heaven? Secondly, how far does the courage lent -him by the new faith extend? And, thirdly, how does he write his -books? Strauss the Confessor must answer the first and second -questions; Strauss the Writer must answer the third. - -The heaven of the new believer must, perforce, be a heaven upon earth; -for the Christian "prospect of an immortal life in heaven," together -with the other consolations, "must irretrievably vanish" for him who -has but "one foot" on the Straussian platform. The way in which a -religion represents its heaven is significant, and if it be true that -Christianity knows no other heavenly occupations than singing and -making music, the prospect of the Philistine, _à la_ Strauss, is truly -not a very comforting one. In the book of confessions, however, there -is a page which treats of Paradise (p. 342). Happiest of Philistines, -unroll this parchment scroll before anything else, and the whole of -heaven will seem to clamber down to thee! "We would but indicate how -we act, how we have acted these many years. Besides our -profession--for we are members of the most various professions, and by -no means exclusively consist of scholars or artists, but of military -men and civil employés, of merchants and landed proprietors;... and -again, as I have said already, there are not a few of us, but many -thousands, and not the worst people in the country;--besides our -profession, then, I say, we are eagerly accessible to all the higher -interests of humanity; we have taken a vivid interest, during late -years, and each after his manner has participated in the great -national war, and the reconstruction of the German State; and we have -been profoundly exalted by the turn events have taken, as unexpected -as glorious, for our much tried nation. To the end of forming just -conclusions in these things, we study history, which has now been made -easy, even to the unlearned, by a series of attractively and popularly -written works; at the same time, we endeavour to enlarge our knowledge -of the natural sciences, where also there is no lack of sources of -information; and lastly, in the writings of our great poets, in the -performances of our great musicians, we find a stimulus for the -intellect and heart, for wit and imagination, which leaves nothing to -be desired. Thus we live, and hold on our way in joy." - -"Here is our man!" cries the Philistine exultingly, who reads this: -"for this is exactly how we live; it is indeed our daily life."[3] -And how perfectly he understands the euphemism! When, for example, he -refers to the historical studies by means of which we help ourselves -in forming just conclusions regarding the political situation, what -can he be thinking of, if it be not our newspaper-reading? When he -speaks of the active part we take in the reconstruction of the German -State, he surely has only our daily visits to the beer-garden in his -mind; and is not a walk in the Zoological Gardens implied by 'the -sources of information through which we endeavour to enlarge our -knowledge of the natural sciences'? Finally, the theatres and -concert-halls are referred to as places from which we take home 'a -stimulus for wit and imagination which leaves nothing to be -desired.'--With what dignity and wit he describes even the most -suspicious of our doings! Here indeed is our man; for his heaven is -our heaven!" - -[3] This alludes to a German student-song. - -Thus cries the Philistine; and if we are not quite so satisfied as he, -it is merely owing to the fact that we wanted to know more. Scaliger -used to say: "What does it matter to us whether Montaigne drank red or -white wine?" But, in this more important case, how greatly ought we to -value definite particulars of this sort! If we could but learn how -many pipes the Philistine smokes daily, according to the prescriptions -of the new faith, and whether it is the _Spener_ or the _National Gazette_ -that appeals to him over his coffee! But our curiosity is not -satisfied. With regard to one point only do we receive more exhaustive -information, and fortunately this point relates to the heaven in -heaven--the private little art-rooms which will be consecrated to the -use of great poets and musicians, and to which the Philistine will go -to edify himself; in which, moreover, according to his own showing, he -will even get "all his stains removed and wiped away" (p. 433); so -that we are led to regard these private little art-rooms as a kind of -bath-rooms. "But this is only effected for some fleeting moments; it -happens and counts only in the realms of phantasy; as soon as we -return to rude reality, and the cramping confines of actual life, we -are again on all sides assailed by the old cares,"--thus our Master -sighs. Let us, however, avail ourselves of the fleeting moments during -which we remain in those little rooms; there is just sufficient time -to get a glimpse of the apotheosis of the Philistine--that is to say, -the Philistine whose stains have been removed and wiped away, and who -is now an absolutely pure sample of his type. In truth, the -opportunity we have here may prove instructive: let no one who happens -to have fallen a victim to the confession-book lay it aside before -having read the two appendices, "Of our Great Poets" and "Of our Great -Musicians." Here the rainbow of the new brotherhood is set, and he who -can find no pleasure in it "for such an one there is no help," as -Strauss says on another occasion; and, as he might well say here, "he -is not yet ripe for our point of view." For are we not in the heaven -of heavens? The enthusiastic explorer undertakes to lead us about, and -begs us to excuse him if, in the excess of his joy at all the beauties -to be seen, he should by any chance be tempted to talk too much. "If I -should, perhaps, become more garrulous than may seem warranted in this -place, let the reader be indulgent to me; for out of the abundance of -the heart the mouth speaketh. Let him only be assured that what he is -now about to read does not consist of older materials, which I take -the opportunity of inserting here, but that these remarks have been -written for their present place and purpose" (pp. 345-46). This -confession surprises us somewhat for the moment. What can it matter to -us whether or not the little chapters were freshly written? As if it -were a matter of writing! Between ourselves, I should have been glad -if they had been written a quarter of a century earlier; then, at -least, I should have understood why the thoughts seem to be so -bleached, and why they are so redolent of resuscitated antiquities. -But that a thing should have been written in 1872 and already smell of -decay in 1872 strikes me as suspicious. Let us imagine some one's -falling asleep while reading these chapters--what would he most -probably dream about? A friend answered this question for me, because -he happened to have had the experience himself. He dreamt of a -wax-work show. The classical writers stood there, elegantly -represented in wax and beads. Their arms and eyes moved, and a screw -inside them creaked an accompaniment to their movements. He saw -something gruesome among them--a misshapen figure, decked with tapes -and jaundiced paper, out of whose mouth a ticket hung, on which -"Lessing" was written. My friend went close up to it and learned the -worst: it was the Homeric Chimera; in front it was Strauss, behind it -was Gervinus, and in the middle Chimera. The _tout-ensemble_ was -Lessing. This discovery caused him to shriek with terror: he waked, -and read no more. In sooth, Great Master, why have you written such -fusty little chapters? - -We do, indeed, learn something new from them; for instance, that -Gervinus made it known to the world how and why Goethe was no dramatic -genius; that, in the second part of Faust, he had only produced a -world of phantoms and of symbols; that Wallenstein is a Macbeth as -well as a Hamlet; that the Straussian reader extracts the short -stories out of the _Wanderjahre_ "much as naughty children pick the -raisins and almonds out of a tough plum-cake"; that no complete effect -can be produced on the stage without the forcible element, and that -Schiller emerged from Kant as from a cold-water cure. All this is -certainly new and striking; but, even so, it does not strike us with -wonder, and so sure as it is new, it will never grow old, for it never -was young; it was senile at birth. What extraordinary ideas seem to -occur to these Blessed Ones, after the New Style, in their æsthetic -heaven! And why can they not manage to forget a few of them, more -particularly when they are of that unæsthetic, earthly, and ephemeral -order to which the scholarly thoughts of Gervinus belong, and when -they so obviously bear the stamp of puerility? But it almost seems as -though the modest greatness of a Strauss and the vain insignificance -of a Gervinus were only too well able to harmonise: then long live all -those Blessed Ones! may we, the rejected, also live long, if this -unchallenged judge of art continues any longer to teach his borrowed -enthusiasm, and the gallop of that hired steed of which the honest -Grillparzer speaks with such delightful clearness, until the whole of -heaven rings beneath the hoof of that galumphing enthusiasm. Then, at -least, things will be livelier and noisier than they are at the -present moment, in which the carpet-slippered rapture of our heavenly -leader and the lukewarm eloquence of his lips only succeed in the end -in making us sick and tired. I should like to know how a Hallelujah -sung by Strauss would sound: I believe one would have to listen very -carefully, lest it should seem no more than a courteous apology or a -lisped compliment. Apropos of this, I might adduce an instructive and -somewhat forbidding example. Strauss strongly resented the action of -one of his opponents who happened to refer to his reverence for -Lessing. The unfortunate man had misunderstood;--true, Strauss did -declare that one must be of a very obtuse mind not to recognise that -the simple words of paragraph 86 come from the writer's heart. Now, I -do not question this warmth in the very least; on the contrary, the -fact that Strauss fosters these feelings towards Lessing has always -excited my suspicion; I find the same warmth for Lessing raised almost -to heat in Gervinus--yea, on the whole, no great German writer is so -popular among little German writers as Lessing is; but for all that, -they deserve no thanks for their predilection; for what is it, in -sooth, that they praise in Lessing? At one moment it is his -catholicity--the fact that he was critic and poet, archæologist and -philosopher, dramatist and theologian. Anon, "it is the unity in him -of the writer and the man, of the head and the heart." The last -quality, as a rule, is just as characteristic of the great writer as -of the little one; as a rule, a narrow head agrees only too fatally -with a narrow heart. And as to the catholicity; this is no -distinction, more especially when, as in Lessing's case, it was a dire -necessity. What astonishes one in regard to Lessing-enthusiasts is -rather that they have no conception of the devouring necessity which -drove him on through life and to this catholicity; no feeling for the -fact that such a man is too prone to consume himself rapidly, like a -flame; nor any indignation at the thought that the vulgar narrowness -and pusillanimity of his whole environment, especially of his learned -contemporaries, so saddened, tormented, and stifled the tender and -ardent creature that he was, that the very universality for which he -is praised should give rise to feelings of the deepest compassion. -"Have pity on the exceptional man!" Goethe cries to us; "for it was -his lot to live in such a wretched age that his life was one long -polemical effort." How can ye, my worthy Philistines, think of Lessing -without shame? He who was ruined precisely on account of your -stupidity, while struggling with your ludicrous fetiches and idols, -with the defects of your theatres, scholars, and theologists, without -once daring to attempt that eternal flight for which he had been born. -And what are your feelings when ye think of Winckelman, who, in order -to turn his eyes from your grotesque puerilities, went begging to the -Jesuits for help, and whose ignominious conversion dishonours not him, -but you? Dare ye mention Schiller's name without blushing? Look at his -portrait. See the flashing eyes that glance contemptuously over your -heads, the deadly red cheek--do these things mean nothing to you? In -him ye had such a magnificent and divine toy that ye shattered it. -Suppose, for a moment, it had been possible to deprive this harassed -and hunted life of Goethe's friendship, ye would then have been -responsible for its still earlier end. Ye have had no finger in any one -of the life-works of your great geniuses, and yet ye would make a -dogma to the effect that no one is to be helped in the future. But for -every one of them, ye were "the resistance of the obtuse world," which -Goethe calls by its name in his epilogue to the Bell; for all of them -ye were the grumbling imbeciles, or the envious bigots, or the -malicious egoists: in spite of you each of them created his works, -against you each directed his attacks, and thanks to you each -prematurely sank, while his work was still unfinished, broken and -bewildered by the stress of the battle. And now ye presume that ye are -going to be permitted, tamquam re bene gesta, to praise such men! and -with words which leave no one in any doubt as to whom ye have in your -minds when ye utter your encomiums, which therefore "spring forth with -such hearty warmth" that one must be blind not to see to whom ye are -really bowing. Even Goethe in his day had to cry: "Upon my honour, we -are in need of a Lessing, and woe unto all vain masters and to the -whole æsthetic kingdom of heaven, when the young tiger, whose -restless strength will be visible in his every distended muscle and -his every glance, shall sally forth to seek his prey!" - - - -V. - - -How clever it was of my friend to read no further, once he had been -enlightened (thanks to that chimerical vision) concerning the -Straussian Lessing and Strauss himself. We, however, read on further, -and even craved admission of the Doorkeeper of the New Faith to the -sanctum of music. The Master threw the door open for us, accompanied -us, and began quoting certain names, until, at last, overcome with -mistrust, we stood still and looked at him. Was it possible that we -were the victims of the same hallucination as that to which our friend -had been subjected in his dream? The musicians to whom Strauss -referred seemed to us to be wrongly designated as long as he spoke -about them, and we began to think that the talk must certainly be -about somebody else, even admitting that it did not relate to -incongruous phantoms. When, for instance, he mentioned Haydn with that -same warmth which made us so suspicious when he praised Lessing, and -when he posed as the epopt and priest of a mysterious Haydn cult; -when, in a discussion upon quartette-music, if you please, he even -likened Haydn to a "good unpretending soup" and Beethoven to -"sweetmeats" (p. 432); then, to our minds, one thing, and one thing -alone, became certain--namely, that his Sweetmeat-Beethoven is not our -Beethoven, and his Soup-Haydn is not our Haydn. The Master was -moreover of the opinion that our orchestra is too good to perform -Haydn, and that only the most unpretentious amateurs can do justice to -that music--a further proof that he was referring to some other artist -and some other work, possibly to Riehl's music for the home. - -But whoever can this Sweetmeat-Beethoven of Strauss's be? He is said -to have composed nine symphonies, of which the Pastoral is "the least -remarkable"; we are told that "each time in composing the third, he -seemed impelled to exceed his bounds, and depart on an adventurous -quest," from which we might infer that we are here concerned with a -sort of double monster, half horse and half cavalier. With regard to a -certain _Eroica_, this Centaur is very hard pressed, because he did not -succeed in making it clear "whether it is a question of a conflict on -the open field or in the deep heart of man." In the Pastoral there is -said to be "a furiously raging storm," for which it is "almost too -insignificant" to interrupt a dance of country-folk, and which, owing -to "its arbitrary connection with a trivial motive," as Strauss so -adroitly and correctly puts it, renders this symphony "the least -remarkable." A more drastic expression appears to have occurred to the -Master; but he prefers to speak here, as he says, "with becoming -modesty." But no, for once our Master is wrong; in this case he is -really a little too modest. Who, indeed, will enlighten us concerning -this Sweetmeat-Beethoven, if not Strauss himself--the only person who -seems to know anything about him? But, immediately below, a strong -judgment is uttered with becoming non-modesty, and precisely in regard -to the Ninth Symphony. It is said, for instance, that this symphony -"is naturally the favourite of a prevalent taste, which in art, and -music especially, mistakes the grotesque for the genial, and the -formless for the sublime" (p. 428). It is true that a critic as severe -as Gervinus was gave this work a hearty welcome, because it happened -to confirm one of his doctrines; but Strauss is "far from going to -these problematic productions" in search of the merits of his -Beethoven. "It is a pity," cries our Master, with a convulsive sigh, -"that one is compelled, by such reservations, to mar one's enjoyment -of Beethoven, as well as the admiration gladly accorded to him." For -our Master is a favourite of the Graces, and these have informed him -that they only accompanied Beethoven part of the way, and that he then -lost sight of them. "This is a defect," he cries, "but can you believe -that it may also appear as an advantage?" "He who is painfully and -breathlessly rolling the musical idea along will seem to be moving the -weightier one, and thus appear to be the stronger" (pp. 423-24). This -is a confession, and not necessarily one concerning Beethoven alone, -but concerning "the classical prose-writer" himself. He, the -celebrated author, is not abandoned by the Graces. From the play of -airy jests--that is to say, Straussian jests--to the heights of -solemn earnestness--that is to say, Straussian earnestness--they -remain stolidly at his elbow. He, the classical prose-writer, slides -his burden along playfully and with a light heart, whereas Beethoven -rolls his painfully and breathlessly. He seems merely to dandle his -load; this is indeed an advantage. But would anybody believe that it -might equally be a sign of something wanting? In any case, only those -could believe this who mistake the grotesque for the genial, and the -formless for the sublime--is not that so, you dandling favourite of -the Graces? We envy no one the edifying moments he may have, either in -the stillness of his little private room or in a new heaven specially -fitted out for him; but of all possible pleasures of this order, that -of Strauss's is surely one of the most wonderful, for he is even -edified by a little holocaust. He calmly throws the sublimest works of -the German nation into the flames, in order to cense his idols with -their smoke. Suppose, for a moment, that by some accident, the Eroica, -the Pastoral, and the Ninth Symphony had fallen into the hands of our -priest of the Graces, and that it had been in his power to suppress -such problematic productions, in order to keep the image of the Master -pure, who doubts but what he would have burned them? And it is -precisely in this way that the Strausses of our time demean -themselves: they only wish to know so much of an artist as is -compatible with the service of their rooms; they know only the -extremes--censing or burning. To all this they are heartily welcome; -the one surprising feature of the whole case is that public opinion, -in matters artistic, should be so feeble, vacillating, and corruptible -as contentedly to allow these exhibitions of indigent Philistinism to -go by without raising an objection; yea, that it does not even possess -sufficient sense of humour to feel tickled at the sight of an -unæsthetic little master's sitting in judgment upon Beethoven. As to -Mozart, what Aristotle says of Plato ought really to be applied here: -"Insignificant people ought not to be permitted even to praise him." -In this respect, however, all shame has vanished--from the public as -well as from the Master's mind: he is allowed, not merely to cross -himself before the greatest and purest creations of German genius, as -though he had perceived something godless and immoral in them, but -people actually rejoice over his candid confessions and admission of -sins--more particularly as he makes no mention of his own, but only of -those which great men are said to have committed. Oh, if only our -Master be in the right! his readers sometimes think, when attacked by -a paroxysm of doubt; he himself, however, stands there, smiling and -convinced, perorating, condemning, blessing, raising his hat to -himself, and is at any minute capable of saying what the Duchesse -Delaforte said to Madame de Staël, to wit: "My dear, I must confess -that I find no one but myself invariably right." - - - -VI. - - -A corpse is a pleasant thought for a worm, and a worm is a dreadful -thought for every living creature. Worms fancy their kingdom of heaven -in a fat body; professors of philosophy seek theirs in rummaging among -Schopenhauer's entrails, and as long as rodents exist, there will -exist a heaven for rodents. In this, we have the answer to our first -question: How does the believer in the new faith picture his heaven? -The Straussian Philistine harbours in the works of our great poets and -musicians like a parasitic worm whose life is destruction, whose -admiration is devouring, and whose worship is digesting. - -Now, however, our second question must be answered: How far does the -courage lent to its adherents by this new faith extend? Even this -question would already have been answered, if courage and -pretentiousness had been one; for then Strauss would not be lacking -even in the just and veritable courage of a Mameluke. At all events, -the "becoming modesty" of which Strauss speaks in the above-mentioned -passage, where he is referring to Beethoven, can only be a stylistic -and not a moral manner of speech. Strauss has his full share of the -temerity to which every successful hero assumes the right: all flowers -grow only for him--the conqueror; and he praises the sun because it -shines in at his window just at the right time. He does not even spare -the venerable old universe in his eulogies--as though it were only now -and henceforward sufficiently sanctified by praise to revolve around -the central monad David Strauss. The universe, he is happy to inform -us, is, it is true, a machine with jagged iron wheels, stamping and -hammering ponderously, but: "We do not only find the revolution of -pitiless wheels in our world-machine, but also the shedding of -soothing oil" (p. 435). The universe, provided it submit to Strauss's -encomiums, is not likely to overflow with gratitude towards this -master of weird metaphors, who was unable to discover better similes -in its praise. But what is the oil called which trickles down upon the -hammers and stampers? And how would it console a workman who chanced -to get one of his limbs caught in the mechanism to know that this oil -was trickling over him? Passing over this simile as bad, let us turn -our attention to another of Strauss's artifices, whereby he tries to -ascertain how he feels disposed towards the universe; this question of -Marguerite's, "He loves me--loves me not--loves me?" hanging on his -lips the while. Now, although Strauss is not telling flower-petals or -the buttons on his waistcoat, still what he does is not less harmless, -despite the fact that it needs perhaps a little more courage. Strauss -wishes to make certain whether his feeling for the "All" is either -paralysed or withered, and he pricks himself; for he knows that one -can prick a limb that is either paralysed or withered without causing -any pain. As a matter of fact, he does not really prick himself, but -selects another more violent method, which he describes thus: "We open -Schopenhauer, who takes every occasion of slapping our idea in the -face" (p. 167). Now, as an idea--even that of Strauss's concerning the -universe--has no face, if there be any face in the question at all it -must be that of the idealist, and the procedure may be subdivided into -the following separate actions:--Strauss, in any case, throws -Schopenhauer open, whereupon the latter slaps Strauss in the face. -Strauss then reacts religiously; that is to say, he again begins to -belabour Schopenhauer, to abuse him, to speak of absurdities, -blasphemies, dissipations, and even to allege that Schopenhauer could -not have been in his right senses. Result of the dispute: "We demand -the same piety for our Cosmos that the devout of old demanded for his -God"; or, briefly, "He loves me." Our favourite of the Graces makes -his life a hard one, but he is as brave as a Mameluke, and fears -neither the Devil nor Schopenhauer. How much "soothing oil" must he -use if such incidents are of frequent occurrence! - -On the other hand, we readily understand Strauss's gratitude to this -tickling, pricking, and slapping Schopenhauer; hence we are not so -very much surprised when we find him expressing himself in the -following kind way about him: "We need only turn over the leaves of -Arthur Schopenhauer's works (although we shall on many other accounts -do well not only to glance over but to study them), etc." (p. 166). -Now, to whom does this captain of Philistines address these words? To -him who has clearly never even studied Schopenhauer, the latter might -well have retorted, "This is an author who does not even deserve to be -scanned, much less to be studied." Obviously, he gulped Schopenhauer -down "the wrong way," and this hoarse coughing is merely his attempt -to clear his throat. But, in order to fill the measure of his -ingenuous encomiums, Strauss even arrogates to himself the right of -commending old Kant: he speaks of the latter's _General History of the -Heavens of the Year 1755_ as of "a work which has always appeared to me -not less important than his later _Critique of Pure Reason_. If in the -latter we admire the depth of insight, the breadth of observation -strikes us in the former. If in the latter we can trace the old man's -anxiety to secure even a limited possession of knowledge--so it be but -on a firm basis--in the former we encounter the mature man, full of -the daring of the discoverer and conqueror in the realm of thought." -This judgment of Strauss's concerning Kant did not strike me as being -more modest than the one concerning Schopenhauer. In the one case, we -have the little captain, who is above all anxious to express even the -most insignificant opinion with certainty, and in the other we have -the famous prose-writer, who, with all the courage of ignorance, -exudes his eulogistic secretions over Kant. It is almost incredible -that Strauss availed himself of nothing in Kant's _Critique of Pure -Reason _while compiling his Testament of modern ideas, and that he knew -only how to appeal to the coarsest realistic taste must also be -numbered among the more striking characteristics of this new gospel, -the which professes to be but the result of the laborious and -continuous study of history and science, and therefore tacitly -repudiates all connection with philosophy. For the Philistine captain -and his "We," Kantian philosophy does not exist. He does not dream of -the fundamental antinomy of idealism and of the highly relative sense -of all science and reason. And it is precisely reason that ought to -tell him how little it is possible to know of things in themselves. It -is true, however, that people of a certain age cannot possibly -understand Kant, especially when, in their youth, they understood or -fancied they understood that "gigantic mind," Hegel, as Strauss did; -and had moreover concerned themselves with Schleiermacher, who, -according to Strauss, "was gifted with perhaps too much acumen." It -will sound odd to our author when I tell him that, even now, he stands -absolutely dependent upon Hegel and Schleiermacher, and that his -teaching of the Cosmos, his way of regarding things _sub specie -biennii_, his salaams to the state of affairs now existing in Germany, -and, above all, his shameless Philistine optimism, can only be -explained by an appeal to certain impressions of youth, early habits, -and disorders; for he who has once sickened on Hegel and -Schleiermacher never completely recovers. - -There is one passage in the confession-book where the incurable -optimism referred to above bursts forth with the full joyousness of -holiday spirits (pp. 166-67). "If the universe is a thing which had -better not have existed," says Strauss, "then surely the speculation -of the philosopher, as forming part of this universe, is a speculation -which had better not have speculated. The pessimist philosopher fails -to perceive that he, above all, declares his own thought, which -declares the world to be bad, as bad also; but if the thought which -declares the world to be bad is a bad thought, then it follows -naturally that the world is good. As a rule, optimism may take things -too easily. Schopenhauer's references to the colossal part which -sorrow and evil play in the world are quite in their right place as a -counterpoise; but every true philosophy is necessarily optimistic, as -otherwise she hews down the branch on which she herself is sitting." -If this refutation of Schopenhauer is not the same as that to which -Strauss refers somewhere else as "the refutation loudly and jubilantly -acclaimed in higher spheres," then I quite fail to understand the -dramatic phraseology used by him elsewhere to strike an opponent. Here -optimism has for once intentionally simplified her task. But the -master-stroke lay in thus pretending that the refutation of -Schopenhauer was not such a very difficult task after all, and in -playfully wielding the burden in such a manner that the three Graces -attendant on the dandling optimist might constantly be delighted by -his methods. The whole purpose of the deed was to demonstrate this one -truth, that it is quite unnecessary to take a pessimist seriously; the -most vapid sophisms become justified, provided they show that, in -regard to a philosophy as "unhealthy and unprofitable" as -Schopenhauer's, not proofs but quips and sallies alone are suitable. -While perusing such passages, the reader will grasp the full meaning -of Schopenhauer's solemn utterance to the effect that, where optimism -is not merely the idle prattle of those beneath whose flat brows words -and only words are stored, it seemed to him not merely an absurd _but a -vicious attitude of mind_, and one full of scornful irony towards the -indescribable sufferings of humanity. When a philosopher like Strauss -is able to frame it into a system, it becomes more than a vicious -attitude of mind--it is then an imbecile gospel of comfort for the "I" -or for the "We," and can only provoke indignation. - -Who could read the following psychological avowal, for instance, -without indignation, seeing that it is obviously but an offshoot from -this vicious gospel of comfort?--"Beethoven remarked that he could -never have composed a text like Figaro or Don Juan. _Life had not been -so profuse of its snubs to him that he could treat it so gaily, or -deal so lightly with the foibles of men_" (p. 430). In order, however, -to adduce the most striking instance of this dissolute vulgarity of -sentiment, let it suffice, here, to observe that Strauss knows no -other means of accounting for the terribly serious negative instinct -and the movement of ascetic sanctification which characterised the -first century of the Christian era, than by supposing the existence of -a previous period of surfeit in the matter of all kinds of sexual -indulgence, which of itself brought about a state of revulsion and -disgust. - - - "The Persians call it _bidamag buden_, - Germans say '_Katzenjammer_.'"[4] - - -[4] Remorse for the previous night's excesses.--Translator's note. - -Strauss quotes this himself, and is not ashamed. As for us, we turn -aside for a moment, that we may overcome our loathing. - - - -VII. - - -As a matter of fact, our Philistine captain is brave, even audacious, -in words; particularly when he hopes by such bravery to delight his -noble colleagues--the "We," as he calls them. So the asceticism and -self-denial of the ancient anchorite and saint was merely a form of -_Katzenjammer_? Jesus may be described as an enthusiast who nowadays -would scarcely have escaped the madhouse, and the story of the -Resurrection may be termed a "world-wide deception." For once we will -allow these views to pass without raising any objection, seeing that -they may help us to gauge the amount of courage which our "classical -Philistine" Strauss is capable of. Let us first hear his confession: -"It is certainly an unpleasant and a thankless task to tell the world -those truths which it is least desirous of hearing. It prefers, in -fact, to manage its affairs on a profuse scale, receiving and spending -after the magnificent fashion of the great, as long as there is -anything left; should any person, however, add up the various items of -its liabilities, and anxiously call its attention to the sum-total, he -is certain to be regarded as an importunate meddler. And yet this has -always been the bent of my moral and intellectual nature." A moral and -intellectual nature of this sort might possibly be regarded as -courageous; but what still remains to be proved is, whether this -courage is natural and inborn, or whether it is not rather acquired -and artificial. Perhaps Strauss only accustomed himself by degrees to -the rôle of an importunate meddler, until he gradually acquired the -courage of his calling. Innate cowardice, which is the Philistine's -birthright, would not be incompatible with this mode of development, -and it is precisely this cowardice which is perceptible in the want of -logic of those sentences of Strauss's which it needed courage to -pronounce. They sound like thunder, but they do not clear the air. No -aggressive action is performed: aggressive words alone are used, and -these he selects from among the most insulting he can find. He -moreover exhausts all his accumulated strength and energy in coarse -and noisy expression, and when once his utterances have died away he -is more of a coward even than he who has always held his tongue. The -very shadow of his deeds--his morality--shows us that he is a -word-hero, and that he avoids everything which might induce him to -transfer his energies from mere verbosity to really serious things. -With admirable frankness, he announces that he is no longer a -Christian, but disclaims all idea of wishing to disturb the -contentment of any one: he seems to recognise a contradiction in the -notion of abolishing one society by instituting another--whereas there -is nothing contradictory in it at all. With a certain rude -self-satisfaction, he swathes himself in the hirsute garment of our -Simian genealogists, and extols Darwin as one of mankind's greatest -benefactors; but our perplexity is great when we find him constructing -his ethics quite independently of the question, "What is our -conception of the universe?" In this department he had an opportunity -of exhibiting native pluck; for he ought to have turned his back on -his "We," and have established a moral code for life out of _bellum -omnium contra omnes_ and the privileges of the strong. But it is to be -feared that such a code could only have emanated from a bold spirit -like that of Hobbes', and must have taken its root in a love of truth -quite different from that which was only able to vent itself in -explosive outbursts against parsons, miracles, and the "world-wide -humbug" of the Resurrection. For, whereas the Philistine remained on -Strauss's side in regard to these explosive outbursts, he would have -been against him had he been confronted with a genuine and seriously -constructed ethical system, based upon Darwin's teaching. - -Says Strauss: "I should say that all moral action arises from the -individual's acting in consonance with the idea of kind" (p. 274). Put -quite clearly and comprehensively, this means: "Live as a man, and not -as an ape or a seal." Unfortunately, this imperative is both useless -and feeble; for in the class _Man_ what a multitude of different types -are included--to mention only the Patagonian and the Master, Strauss; -and no one would ever dare to say with any right, "Live like a -Patagonian," and "Live like the Master Strauss"! Should any one, -however, make it his rule to live like a genius--that is to say, like -the ideal type of the genus Man--and should he perchance at the same -time be either a Patagonian or Strauss himself, what should we then -not have to suffer from the importunities of genius-mad eccentrics -(concerning whose mushroom growth in Germany even Lichtenberg had -already spoken), who with savage cries would compel us to listen to -the confession of their most recent belief! Strauss has not yet -learned that no "idea" can ever make man better or more moral, and -that the preaching of a morality is as easy as the establishment of it -is difficult. His business ought rather to have been, to take the -phenomena of human goodness, such--for instance--as pity, love, and -self-abnegation, which are already to hand, and seriously to explain -them and show their relation to his Darwinian first principle. But no; -he preferred to soar into the imperative, and thus escape the task of -explaining. But even in his flight he was irresponsible enough to soar -beyond the very first principles of which we speak. - -"Ever remember," says Strauss, "that thou art human, not merely a -natural production; ever remember that all others are human also, and, -with all individual differences, the same as thou, having the same -needs and claims as thyself: this is the sum and the substance of -morality" (p. 277). But where does this imperative hail from? How can -it be intuitive in man, seeing that, according to Darwin, man is -indeed a creature of nature, and that his ascent to his present stage -of development has been conditioned by quite different laws--by the -very fact that he was continually forgetting that others were -constituted like him and shared the same rights with him; by the very -fact that he regarded himself as the stronger, and thus brought about -the gradual suppression of weaker types. Though Strauss is bound to -admit that no two creatures have ever been quite alike, and that the -ascent of man from the lowest species of animals to the exalted height -of the Culture-Philistine depended upon the law of individual -distinctness, he still sees no difficulty in declaring exactly the -reverse in his law: "Behave thyself as though there were no such -things as individual distinctions." Where is the Strauss-Darwin -morality here? Whither, above all, has the courage gone? - -In the very next paragraph we find further evidence tending to show us -the point at which this courage veers round to its opposite; for -Strauss continues: "Ever remember that thou, and all that thou -beholdest within and around thee, all that befalls thee and others, is -no disjointed fragment, no wild chaos of atoms or casualties, but -that, following eternal law, it springs from the one primal source of -all life, all reason, and all good: this is the essence of religion" -(pp. 277-78). Out of that "one primal source," however, all ruin and -irrationality, all evil flows as well, and its name, according to -Strauss, is Cosmos. - -Now, how can this Cosmos, with all the contradictions and the -self-annihilating characteristics which Strauss gives it, be worthy of -religious veneration and be addressed by the name "God," as Strauss -addresses it?--"Our God does not, indeed, take us into His arms from -the outside (here one expects, as an antithesis, a somewhat miraculous -process of being "taken into His arms from the inside"), but He -unseals the well-springs of consolation within our own bosoms. He -shows us that although Chance would be an unreasonable ruler, yet -necessity, or the enchainment of causes in the world, is Reason -itself." (A misapprehension of which only the "We" can fail to -perceive the folly; because they were brought up in the Hegelian -worship of Reality as the Reasonable--that is to say, in the -canonisation of success.) "He teaches us to perceive that to demand an -exception in the accomplishment of a single natural law would be to -demand the destruction of the universe" (pp. 435-36). On the contrary, -Great Master: an honest natural scientist believes in the -unconditional rule of natural laws in the world, without, however, -taking up any position in regard to the ethical or intellectual value -of these laws. Wherever neutrality is abandoned in this respect, it is -owing to an anthropomorphic attitude of mind which allows reason to -exceed its proper bounds. But it is just at the point where the -natural scientist resigns that Strauss, to put it in his own words, -"reacts religiously," and leaves the scientific and scholarly -standpoint in order to proceed along less honest lines of his own. -Without any further warrant, he assumes that all that has happened -possesses the highest intellectual value; that it was therefore -absolutely reasonably and intentionally so arranged, and that it even -contained a revelation of eternal goodness. He therefore has to appeal -to a complete cosmodicy, and finds himself at a disadvantage in regard -to him who is contented with a theodicy, and who, for instance, -regards the whole of man's existence as a punishment for sin or a -process of purification. At this stage, and in this embarrassing -position, Strauss even suggests a metaphysical hypothesis--the driest -and most palsied ever conceived--and, in reality, but an unconscious -parody of one of Lessing's sayings. We read on page 255: "And that -other saying of Lessing's--'If God, holding truth in His right hand, -and in His left only the ever-living desire for it, although on -condition of perpetual error, left him the choice of the two, he -would, considering that truth belongs to God alone, humbly seize His -left hand, and beg its contents for Himself'--this saying of -Lessing's has always been accounted one of the most magnificent which -he has left us. It has been found to contain the general expression of -his restless love of inquiry and activity. The saying has always made -a special impression upon me; because, behind its subjective meaning, -I still seemed to hear the faint ring of an objective one of infinite -import. For does it not contain the best possible answer to the rude -speech of Schopenhauer, respecting the ill-advised God who had nothing -better to do than to transform Himself into this miserable world? if, -for example, the Creator Himself had shared Lessing's conviction of -the superiority of struggle to tranquil possession?" What!--a God who -would choose _perpetual error_, together with a striving after truth, -and who would, perhaps, fall humbly at Strauss's feet and cry to -him, "Take thou all Truth, it is thine!"? If ever a God and a man were -ill-advised, they are this Straussian God, whose hobby is to err and -to fail, and this Straussian man, who must atone for this erring and -failing. Here, indeed, one hears "a faint ring of infinite import"; -here flows Strauss's cosmic soothing oil; here one has a notion of the -_rationale_ of all becoming and all natural laws. Really? Is not our -universe rather the work of an inferior being, as Lichtenberg -suggests?--of an inferior being who did not quite understand his -business; therefore an experiment, an attempt, upon which work is -still proceeding? Strauss himself, then, would be compelled to admit -that our universe is by no means the theatre of reason, but of error, -and that no conformity to law can contain anything consoling, since -all laws have been promulgated by an erratic God who even finds -pleasure in blundering. It really is a most amusing spectacle to watch -Strauss as a metaphysical architect, building castles in the air. But -for whose benefit is this entertainment given? For the smug and noble -"We," that they may not lose conceit with themselves: they may -possibly have taken sudden fright, in the midst of the inflexible and -pitiless wheel-works of the world-machine, and are tremulously -imploring their leader to come to their aid. That is why Strauss pours -forth the "soothing oil," that is why he leads forth on a leash a God -whose passion it is to err; it is for the same reason, too, that he -assumes for once the utterly unsuitable rôle of a metaphysical -architect. He does all this, because the noble souls already referred -to are frightened, and because he is too. And it is here that we reach -the limit of his courage, even in the presence of his "We." He does -not dare to be honest, and to tell them, for instance: "I have -liberated you from a helping and pitiful God: the Cosmos is no more -than an inflexible machine; beware of its wheels, that they do not -crush you." He dare not do this. Consequently, he must enlist the help -of a witch, and he turns to metaphysics. To the Philistine, however, -even Strauss's metaphysics is preferable to Christianity's, and the -notion of an erratic God more congenial than that of one who works -miracles. For the Philistine himself errs, but has never yet performed -a miracle. Hence his hatred of the genius; for the latter is justly -famous for the working of miracles. It is therefore highly instructive -to ascertain why Strauss, in one passage alone, suddenly takes up the -cudgels for genius and the aristocracy of intellect in general. -Whatever does he do it for? He does it out of fear--fear of the social -democrat. He refers to Bismarck and Moltke, "whose greatness is the -less open to controversy as it manifests itself in the domain of -tangible external facts. No help for it, therefore; even the most -stiff-necked and obdurate of these fellows must condescend to look up -a little, if only to get a sight, be it no farther than the knees, of -those august figures" (p. 327). Do you, Master Metaphysician, perhaps -intend to instruct the social democrats in the art of getting kicks? -The willingness to bestow them may be met with everywhere, and you are -perfectly justified in promising to those who happen to be kicked a -sight of those sublime beings as far as the knee. "Also in the domain -of art and science," Strauss continues, "there will never be a dearth -of kings whose architectural undertakings will find employment for a -multitude of carters." Granted; but what if the carters should begin -building? It does happen at times, Great Master, as you know, and then -the kings must grin and bear it. - -As a matter of fact, this union of impudence and weakness, of daring -words and cowardly concessions, this cautious deliberation as to which -sentences will or will not impress the Philistine or smooth him down -the right way, this lack of character and power masquerading as -character and power, this meagre wisdom in the guise of -omniscience,--these are the features in this book which I detest. If I -could conceive of young men having patience to read it and to value -it, I should sorrowfully renounce all hope for their future. And is -this confession of wretched, hopeless, and really despicable -Philistinism supposed to be the expression of the thousands -constituting the "We" of whom Strauss speaks, and who are to be the -fathers of the coming generation? Unto him who would fain help this -coming generation to acquire what the present one does not yet -possess, namely, a genuine German culture, the prospect is a horrible -one. To such a man, the ground seems strewn with ashes, and all stars -are obscured; while every withered tree and field laid waste seems to -cry to him: Barren! Forsaken! Springtime is no longer possible here! -He must feel as young Goethe felt when he first peered into the -melancholy atheistic twilight of the _Système de la Nature_; to him this -book seemed so grey, so Cimmerian and deadly, that he could only -endure its presence with difficulty, and shuddered at it as one -shudders at a spectre. - - - -VIII. - - -We ought now to be sufficiently informed concerning the heaven and the -courage of our new believer to be able to turn to the last question: -How does he write his books? and of what order are his religious -documents? - -He who can answer this question uprightly and without prejudice will -be confronted by yet another serious problem, and that is: How this -Straussian pocket-oracle of the German Philistine was able to pass -through six editions? And he will grow more than ever suspicious when -he hears that it was actually welcomed as a pocket-oracle, not only in -scholastic circles, but even in German universities as well. Students -are said to have greeted it as a canon for strong intellects, and, -from all accounts, the professors raised no objections to this view; -while here and there people have declared it to be a _religions book -for scholars_. Strauss himself gave out that he did not intend his -profession of faith to be merely a reference-book for learned and -cultured people; but here let us abide by the fact that it was first -and foremost a work appealing to his colleagues, and was ostensibly a -mirror in which they were to see their own way of living faithfully -reflected. For therein lay the feat. The Master feigned to have -presented us with a new ideal conception of the universe, and now -adulation is being paid him out of every mouth; because each is in a -position to suppose that he too regards the universe and life in the -same way. Thus Strauss has seen fulfilled in each of his readers what -he only demanded of the future. In this way, the extraordinary success -of his book is partly explained: "Thus we live and hold on our way in -joy," the scholar cries in his book, and delights to see others -rejoicing over the announcement. If the reader happen to think -differently from the Master in regard to Darwin or to capital -punishment, it is of very little consequence; for he is too conscious -throughout of breathing an atmosphere that is familiar to him, and of -hearing but the echoes of his own voice and wants. However painfully -this unanimity may strike the true friend of German culture, it is his -duty to be unrelenting in his explanation of it as a phenomenon, and -not to shrink from making this explanation public. - -We all know the peculiar methods adopted in our own time of -cultivating the sciences: we all know them, because they form a part -of our lives. And, for this very reason, scarcely anybody seems to ask -himself what the result of such a cultivation of the sciences will -mean to culture in general, even supposing that everywhere the highest -abilities and the most earnest will be available for the promotion of -culture. In the heart of the average scientific type (quite -irrespective of the examples thereof with which we meet to-day) there -lies a pure paradox: he behaves like the veriest idler of independent -means, to whom life is not a dreadful and serious business, but a -sound piece of property, settled upon him for all eternity; and it -seems to him justifiable to spend his whole life in answering -questions which, after all is said and done, can only be of interest -to that person who believes in eternal life as an absolute certainty. -The heir of but a few hours, he sees himself encompassed by yawning -abysses, terrible to behold; and every step he takes should recall the -questions, Wherefore? Whither? and Whence? to his mind. But his soul -rather warms to his work, and, be this the counting of a floweret's -petals or the breaking of stones by the roadside, he spends his whole -fund of interest, pleasure, strength, and aspirations upon it. This -paradox--the scientific man--has lately dashed ahead at such a frantic -speed in Germany, that one would almost think the scientific world -were a factory, in which every minute wasted meant a fine. To-day the -man of science works as arduously as the fourth or slave caste: his -study has ceased to be an occupation, it is a necessity; he looks -neither to the right nor to the left, but rushes through all -things--even through the serious matters which life bears in its -train--with that semi-listlessness and repulsive need of rest so -characteristic of the exhausted labourer. _This is also his attitude -towards culture_. He behaves as if life to him were not only _otium_ but -_sine dignitate_: even in his sleep he does not throw off the yoke, but -like an emancipated slave still dreams of his misery, his forced haste -and his floggings. Our scholars can scarcely be distinguished--and, -even then, not to their advantage--from agricultural labourers, who in -order to increase a small patrimony, assiduously strive, day and -night, to cultivate their fields, drive their ploughs, and urge on -their oxen. Now, Pascal suggests that men only endeavour to work hard -at their business and sciences with the view of escaping those -questions of greatest import which every moment of loneliness or -leisure presses upon them--the questions relating to the _wherefore_, -the _whence_, and the _whither_ of life. Curiously enough, our scholars -never think of the most vital question of all--the wherefore of their -work, their haste, and their painful ecstasies. Surely their object is -not the earning of bread or the acquiring of posts of honour? No, -certainly not. But ye take as much pains as the famishing and -breadless; and, with that eagerness and lack of discernment which -characterises the starving, ye even snatch the dishes from the -sideboard of science. If, however, as scientific men, ye proceed with -science as the labourers with the tasks which the exigencies of life -impose upon them, what will become of a culture which must await the -hour of its birth and its salvation in the very midst of all this -agitated and breathless running to and fro--this sprawling -scientifically? - -For _it_ no one has time--and yet for what shall science have time if -not for culture? Answer us here, then, at least: whence, whither, -wherefore all science, if it do not lead to culture? Belike to -barbarity? And in this direction we already see the scholar caste -ominously advanced, if we are to believe that such superficial books -as this one of Strauss's meet the demand of their present degree of -culture. For precisely in him do we find that repulsive need of rest -and that incidental semi-listless attention to, and coming to terms -with, philosophy, culture, and every serious thing on earth. It will -be remembered that, at the meetings held by scholars, as soon as each -individual has had his say in his own particular department of -knowledge, signs of fatigue, of a desire for distraction at any price, -of waning memory, and of incoherent experiences of life, begin to be -noticeable. While listening to Strauss discussing any worldly -question, be it marriage, the war, or capital punishment, we are -startled by his complete lack of anything like first-hand experience, -or of any original thought on human nature. All his judgments are so -redolent of books, yea even of newspapers. Literary reminiscences do -duty for genuine ideas and views, and the assumption of a moderate and -grandfatherly tone take the place of wisdom and mature thought. How -perfectly in keeping all this is with the fulsome spirit animating the -holders of the highest places in German science in large cities! How -thoroughly this spirit must appeal to that other! for it is precisely -in those quarters that culture is in the saddest plight; it is -precisely there that its fresh growth is made impossible--so -boisterous are the preparations made by science, so sheepishly are -favourite subjects of knowledge allowed to oust questions of much -greater import. What kind of lantern would be needed here, in order to -find men capable of a complete surrender to genius, and of an intimate -knowledge of its depths--men possessed of sufficient courage and -strength to exorcise the demons that have forsaken our age? Viewed -from the outside, such quarters certainly do appear to possess the -whole pomp of culture; with their imposing apparatus they resemble -great arsenals fitted with huge guns and other machinery of war; we -see preparations in progress and the most strenuous activity, as -though the heavens themselves were to be stormed, and truth were to be -drawn out of the deepest of all wells; and yet, in war, the largest -machines are the most unwieldy. Genuine culture therefore leaves such -places as these religiously alone, for its best instincts warn it that -in their midst it has nothing to hope for, and very much to fear. For -the only kind of culture with which the inflamed eye and obtuse brain -of the scholar working-classes concern themselves is of that -Philistine order of which Strauss has announced the gospel. If we -consider for a moment the fundamental causes underlying the sympathy -which binds the learned working-classes to Culture-Philistinism, we -shall discover the road leading to Strauss the Writer, who has been -acknowledged classical, and thence to our last and principal theme. - -To begin with, that culture has contentment written in its every -feature, and will allow of no important changes being introduced into -the present state of German education. It is above all convinced of -the originality of all German educational institutions, more -particularly the public schools and universities; it does not cease -recommending these to foreigners, and never doubts that if the Germans -have become the most cultivated and discriminating people on earth, it -is owing to such institutions. Culture-Philistinism believes in -itself, consequently it also believes in the methods and means at its -disposal. Secondly, however, it leaves the highest judgment concerning -all questions of taste and culture to the scholar, and even regards -itself as the ever-increasing compendium of scholarly opinions -regarding art, literature, and philosophy. Its first care is to urge -the scholar to express his opinions; these it proceeds to mix, dilute, -and systematise, and then it administers them to the German people in -the form of a bottle of medicine. What comes to life outside this -circle is either not heard or attended at all, or if heard, is heeded -half-heartedly; until, at last, a voice (it does not matter whose, -provided it belong to some one who is strictly typical of the scholar -tribe) is heard to issue from the temple in which traditional -infallibility of taste is said to reside; and from that time forward -public opinion has one conviction more, which it echoes and re-echoes -hundreds and hundreds of times. As a matter of fact, though, the -æsthetic infallibility of any utterance emanating from the temple is -the more doubtful, seeing that the lack of taste, thought, and -artistic feeling in any scholar can be taken for granted, unless it -has previously been proved that, in his particular case, the reverse -is true. And only a few can prove this. For how many who have had a -share in the breathless and unending scurry of modern science have -preserved that quiet and courageous gaze of the struggling man of -culture--if they ever possessed it--that gaze which condemns even the -scurry we speak of as a barbarous state of affairs? That is why these -few are forced to live in an almost perpetual contradiction. What -could they do against the uniform belief of the thousands who have -enlisted public opinion in their cause, and who mutually defend each -other in this belief? What purpose can it serve when one individual -openly declares war against Strauss, seeing that a crowd have decided -in his favour, and that the masses led by this crowd have learned to -ask six consecutive times for the Master's Philistine -sleeping-mixture? - -If, without further ado, we here assumed that the Straussian -confession-book had triumphed over public opinion and had been -acclaimed and welcomed as conqueror, its author might call our -attention to the fact that the multitudinous criticisms of his work in -the various public organs are not of an altogether unanimous or even -favourable character, and that he therefore felt it incumbent upon him -to defend himself against some of the more malicious, impudent, and -provoking of these newspaper pugilists by means of a postscript. How -can there be a public opinion concerning my book, he cries to us, if -every journalist is to regard me as an outlaw, and to mishandle me as -much as he likes? This contradiction is easily explained, as soon as -one considers the two aspects of the Straussian book--the theological -and the literary, and it is only the latter that has anything to do -with German culture. Thanks to its theological colouring, it stands -beyond the pale of our German culture, and provokes the animosity of -the various theological groups--yea, even of every individual German, -in so far as he is a theological sectarian from birth, and only -invents his own peculiar private belief in order to be able to dissent -from every other form of belief. But when the question arises of -talking about Strauss _the writer_, pray listen to what the theological -sectarians have to say about him. As soon as his literary side comes -under notice, all theological objections immediately subside, and the -dictum comes plain and clear, as if from the lips of one congregation: -_In spite of it all, he is still a classical writer!_ - -Everybody--even the most bigoted, orthodox Churchman--pays the writer -the most gratifying compliments, while there is always a word or two -thrown in as a tribute to his almost Lessingesque language, his -delicacy of touch, or the beauty and accuracy of his æsthetic views. -As a book, therefore, the Straussian performance appears to meet all -the demands of an ideal example of its kind. The theological -opponents, despite the fact that their voices were the loudest of all, -nevertheless constitute but an infinitesimal portion of the great -public; and even with regard to them, Strauss still maintains that he -is right when he says: "Compared with my thousands of readers, a few -dozen public cavillers form but an insignificant minority, and they -can hardly prove that they are their faithful interpreters. It was -obviously in the nature of things that opposition should be clamorous -and assent tacit." Thus, apart from the angry bitterness which -Strauss's profession of faith may have provoked here and there, even -the most fanatical of his opponents, to whom his voice seems to rise -out of an abyss, like the voice of a beast, are agreed as to his -merits as a writer; and that is why the treatment which Strauss has -received at the hands of the literary lackeys of the theological -groups proves nothing against our contention that Culture-Philistinism -celebrated its triumph in this book. It must be admitted that the -average educated Philistine is a degree less honest than Strauss, or -is at least more reserved in his public utterances. But this fact only -tends to increase his admiration for honesty in another. At home, or -in the company of his equals, he may applaud with wild enthusiasm, but -takes care not to put on paper how entirely Strauss's words are in -harmony with his own innermost feelings. For, as we have already -maintained, our Culture-Philistine is somewhat of a coward, even in -his strongest sympathies; hence Strauss, who can boast of a trifle -more courage than he, becomes his leader, notwithstanding the fact -that even Straussian pluck has its very definite limits. If he -overstepped these limits, as Schopenhauer does in almost every -sentence, he would then forfeit his position at the head of the -Philistines, and everybody would flee from him as precipitately as -they are now following in his wake. He who would regard this artful if -not sagacious moderation and this mediocre valour as an Aristotelian -virtue, would certainly be wrong; for the valour in question is not -the golden mean between two faults, but between a virtue and a -fault--and in this mean, between virtue and fault, all Philistine -qualities are to be found. - - - -IX. - - -"In spite of it all, he is still a classical writer." Well, let us -see! Perhaps we may now be allowed to discuss Strauss the stylist and -master of language; but in the first place let us inquire whether, as -a literary man, he is equal to the task of building his house, and -whether he really understands the architecture of a book. From this -inquiry we shall be able to conclude whether he is a respectable, -thoughtful, and experienced author; and even should we be forced to -answer "No" to these questions, he may still, as a last shift, take -refuge in his fame as a classical prose-writer. This last-mentioned -talent alone, it is true, would not suffice to class him with the -classical authors, but at most with the classical improvisers and -virtuosos of style, who, however, in regard to power of expression and -the whole planning and framing of the work, reveal the awkward hand -and the embarrassed eye of the bungler. We therefore put the question, -whether Strauss really possesses the artistic strength necessary for -the purpose of presenting us with a thing that is a whole, _totum -ponere_? - -As a rule, it ought to be possible to tell from the first rough sketch -of a work whether the author conceived the thing as a whole, and -whether, in view of this original conception, he has discovered the -correct way of proceeding with his task and of fixing its proportions. -Should this most important Part of the problem be solved, and should -the framework of the building have been given its most favourable -proportions, even then there remains enough to be done: how many -smaller faults have to be corrected, how many gaps require filling in! -Here and there a temporary partition or floor was found to answer the -requirements; everywhere dust and fragments litter the ground, and no -matter where we look, we see the signs of work done and work still to -be done. The house, as a whole, is still uninhabitable and gloomy, its -walls are bare, and the wind blows in through the open windows. Now, -whether this remaining, necessary, and very irksome work has been -satisfactorily accomplished by Strauss does not concern us at present; -our question is, whether the building itself has been conceived as a -whole, and whether its proportions are good? The reverse of this, of -course, would be a compilation of fragments--a method generally -adopted by scholars. They rely upon it that these fragments are -related among themselves, and thus confound the logical and the -artistic relation between them. Now, the relation between the four -questions which provide the chapter-headings of Strauss's book cannot -be called a logical one. Are we still Christians? Have we still a -religion? What is our conception of the universe? What is our rule of -life? And it is by no means contended that the relation is illogical -simply because the third question has nothing to do with the second, -nor the fourth with the third, nor all three with the first. The -natural scientist who puts the third question, for instance, shows his -unsullied love of truth by the simple fact that he tacitly passes over -the second. And with regard to the subject of the fourth -chapter--marriage, republicanism, and capital punishment--Strauss -himself seems to have been aware that they could only have been -muddled and obscured by being associated with the Darwinian theory -expounded in the third chapter; for he carefully avoids all reference -to this theory when discussing them. But the question, "Are we still -Christians?" destroys the freedom of the philosophical standpoint at -one stroke, by lending it an unpleasant theological colouring. -Moreover, in this matter, he quite forgot that the majority of men -to-day are not Christians at all, but Buddhists. Why should one, -without further ceremony, immediately think of Christianity at the -sound of the words "old faith"? Is this a sign that Strauss has never -ceased to be a Christian theologian, and that he has therefore never -learned to be a philosopher? For we find still greater cause for -surprise in the fact that he quite fails to distinguish between belief -and knowledge, and continually mentions his "new belief" and the still -newer science in one breath. Or is "new belief" merely an ironical -concession to ordinary parlance? This almost seems to be the case; for -here and there he actually allows "new belief" and "newer science" to -be interchangeable terms, as for instance on page II, where he asks on -which side, whether on that of the ancient orthodoxy or of modern -science, "exist more of the obscurities and insufficiencies -unavoidable in human speculation." - -Moreover, according to the scheme laid down in the Introduction, his -desire is to disclose those proofs upon which the modern view of life -is based; but he derives all these proofs from science, and in this -respect assumes far more the attitude of a scientist than of a -believer. - -At bottom, therefore, the religion is not a new belief, but, being of -a piece with modern science, it has nothing to do with religion at -all. If Strauss, however, persists in his claims to be religious, the -grounds for these claims must be beyond the pale of recent science. -Only the smallest portion of the Straussian book--that is to say, but -a few isolated pages--refer to what Strauss in all justice might call -a belief, namely, that feeling for the "All" for which he demands the -piety that the old believer demanded for his God. On the pages in -question, however, he cannot claim to be altogether scientific; but if -only he could lay claim to being a little stronger, more natural, more -outspoken, more pious, we should be content. Indeed, what perhaps -strikes us most forcibly about him is the multitude of artificial -procedures of which he avails himself before he ultimately gets the -feeling that he still possesses a belief and a religion; he reaches it -by means of stings and blows, as we have already seen. How indigently -and feebly this emergency-belief presents itself to us! We shiver at -the sight of it. - -Although Strauss, in the plan laid down in his Introduction, promises -to compare the two faiths, the old and the new, and to show that the -latter will answer the same purpose as the former, even he begins to -feel, in the end, that he has promised too much. For the question -whether the new belief answers the same purpose as the old, or is -better or worse, is disposed of incidentally, so to speak, and with -uncomfortable haste, in two or three pages (p. 436 et seq.), and is -actually bolstered up by the following subterfuge: "He who cannot help -himself in this matter is beyond help, is not yet ripe for our -standpoint" (p. 436). How differently, and with what intensity of -conviction, did the ancient Stoic believe in the All and the -rationality of the All! And, viewed in this light, how does Strauss's -claim to originality appear? But, as we have already observed, it -would be a matter of indifference to us whether it were new, old, -original, or imitated, so that it were only more powerful, more -healthy, and more natural. Even Strauss himself leaves this -double-distilled emergency-belief to take care of itself as often as -he can do so, in order to protect himself and us from danger, and to -present his recently acquired biological knowledge to his "We" with a -clear conscience. The more embarrassed he may happen to be when he -speaks of faith, the rounder and fuller his mouth becomes when he -quotes the greatest benefactor to modern men--Darwin. Then he not only -exacts belief for the new Messiah, but also for himself--the new -apostle. For instance, while discussing one of the most intricate -questions in natural history, he declares with true ancient pride: "I -shall be told that I am here speaking of things about which I -understand nothing. Very well; but others will come who will -understand them, and who will also have understood me" (p. 241). - -According to this, it would almost seem as though the famous "We" were -not only in duty bound to believe in the "All," but also in the -naturalist Strauss; in this case we can only hope that in order to -acquire the feeling for this last belief, other processes are -requisite than the painful and cruel ones demanded by the first -belief. Or is it perhaps sufficient in this case that the subject of -belief himself be tormented and stabbed with the view of bringing the -believers to that "religious reaction" which is the distinguishing -sign of the "new faith." What merit should we then discover in the -piety of those whom Strauss calls "We"? - -Otherwise, it is almost to be feared that modern men will pass on in -pursuit of their business without troubling themselves overmuch -concerning the new furniture of faith offered them by the apostle: -just as they have done heretofore, without the doctrine of the -rationality of the All. The whole of modern biological and historical -research has nothing to do with the Straussian belief in the All, and -the fact that the modern Philistine does not require the belief is -proved by the description of his life given by Strauss in the -chapter,"What is our Rule of Life?" He is therefore quite right in -doubting whether the coach to which his esteemed readers have been -obliged to trust themselves "with him, fulfils every requirement." It -certainly does not; for the modern man makes more rapid progress when -he does not take his place in the Straussian coach, or rather, he got -ahead much more quickly long before the Straussian coach ever existed. -Now, if it be true that the famous "minority" which is "not to be -overlooked," and of which, and in whose name, Strauss speaks, -"attaches great importance to consistency," it must be just as -dissatisfied with Strauss the Coachbuilder as we are with Strauss the -Logician. - -Let us, however, drop the question of the logician. Perhaps, from the -artistic point of view, the book really is an example of a -well-conceived plan, and does, after all, answer to the requirements -of the laws of beauty, despite the fact that it fails to meet with the -demands of a well-conducted argument. And now, having shown that he is -neither a scientist nor a strictly correct and systematic scholar, for -the first time we approach the question: Is Strauss a capable writer? -Perhaps the task he set himself was not so much to scare people away -from the old faith as to captivate them by a picturesque and graceful -description of what life would be with the new. If he regarded -scholars and educated men as his most probable audience, experience -ought certainly to have told him that whereas one can shoot such men -down with the heavy guns of scientific proof, but cannot make them -surrender, they may be got to capitulate all the more quickly before -"lightly equipped" measures of seduction. "Lightly equipped," and -"intentionally so," thus Strauss himself speaks of his own book. Nor -do his public eulogisers refrain from using the same expression in -reference to the work, as the following passage, quoted from one of -the least remarkable among them, and in which the same expression is -merely paraphrased, will go to prove:-- - -"The discourse flows on with delightful harmony: wherever it directs -its criticism against old ideas it wields the art of demonstration, -almost playfully; and it is with some spirit that it prepares the new -ideas it brings so enticingly, and presents them to the simple as well -as to the fastidious taste. The arrangement of such diverse and -conflicting material is well thought out for every portion of it -required to be touched upon, without being made too prominent; at -times the transitions leading from one subject to another are -artistically managed, and one hardly knows what to admire most--the -skill with which unpleasant questions are shelved, or the discretion -with which they are hushed up." - -The spirit of such eulogies, as the above clearly shows, is not quite -so subtle in regard to judging of what an author is able to do as in -regard to what he wishes. What Strauss wishes, however, is best -revealed by his own emphatic and not quite harmless commendation of -Voltaire's charms, in whose service he might have learned precisely -those "lightly equipped" arts of which his admirer speaks--granting, -of course, that virtue may be acquired and a pedagogue can ever be a -dancer. - -Who could help having a suspicion or two, when reading the following -passage, for instance, in which Strauss says of Voltaire, "As a -philosopher [he] is certainly not original, but in the main a mere -exponent of English investigations: in this respect, however, he shows -himself to be completely master of his subject, which he presents with -incomparable skill, in all possible lights and from all possible -sides, and is able withal to meet the demands of thoroughness, -without, however, being over-severe in his method"? Now, all the -negative traits mentioned in this passage might be applied to Strauss. -No one would contend, I suppose, that Strauss is original, or that he -is over-severe in his method; but the question is whether we can -regard him as "master of his subject," and grant him "incomparable -skill"? The confession to the effect that the treatise was -intentionally "lightly equipped" leads us to think that it at least -aimed at incomparable skill. - -It was not the dream of our architect to build a temple, nor yet a -house, but a sort of summer-pavilion, surrounded by everything that -the art of gardening can provide. Yea, it even seems as if that -mysterious feeling for the All were only calculated to produce an -æsthetic effect, to be, so to speak, a view of an irrational element, -such as the sea, looked at from the most charming and rational of -terraces. The walk through the first chapters--that is to say, -through the theological catacombs with all their gloominess and their -involved and baroque embellishments--was also no more than an -æsthetic expedient in order to throw into greater relief the purity, -clearness, and common sense of the chapter "What is our Conception of -the Universe?" For, immediately after that walk in the gloaming and -that peep into the wilderness of Irrationalism, we step into a hall -with a skylight to it. Soberly and limpidly it welcomes us: its mural -decorations consist of astronomical charts and mathematical figures; -it is filled with scientific apparatus, and its cupboards contain -skeletons, stuffed apes, and anatomical specimens. But now, really -rejoicing for the first time, we direct our steps into the innermost -chamber of bliss belonging to our pavilion-dwellers; there we find -them with their wives, children, and newspapers, occupied in the -commonplace discussion of politics; we listen for a moment to their -conversation on marriage, universal suffrage, capital punishment, and -workmen's strikes, and we can scarcely believe it to be possible that -the rosary of public opinions can be told off so quickly. At length an -attempt is made to convince us of the classical taste of the inmates. -A moment's halt in the library, and the music-room suffices to show us -what we had expected all along, namely, that the best books lay on the -shelves, and that the most famous musical compositions were in the -music-cabinets. Some one actually played something to us, and even if -it were Haydn's music, Haydn could not be blamed because it sounded -like Riehl's music for the home. Meanwhile the host had found occasion -to announce to us his complete agreement with Lessing and Goethe, -although with the latter only up to the second part of Faust. At last -our pavilion-owner began to praise himself, and assured us that he who -could not be happy under his roof was beyond help and could not be -ripe for his standpoint, whereupon he offered us his coach, but with -the polite reservation that he could not assert that it would fulfil -every requirement, and that, owing to the stones on his road having -been newly laid down, we were not to mind if we were very much jolted. -Our Epicurean garden-god then took leave of us with the incomparable -skill which he praised in Voltaire. - -Who could now persist in doubting the existence of this incomparable -skill? The complete master of his subject is revealed; the lightly -equipped artist-gardener is exposed, and still we hear the voice of -the classical author saying, "As a writer I shall for once cease to be -a Philistine: I will not be one; I refuse to be one! But a -Voltaire--the German Voltaire--or at least the French Lessing." - -With this we have betrayed a secret. Our Master does not always know -which he prefers to be--Voltaire or Lessing; but on no account will he -be a Philistine. At a pinch he would not object to being both Lessing -and Voltaire--that the word might be fulfilled that is written, "He -had no character, but when he wished to appear as if he had, he -assumed one." - - - -X. - - -If we have understood Strauss the Confessor correctly, he must be a -genuine Philistine, with a narrow, parched soul and scholarly and -common-place needs; albeit no one would be more indignant at the title -than David Strauss the Writer. He would be quite happy to be regarded -as mischievous, bold, malicious, daring; but his ideal of bliss would -consist in finding himself compared with either Lessing or -Voltaire--because these men were undoubtedly anything but Philistines. -In striving after this state of bliss, he often seems to waver between -two alternatives--either to mimic the brave and dialectical petulance -of Lessing, or to affect the manner of the faun-like and free-spirited -man of antiquity that Voltaire was. When taking up his pen to write, -he seems to be continually posing for his portrait; and whereas at -times his features are drawn to look like Lessing's, anon they are -made to assume the Voltairean mould. While reading his praise of -Voltaire's manner, we almost seem to see him abjuring the consciences -of his contemporaries for not having learned long ago what the modern -Voltaire had to offer them. "Even his excellences are wonderfully -uniform," he says: "simple naturalness, transparent clearness, -vivacious mobility, seductive charm. Warmth and emphasis are also not -wanting where they are needed, and Voltaire's innermost nature always -revolted against stiltedness and affectation; while, on the other -hand, if at times wantonness or passion descend to an unpleasantly low -level, the fault does not rest so much with the stylist as with the -man." According to this, Strauss seems only too well aware of the -importance of _simplicity in style_; it is ever the sign of genius, -which alone has the privilege to express itself naturally and -guilelessly. When, therefore, an author selects a simple mode of -expression, this is no sign whatever of vulgar ambition; for although -many are aware of what such an author would fain be taken for, they -are yet kind enough to take him precisely for that. The genial writer, -however, not only reveals his true nature in the plain and -unmistakable form of his utterance, but his super-abundant strength -actually dallies with the material he treats, even when it is -dangerous and difficult. Nobody treads stiffly along unknown paths, -especially when these are broken throughout their course by thousands -of crevices and furrows; but the genius speeds nimbly over them, and, -leaping with grace and daring, scorns the wistful and timorous step of -caution. - -Even Strauss knows that the problems he prances over are dreadfully -serious, and have ever been regarded as such by the philosophers who -have grappled with them; yet he calls his book _lightly equipped_! But -of this dreadfulness and of the usual dark nature of our meditations -when considering such questions as the worth of existence and the -duties of man, we entirely cease to be conscious when the genial -Master plays his antics before us, "lightly equipped, and -intentionally so." Yes, even more lightly equipped than his Rousseau, -of whom he tells us it was said that he stripped himself below and -adorned himself on top, whereas Goethe did precisely the reverse. -Perfectly guileless geniuses do not, it appears, adorn themselves at -all; possibly the words "lightly equipped" may simply be a euphemism -for "naked." The few who happen to have seen the Goddess of Truth -declare that she is naked, and perhaps, in the minds of those who have -never seen her, but who implicitly believe those few, nakedness or -light equipment is actually a proof, or at least a feature, of truth. -Even this vulgar superstition turns to the advantage of the author's -ambition. Some one sees something naked, and he exclaims: "What if -this were the truth!" Whereupon he grows more solemn than is his wont. -By this means, however, the author scores a tremendous advantage; for -he compels his reader to approach him with greater solemnity than -another and perhaps more heavily equipped writer. This is -unquestionably the best way to become a classical author; hence -Strauss himself is able to tell us: "I even enjoy the unsought honour -of being, in the opinion of many, a classical writer of prose. "He has -therefore achieved his aim. Strauss the Genius goes gadding about the -streets in the garb of lightly equipped goddesses as a classic, while -Strauss the Philistine, to use an original expression of this -genius's, must, at all costs, be "declared to be on the decline," or -"irrevocably dismissed." - -But, alas! in spite of all declarations of decline and dismissal, the -Philistine still returns, and all too frequently. Those features, -contorted to resemble Lessing and Voltaire, must relax from time to -time to resume their old and original shape. The mask of genius falls -from them too often, and the Master's expression is never more sour -and his movements never stiffer than when he has just attempted to -take the leap, or to glance with the fiery eye, of a genius. Precisely -owing to the fact that he is too lightly equipped for our zone, he -runs the risk of catching cold more often and more severely than -another. It may seem a terrible hardship to him that every one should -notice this; but if he wishes to be cured, the following diagnosis of -his case ought to be publicly presented to him:--Once upon a time -there lived a Strauss, a brave, severe, and stoutly equipped scholar, -with whom we sympathised as wholly as with all those in Germany who -seek to serve truth with earnestness and energy, and to rule within -the limits of their powers. He, however, who is now publicly famous as -David Strauss, is another person. The theologians may be to blame for -this metamorphosis; but, at any rate, his present toying with the mask -of genius inspires us with as much hatred and scorn as his former -earnestness commanded respect and sympathy. When, for instance, he -tells us, "it would also argue ingratitude towards _my genius_ if I were -not to rejoice that to the faculty of an incisive, analytical -criticism was added the innocent pleasure in artistic production," it -may astonish him to hear that, in spite of this self-praise, there are -still men who maintain exactly the reverse, and who say, not only that -he has never possessed the gift of artistic production, but that the -"innocent" pleasure he mentions is of all things the least innocent, -seeing that it succeeded in gradually undermining and ultimately -destroying a nature as strongly and deeply scholarly and critical as -Strauss's--in fact, the _real Straussian Genius_. In a moment of -unlimited frankness, Strauss himself indeed adds: "Merck was always in -my thoughts, calling out, 'Don't produce such child's play again; -others can do that too!'" That was the voice of the real Straussian -genius, which also asked him what the worth of his newest, innocent, -and lightly equipped modern Philistine's testament was. Others can do -that too! And many could do it better. And even they who could have -done it best, _i.e._ those thinkers who are more widely endowed than -Strauss, could still only have made nonsense of it. - -I take it that you are now beginning to understand the value I set on -Strauss the Writer. You are beginning to realise that I regard him as -a mummer who would parade as an artless genius and classical writer. -When Lichtenberg said, "A simple manner of writing is to be -recommended, if only in view of the fact that no honest man trims and -twists his expressions," he was very far from wishing to imply that a -simple style is a proof of literary integrity. I, for my part, only -wish that Strauss the Writer had been more upright, for then he would -have written more becomingly and have been less famous. Or, if he -would be a mummer at all costs, how much more would he not have -pleased me if he had been a better mummer--one more able to ape the -guileless genius and classical author! For it yet remains to be said -that Strauss was not only an inferior actor but a very worthless -stylist as well. - - - -XI. - - -Of course, the blame attaching to Strauss for being a bad writer is -greatly mitigated by the fact that it is extremely difficult in -Germany to become even a passable or moderately good writer, and that -it is more the exception than not, to be a really good one. In this -respect the natural soil is wanting, as are also artistic values and -the proper method of treating and cultivating oratory. This latter -accomplishment, as the various branches of it, _i.e._ drawing-room, -ecclesiastical and Parliamentary parlance, show, has not yet reached -the level of a national style; indeed, it has not yet shown even a -tendency to attain to a style at all, and all forms of language in -Germany do not yet seem to have passed a certain experimental stage. -In view of these facts, the writer of to-day, to some extent, lacks an -authoritative standard, and he is in some measure excused if, in the -matter of language, he attempts to go ahead of his own accord. As to -the probable result which the present dilapidated condition of the -German language will bring about, Schopenhauer, perhaps, has spoken -most forcibly. "If the existing state of affairs continues," he says, -"in the year 1900 German classics will cease to be understood, for the -simple reason that no other language will be known, save the trumpery -jargon of the noble present, the chief characteristic of which is -impotence." And, in truth, if one turn to the latest periodicals, one -will find German philologists and grammarians already giving -expression to the view that our classics can no longer serve us as -examples of style, owing to the fact that they constantly use words, -modes of speech, and syntactic arrangements which are fast dropping -out of currency. Hence the need of collecting specimens of the finest -prose that has been produced by our best modern writers, and of -offering them as examples to be followed, after the style of Sander's -pocket dictionary of bad language. In this book, that repulsive -monster of style Gutzkow appears as a classic, and, according to its -injunctions, we seem to be called upon to accustom ourselves to quite -a new and wondrous crowd of classical authors, among which the first, -or one of the first, is David Strauss: he whom we cannot describe more -aptly than we have already--that is to say, as a worthless stylist. -Now, the notion which the Culture-Philistine has of a classic and -standard author speaks eloquently for his pseudo-culture--he who only -shows his strength by opposing a really artistic and severe style, and -who, thanks to the persistence of his opposition, finally arrives at a -certain uniformity of expression, which again almost appears to -possess unity of genuine style. In view, therefore, of the right which -is granted to every one to experiment with the language, how is it -possible at all for individual authors to discover a generally -agreeable tone? What is so generally interesting in them? In the first -place, a negative quality--the total lack of offensiveness: but _every -really productive thing is offensive_. The greater part of a German's -daily reading matter is undoubtedly sought either in the pages of -newspapers, periodicals, or reviews. The language of these journals -gradually stamps itself on his brain, by means of its steady drip, -drip, drip of similar phrases and similar words. And, since he -generally devotes to reading those hours of the day during which his -exhausted brain is in any case not inclined to offer resistance, his -ear for his native tongue so slowly but surely accustoms itself to -this everyday German that it ultimately cannot endure its absence -without pain. But the manufacturers of these newspapers are, by virtue -of their trade, most thoroughly inured to the effluvia of this -journalistic jargon; they have literally lost all taste, and their -palate is rather gratified than not by the most corrupt and arbitrary -innovations. Hence the _tutti unisono_ with which, despite the general -lethargy and sickliness, every fresh solecism is greeted; it is with -such impudent corruptions of the language that her hirelings are -avenged against her for the incredible boredom she imposes ever more -and more upon them. I remember having read "an appeal to the German -nation," by Berthold Auerbach, in which every sentence was un-German, -distorted and false, and which, as a whole, resembled a soulless -mosaic of words cemented together with international syntax. As to the -disgracefully slipshod German with which Edward Devrient solemnised -the death of Mendelssohn, I do not even wish to do more than refer to -it. A grammatical error--and this is the most extraordinary feature of -the case--does not therefore seem an offence in any sense to our -Philistine, but a most delightful restorative in the barren wilderness -of everyday German. He still, however, considers all _really_ productive -things to be offensive. The wholly bombastic, distorted, and -threadbare syntax of the modern standard author--yea, even his -ludicrous neologisms--are not only tolerated, but placed to his credit -as the spicy element in his works. But woe to the stylist with -character, who seeks as earnestly and perseveringly to avoid the trite -phrases of everyday parlance, as the "yester-night monster blooms of -modern ink-flingers," as Schopenhauer says! When platitudes, -hackneyed, feeble, and vulgar phrases are the rule, and the bad and -the corrupt become refreshing exceptions, then all that is strong, -distinguished, and beautiful perforce acquires an evil odour. From -which it follows that, in Germany, the well-known experience which -befell the normally built traveller in the land of hunchbacks is -constantly being repeated. It will be remembered that he was so -shamefully insulted there, owing to his quaint figure and lack of -dorsal convexity, that a priest at last had to harangue the people on -his behalf as follows: "My brethren, rather pity this poor stranger, -and present thank-offerings unto the gods, that ye are blessed with -such attractive gibbosities." - -If any one attempted to compose a positive grammar out of the -international German style of to-day, and wished to trace the -unwritten and unspoken laws followed by every one, he would get the -most extraordinary notions of style and rhetoric. He would meet with -laws which are probably nothing more than reminiscences of bygone -schooldays, vestiges of impositions for Latin prose, and results -perhaps of choice readings from French novelists, over whose -incredible crudeness every decently educated Frenchman would have the -right to laugh. But no conscientious native of Germany seems to have -given a thought to these extraordinary notions under the yoke of which -almost every German lives and writes. - -As an example of what I say, we may find an injunction to the effect -that a metaphor or a simile must be introduced from time to time, and -that it must be new; but, since to the mind of the shallow-pated -writer newness and modernity are identical, he proceeds forthwith to -rack his brain for metaphors in the technical vocabularies of the -railway, the telegraph, the steamship, and the Stock Exchange, and is -proudly convinced that such metaphors must be new because they are -modern. In Strauss's confession-book we find liberal tribute paid to -modern metaphor. He treats us to a simile, covering a page and a half, -drawn from modern road-improvement work; a few pages farther back he -likens the world to a machine, with its wheels, stampers, hammers, and -"soothing oil" (p. 432); "A repast that begins with champagne" (p. -384); "Kant is a cold-water cure" (p. 309); "The Swiss constitution is -to that of England as a watermill is to a steam-engine, as a -waltz-tune or a song to a fugue or symphony" (p. 301); "In every -appeal, the sequence of procedure must be observed. Now the mean -tribunal between the individual and humanity is the nation" (p. 165); -"If we would know whether there be still any life in an organism which -appears dead to us, we are wont to test it by a powerful, even painful -stimulus, as for example a stab" (p. 161); "The religious domain in -the human soul resembles the domain of the Red Indian in America" (p. -160); "Virtuosos in piety, in convents" (p. 107); "And place the -sum-total of the foregoing in round numbers under the account" (p. -205); "Darwin's theory resembles a railway track that is just marked -out ... where the flags are fluttering joyfully in the breeze." In this -really highly modern way, Strauss has met the Philistine injunction to -the effect that a new simile must be introduced from time to time. - -Another rhetorical rule is also very widespread, namely, that didactic -passages should be composed in long periods, and should be drawn out -into lengthy abstractions, while all persuasive passages should -consist of short sentences followed by striking contrasts. On page 154 -in Strauss's book we find a standard example of the didactic and -scholarly style--a passage blown out after the genuine Schleiermacher -manner, and made to stumble along at a true tortoise pace: "The reason -why, in the earlier stages of religion, there appear many instead of -this single Whereon, a plurality of gods instead of the one, is -explained in this deduction of religion, from the fact that the -various forces of nature, or relations of life, which inspire man with -the sentiment of unqualified dependence, still act upon him in the -commencement with the full force of their distinctive characteristics; -that he has not as yet become conscious how, in regard to his -unmitigated dependence upon them, there is no distinction between -them, and that therefore the Whereon of this dependence, or the Being -to which it conducts in the last instance, can only be one." - -On pages 7 and 8 we find an example of the other kind of style, that -of the short sentences containing that affected liveliness which so -excited certain readers that they cannot mention Strauss any more -without coupling his name with Lessing's. "I am well aware that what I -propose to delineate in the following pages is known to multitudes as -well as to myself, to some even much better. A few have already spoken -out on the subject. Am I therefore to keep silence? I think not. For -do we not all supply each other's deficiencies? If another is better -informed as regards some things, I may perhaps be so as regards -others; while yet others are known and viewed by me in a different -light. Out with it, then! let my colours be displayed that it may be -seen whether they are genuine or not.'" - -It is true that Strauss's style generally maintains a happy medium -between this sort of merry quick-march and the other funereal and -indolent pace; but between two vices one does not invariably find a -virtue; more often rather only weakness, helpless paralysis, and -impotence. As a matter of fact, I was very disappointed when I glanced -through Strauss's book in search of fine and witty passages; for, not -having found anything praiseworthy in the Confessor, I had actually -set out with the express purpose of meeting here and there with at -least some opportunities of praising Strauss the Writer. I sought and -sought, but my purpose remained unfulfilled. Meanwhile, however, -another duty seemed to press itself strongly on my mind--that of -enumerating the solecisms, the strained metaphors, the obscure -abbreviations, the instances of bad taste, and the distortions which I -encountered; and these were of such a nature that I dare do no more -than select a few examples of them from among a collection which is -too bulky to be given in full. By means of these examples I may -succeed in showing what it is that inspires, in the hearts of modern -Germans, such faith in this great and seductive stylist Strauss: I -refer to his eccentricities of expression, which, in the barren waste -and dryness of his whole book, jump out at one, not perhaps as -pleasant but as painfully stimulating, surprises. When perusing such -passages, we are at least assured, to use a Straussian metaphor, that -we are not quite dead, but still respond to the test of a stab. For -the rest of the book is entirely lacking in offensiveness--that -quality which alone, as we have seen, is productive, and which our -classical author has himself reckoned among the positive virtues. When -the educated masses meet with exaggerated dulness and dryness, when -they are in the presence of really vapid commonplaces, they now seem -to believe that such things are the signs of health; and in this -respect the words of the author of the _dialogus de oratoribus_ are very -much to the point: "_illam ipsam quam jactant sanitatem non firmitate -sed jejunio consequuntur_." That is why they so unanimously hate every -firmitas, because it bears testimony to a kind of health quite -different from theirs; hence their one wish to throw suspicion upon -all austerity and terseness, upon all fiery and energetic movement, -and upon every full and delicate play of muscles. They have conspired -to twist nature and the names of things completely round, and for the -future to speak of health only there where we see weakness, and to -speak of illness and excitability where for our part we see genuine -vigour. From which it follows that David Strauss is to them a -classical author. - -If only this dulness were of a severely logical order! but simplicity -and austerity in thought are precisely what these weaklings have lost, -and in their hands even our language has become illogically tangled. -As a proof of this, let any one try to translate Strauss's style into -Latin: in the case of Kant, be it remembered, this is possible, while -with Schopenhauer it even becomes an agreeable exercise. The reason -why this test fails with Strauss's German is not owing to the fact -that it is more Teutonic than theirs, but because his is distorted and -illogical, whereas theirs is lofty and simple. Moreover, he who knows -how the ancients exerted themselves in order to learn to write and -speak correctly, and how the moderns omit to do so, must feel, as -Schopenhauer says, a positive relief when he can turn from a German -book like the one under our notice, to dive into those other works, -those ancient works which seem to him still to be written in a new -language. "For in these books," says Schopenhauer, "I find a regular -and fixed language which, throughout, faithfully follows the laws of -grammar and orthography, so that I can give up my thoughts completely -to their matter; whereas in German I am constantly being disturbed by -the author's impudence and his continual attempts to establish his own -orthographical freaks and absurd ideas--the swaggering foolery of -which disgusts me. It is really a painful sight to see a fine old -language, possessed of classical literature, being botched by asses -and ignoramuses!" - -Thus Schopenhauer's holy anger cries out to us, and you cannot say -that you have not been warned. He who turns a deaf ear to such -warnings, and who absolutely refuses to relinquish his faith in -Strauss the classical author, can only be given this last word of -advice--to imitate his hero. In any case, try it at your own risk; but -you will repent it, not only in your style but in your head, that it -may be fulfilled which was spoken by the Indian prophet, saying, "He -who gnaweth a cow's horn gnaweth in vain and shorteneth his life; for -he grindeth away his teeth, yet his belly is empty." - - - -XII. - - -By way of concluding, we shall proceed to give our classical -prose-writer the promised examples of his style which we have -collected. Schopenhauer would probably have classed the whole lot as -"new documents serving to swell the trumpery jargon of the present -day"; for David Strauss may be comforted to hear (if what follows can -be regarded as a comfort at all) that everybody now writes as he does; -some, of course, worse, and that among the blind the one-eyed is king. -Indeed, we allow him too much when we grant him one eye; but we do -this willingly, because Strauss does not write so badly as the most -infamous of all corrupters of German--the Hegelians and their crippled -offspring. Strauss at least wishes to extricate himself from the mire, -and he is already partly out of it; still, he is very far from being -on dry land, and he still shows signs of having stammered Hegel's -prose in youth. In those days, possibly, something was sprained in -him, some muscle must have been overstrained. His ear, perhaps, like -that of a boy brought up amid the beating of drums, grew dull, and -became incapable of detecting those artistically subtle and yet mighty -laws of sound, under the guidance of which every writer is content to -remain who has been strictly trained in the study of good models. But -in this way, as a stylist, he has lost his most valuable possessions, -and stands condemned to remain reclining, his life long, on the -dangerous and barren shifting sand of newspaper style--that is, if he -do not wish to fall back into the Hegelian mire. Nevertheless, he has -succeeded in making himself famous for a couple of hours in our time, -and perhaps in another couple of hours people will remember that he -was once famous; then, however, night will come, and with her -oblivion; and already at this moment, while we are entering his sins -against style in the black book, the sable mantle of twilight is -falling upon his fame. For he who has sinned against the German -language has desecrated the mystery of all our Germanity. Throughout -all the confusion and the changes of races and of customs, the German -language alone, as though possessed of some supernatural charm, has -saved herself; and with her own salvation she has wrought that of the -spirit of Germany. She alone holds the warrant for this spirit in -future ages, provided she be not destroyed at the sacrilegious hands -of the modern world. "But _Di meliora!_ Avaunt, ye pachyderms, avaunt! -This is the German language, by means of which men express themselves, -and in which great poets have sung and great thinkers have written. -Hands off!" [5] - -[5] Translator's note.--Nietzsche here proceeds to quote those passages -he has culled from _The Old and the New Faith_ with which he undertakes -to substantiate all he has said relative to Strauss's style; as, -however, these passages, with his comments upon them, lose most of -their point when rendered into English, it was thought best to omit -them altogether. - -To put it in plain words, what we have seen have been feet of clay, -and what appeared to be of the colour of healthy flesh was only -applied paint. Of course, Culture-Philistinism in Germany will be very -angry when it hears its one living God referred to as a series of -painted idols. He, however, who dares to overthrow its idols will not -shrink, despite all indignation, from telling it to its face that it -has forgotten how to distinguish between the quick and the dead, the -genuine and the counterfeit, the original and the imitation, between a -God and a host of idols; that it has completely lost the healthy and -manly instinct for what is real and right. It alone deserves to be -destroyed; and already the manifestations of its power are sinking; -already are its purple honours falling from it; but when the purple -falls, its royal wearer soon follows. - -Here I come to the end of my confession of faith. This is the -confession of an individual; and what can such an one do against a -whole world, even supposing his voice were heard everywhere! In order -for the last time to use a precious Straussism, his judgment only -possesses "_that amount of subjective truth which is compatible with a -complete lack of objective demonstration_"--is not that so, my dear -friends? Meanwhile, be of good cheer. For the time being let the -matter rest at this "amount which is compatible with a complete lack"! -For the time being! That is to say, for as long as that is held to be -out of season which in reality is always in season, and is now more -than ever pressing; I refer to ... speaking the truth.[6] - -[6] Translator's note.--All quotations from _The Old Faith and the New_ -which appear in the above translation have either been taken bodily -out of Mathilde Blind's translation (Asher and Co., 1873), or are -adaptations from that translation. - - - - -RICHARD WAGNER IN BAYREUTH. - - -I. - - -For an event to be great, two things must be united--the lofty -sentiment of those who accomplish it, and the lofty sentiment of those -who witness it. No event is great in itself, even though it be the -disappearance of whole constellations, the destruction of several -nations, the establishment of vast empires, or the prosecution of wars -at the cost of enormous forces: over things of this sort the breath of -history blows as if they were flocks of wool. But it often happens, -too, that a man of might strikes a blow which falls without effect -upon a stubborn stone; a short, sharp report is heard, and all is -over. History is able to record little or nothing of such abortive -efforts. Hence the anxiety which every one must feel who, observing -the approach of an event, wonders whether those about to witness it -will be worthy of it. This reciprocity between an act and its -reception is always taken into account when anything great or small is -to be accomplished; and he who would give anything away must see to it -that he find recipients who will do justice to the meaning of his -gift. This is why even the work of a great man is not necessarily -great when it is short, abortive, or fruitless; for at the moment when -he performed it he must have failed to perceive that it was really -necessary; he must have been careless in his aim, and he cannot have -chosen and fixed upon the time with sufficient caution. Chance thus -became his master; for there is a very intimate relation between -greatness and the instinct which discerns the proper moment at which -to act. - -We therefore leave it to those who doubt Wagner's power of discerning -the proper time for action, to be concerned and anxious as to whether -what is now taking place in Bayreuth is really opportune and -necessary. To us who are more confident, it is clear that he believes -as strongly in the greatness of his feat as in the greatness of -feeling in those who are to witness it. Be their number great or -small, therefore, all those who inspire this faith in Wagner should -feel extremely honoured; for that it was not inspired by everybody, or -by the whole age, or even by the whole German people, as they are now -constituted, he himself told us in his dedicatory address of the 22nd -of May 1872, and not one amongst us could, with any show of -conviction, assure him of the contrary. "I had only you to turn to," -he said, "when I sought those who I thought would be in sympathy with -my plans,--you who are the most personal friends of my own particular -art, my work and activity: only you could I invite to help me in my -work, that it might be presented pure and whole to those who manifest -a genuine interest in my art, despite the fact that it has hitherto -made its appeal to them only in a disfigured and adulterated form." - -It is certain that in Bayreuth even the spectator is a spectacle worth -seeing. If the spirit of some observant sage were to return, after the -absence of a century, and were to compare the most remarkable -movements in the present world of culture, he would find much to -interest him there. Like one swimming in a lake, who encounters a -current of warm water issuing from a hot spring, in Bayreuth he would -certainly feel as though he had suddenly plunged into a more temperate -element, and would tell himself that this must rise out of a distant -and deeper source: the surrounding mass of water, which at all events -is more common in origin, does not account for it. In this way, all -those who assist at the Bayreuth festival will seem like men out of -season; their _raison-d'être_ and the forces which would seem to account -for them are elsewhere, and their home is not in the present age. I -realise ever more clearly that the scholar, in so far as he is -entirely the man of his own day, can only be accessible to all that -Wagner does and thinks by means of parody,--and since everything is -parodied nowadays, he will even get the event of Bayreuth reproduced -for him, through the very un-magic lanterns of our facetious -art-critics. And one ought to be thankful if they stop at parody; for -by means of it a spirit of aloofness and animosity finds a vent which -might otherwise hit upon a less desirable mode of expression. Now, the -observant sage already mentioned could not remain blind to this -unusual sharpness and tension of contrasts. They who hold by gradual -development as a kind of moral law must be somewhat shocked at the -sight of one who, in the course of a single lifetime, succeeds in -producing something absolutely new. Being dawdlers themselves, and -insisting upon slowness as a principle, they are very naturally vexed -by one who strides rapidly ahead, and they wonder how on earth he does -it. No omens, no periods of transition, and no concessions preceded -the enterprise at Bayreuth; no one except Wagner knew either the goal -or the long road that was to lead to it. In the realm of art it -signifies, so to speak, the first circumnavigation of the world, and -by this voyage not only was there discovered an apparently new art, -but Art itself. In view of this, all modern arts, as arts of luxury -which have degenerated through having been insulated, have become -almost worthless. And the same applies to the nebulous and -inconsistent reminiscences of a genuine art, which we as modern -Europeans derive from the Greeks; let them rest in peace, unless they -are now able to shine of their own accord in the light of a new -interpretation. The last hour has come for a good many things; this -new art is a clairvoyante that sees ruin approaching--not for art -alone. Her warning voice must strike the whole of our prevailing -civilisation with terror the instant the laughter which its parodies -have provoked subsides. Let it laugh and enjoy itself for yet a while -longer! - -And as for us, the disciples of this revived art, we shall have time -and inclination for thoughtfulness, deep thoughtfulness. All the talk -and noise about art which has been made by civilisation hitherto must -seem like shameless obtrusiveness; everything makes silence a duty -with us--the quinquennial silence of the Pythagoreans. Which of us has -not soiled his hands and heart in the disgusting idolatry of modern -culture? Which of us can exist without the waters of purification? Who -does not hear the voice which cries, "Be silent and cleansed"? Be -silent and cleansed! Only the merit of being included among those who -give ear to this voice will grant even us the _lofty_ look necessary to -view the event at Bayreuth; and only upon this look depends the _great -future_ of the event. - -When on that dismal and cloudy day in May 1872, after the foundation -stone had been laid on the height of Bayreuth, amid torrents of rain, -and while Wagner was driving back to the town with a small party of -us, he was exceptionally silent, and there was that indescribable look -in his eyes as of one who has turned his gaze deeply inwards. The day -happened to be the first of his sixtieth year, and his whole past now -appeared as but a long preparation for this great moment. It is almost -a recognised fact that in times of exceptional danger, or at all -decisive and culminating points in their lives, men see the remotest -and most recent events of their career with singular vividness, and in -one rapid inward glance obtain a sort of panorama of a whole span of -years in which every event is faithfully depicted. What, for instance, -must Alexander the Great have seen in that instant when he caused Asia -and Europe to be drunk out of the same goblet? But what went through -Wagner's mind on that day--how he became what he is, and what he will -be--we only can imagine who are nearest to him, and can follow him, up -to a certain point, in his self-examination; but through his eyes -alone is it possible for us to understand his grand work, and by the -help of this understanding vouch for its fruitfulness. - - - -II. - - -It were strange if what a man did best and most liked to do could not -be traced in the general outline of his life, and in the case of those -who are remarkably endowed there is all the more reason for supposing -that their life will present not only the counterpart of their -character, as in the case of every one else, but that it will present -above all the counterpart of their intellect and their most individual -tastes. The life of the epic poet will have a dash of the Epos in -it--as from all accounts was the case with Goethe, whom the Germans -very wrongly regarded only as a lyrist--and the life of the dramatist -will probably be dramatic. - -The dramatic element in Wagner's _development_ cannot be ignored, from -the time when his ruling passion became self-conscious and took -possession of his whole being. From that time forward there is an end -to all groping, straying, and sprouting of offshoots, and over his -most tortuous deviations and excursions, over the often eccentric -disposition of his plans, a single law and will are seen to rule, in -which we have the explanation of his actions, however strange this -explanation may sometimes appear. There was, however, an ante-dramatic -period in Wagner's life--his childhood and youth--which it is -impossible to approach without discovering innumerable problems. At -this period there seems to be no promise yet of himself, and what one -might now, in a retrospect, regard as a pledge for his future -greatness, amounts to no more than a juxta-position of traits which -inspire more dismay than hope; a restless and excitable spirit, -nervously eager to undertake a hundred things at the same time, -passionately fond of almost morbidly exalted states of mind, and ready -at any moment to veer completely round from calm and profound -meditation to a state of violence and uproar. In his case there were -no hereditary or family influences at work to constrain him to the -sedulous study of one particular art. Painting, versifying, acting, -and music were just as much within his reach as the learning and the -career of a scholar; and the superficial inquirer into this stage of -his life might even conclude that he was born to be a dilettante. The -small world within the bounds of which he grew up was not of the kind -we should choose to be the home of an artist. He ran the constant risk -of becoming infected by that dangerously dissipated attitude of mind -in which a person will taste of everything, as also by that condition -of slackness resulting from the fragmentary knowledge of all things, -which is so characteristic of University towns. His feelings were -easily roused and but indifferently satisfied; wherever the boy turned -he found himself surrounded by a wonderful and would-be learned -activity, to which the garish theatres presented a ridiculous -contrast, and the entrancing strains of music a perplexing one. Now, -to the observer who sees things relatively, it must seem strange that -the modern man who happens to be gifted with exceptional talent should -as a child and a youth so seldom be blessed with the quality of -ingenuousness and of simple individuality, that he is so little able -to have these qualities at all. As a matter of fact, men of rare -talent, like Goethe and Wagner, much more often attain to -ingenuousness in manhood than during the more tender years of -childhood and youth. And this is especially so with the artist, who, -being born with a more than usual capacity for imitating, succumbs to -the morbid multiformity of modern life as to a virulent disease of -infancy. As a child he will more closely resemble an old man. The -wonderfully accurate and original picture of youth which Wagner gives -us in the Siegfried of the Nibelungen Ring could only have been -conceived by a man, and by one who had discovered his youthfulness but -late in life. Wagner's maturity, like his adolesence, was also late in -making its appearance, and he is thus, in this respect alone, the very -reverse of the precocious type. - -The appearance of his moral and intellectual strength was the prelude -to the drama of his soul. And how different it then became! His nature -seems to have been simplified at one terrible stroke, and divided -against itself into two instincts or spheres. From its innermost -depths there gushes forth a passionate will which, like a rapid -mountain torrent, endeavours to make its way through all paths, -ravines, and crevices, in search of light and power. Only a force -completely free and pure was strong enough to guide this will to all -that is good and beneficial. Had it been combined with a narrow -intelligence, a will with such a tyrannical and boundless desire might -have become fatal; in any case, an exit into the open had to be found -for it as quickly as possible, whereby it could rush into pure air and -sunshine. Lofty aspirations, which continually meet with failure, -ultimately turn to evil. The inadequacy of means for obtaining success -may, in certain circumstances, be the result of an inexorable fate, -and not necessarily of a lack of strength; but he who under such -circumstances cannot abandon his aspirations, despite the inadequacy -of his means, will only become embittered, and consequently irritable -and intolerant. He may possibly seek the cause of his failure in other -people; he may even, in a fit of passion, hold the whole world guilty; -or he may turn defiantly down secret byways and secluded lanes, or -resort to violence. In this way, noble natures, on their road to the -most high, may turn savage. Even among those who seek but their own -personal moral purity, among monks and anchorites, men are to be found -who, undermined and devoured by failure, have become barbarous and -hopelessly morbid. There was a spirit full of love and calm belief, -full of goodness and infinite tenderness, hostile to all violence and -self-deterioration, and abhorring the sight of a soul in bondage. And -it was this spirit which manifested itself to Wagner. It hovered over -him as a consoling angel, it covered him with its wings, and showed -him the true path. At this stage we bring the other side of Wagner's -nature into view: but how shall we describe this other side? - -The characters an artist creates are not himself, but the succession -of these characters, to which it is clear he is greatly attached, must -at all events reveal something of his nature. Now try and recall -Rienzi, the Flying Dutchman and Senta, Tannhäuser and Elizabeth, -Lohengrin and Elsa, Tristan and Marke, Hans Sachs, Woden and -Brunhilda,--all these characters are correlated by a secret current of -ennobling and broadening morality which flows through them and becomes -ever purer and clearer as it progresses. And at this point we enter -with respectful reserve into the presence of the most hidden -development in Wagner's own soul. In what other artist do we meet with -the like of this, in the same proportion? Schiller's characters, from -the Robbers to Wallenstein and Tell, do indeed pursue an ennobling -course, and likewise reveal something of their author's development; -but in Wagner the standard is higher and the distance covered is much -greater. In the Nibelungen Ring, for instance, where Brunhilda is -awakened by Siegfried, I perceive the most moral music I have ever -heard. Here Wagner attains to such a high level of sacred feeling that -our mind unconsciously wanders to the glistening ice- and snow-peaks of -the Alps, to find a likeness there;--so pure, isolated, inaccessible, -chaste, and bathed in love-beams does Nature here display herself, -that clouds and tempests--yea, and even the sublime itself--seem to -lie beneath her. Now, looking down from this height upon Tannhauser -and the Flying Dutchman, we begin to perceive how the man in Wagner -was evolved: how restlessly and darkly he began; how tempestuously he -strove to gratify his desires, to acquire power and to taste those -rapturous delights from which he often fled in disgust; how he wished -to throw off a yoke, to forget, to be negative, and to renounce -everything. The whole torrent plunged, now into this valley, now into -that, and flooded the most secluded chinks and crannies. In the night -of these semi-subterranean convulsions a star appeared and glowed high -above him with melancholy vehemence; as soon as he recognised it, he -named it _Fidelity--unselfish fidelity_. Why did this star seem to him -the brightest and purest of all? What secret meaning had the word -"fidelity" to his whole being? For he has graven its image and -problems upon all his thoughts and compositions. His works contain -almost a complete series of the rarest and most beautiful examples of -fidelity: that of brother to sister, of friend to friend, of servant -to master; of Elizabeth to Tannhauser, of Senta to the Dutchman, of -Elsa to Lohengrin, of Isolde, Kurvenal, and Marke to Tristan, of -Brunhilda to the most secret vows of Woden--and many others. It is -Wagner's most personal and most individual experience, which he -reveres like a religious mystery, and which he calls Fidelity; he -never wearies of breathing it into hundreds of different characters, -and of endowing it with the sublimest that in him lies, so overflowing -is his gratitude. It is, in short, the recognition of the fact that -the two sides of his nature remained faithful to each other, that out -of free and unselfish love, the creative, ingenuous, and brilliant -side kept loyally abreast of the dark, the intractable, and the -tyrannical side. - - - -III. - - -The relation of the two constituent forces to each other, and the -yielding of the one to the other, was the great requisite by which -alone he could remain wholly and truly himself. At the same time, this -was the only thing he could not control, and over which he could only -keep a watch, while the temptations to infidelity and its threatening -dangers beset him more and more. The uncertainty derived therefrom is -an overflowing source of suffering for those in process of -development. Each of his instincts made constant efforts to attain to -unmeasured heights, and each of the capacities he possessed for -enjoying life seemed to long to tear itself away from its companions -in order to seek satisfaction alone; the greater their exuberance the -more terrific was the tumult, and the more bitter the competition -between them. In addition, accident and life fired the desire for -power and splendour in him; but he was more often tormented by the -cruel necessity of having to live at all, while all around him lay -obstacles and snares. How is it possible for any one to remain -faithful here, to be completely steadfast? This doubt often depressed -him, and he expresses it, as an artist expressed his doubt, in -artistic forms. Elizabeth, for instance, can only suffer, pray, and -die; she saves the fickle and intemperate man by her loyalty, though -not for this life. In the path of every true artist, whose lot is cast -in these modern days, despair and danger are strewn. He has many means -whereby he can attain to honour and might; peace and plenty -persistently offer themselves to him, but only in that form recognised -by the modern man, which to the straightforward artist is no better -than choke-damp. In this temptation, and in the act of resisting it, -lie the dangers that threaten him--dangers arising from his disgust at -the means modernity offers him of acquiring pleasure and esteem, and -from the indignation provoked by the selfish ease of modern society. -Imagine Wagner's filling an official position, as for instance that of -bandmaster at public and court theatres, both of which positions he -has held: think how he, a serious artist, must have struggled in order -to enforce seriousness in those very places which, to meet the demands -of modern conventions, are designed with almost systematic frivolity -to appeal only to the frivolous. Think how he must have partially -succeeded, though only to fail on the whole. How constantly disgust -must have been at his heels despite his repeated attempts to flee it, -how he failed to find the haven to which he might have repaired, and -how he had ever to return to the Bohemians and outlaws of our society, -as one of them. If he himself broke loose from any post or position, -he rarely found a better one in its stead, while more than once -distress was all that his unrest brought him. Thus Wagner changed his -associates, his dwelling-place and country, and when we come to -comprehend the nature of the circles into which he gravitated, we can -hardly realise how he was able to tolerate them for any length of -time. The greater half of his past seems to be shrouded in heavy mist; -for a long time he appears to have had no general hopes, but only -hopes for the morrow, and thus, although he reposed no faith in the -future, he was not driven to despair. He must have felt like a -nocturnal traveller, broken with fatigue, exasperated from want of -sleep, and tramping wearily along beneath a heavy burden, who, far -from fearing the sudden approach of death, rather longs for it as -something exquisitely charming. His burden, the road and the -night--all would disappear! The thought was a temptation to him. Again -and again, buoyed up by his temporary hopes, he plunged anew into the -turmoil of life, and left all apparatus behind him. But his method of -doing this, his lack of moderation in the doing, betrayed what a -feeble hold his hopes had upon him; how they were only stimulants to -which he had recourse in an extremity. The conflict between his -aspirations and his partial or total inability to realise them, -tormented him like a thorn in the flesh. Infuriated by constant -privations, his imagination lapsed into the dissipated, whenever the -state of want was momentarily relieved. Life grew ever more and more -complicated for him; but the means and artifices that he discovered in -his art as a dramatist became evermore resourceful and daring. Albeit, -these were little more than palpable dramatic makeshifts and -expedients, which deceived, and were invented, only for the moment. In -a flash such means occurred to his mind and were used up. Examined -closely and without prepossession, Wagner's life, to recall one of -Schopenhauer's expressions, might be said to consist largely of -comedy, not to mention burlesque. And what the artist's feelings must -have been, conscious as he was, during whole periods of his life, of -this undignified element in it,--he who more than any one else, -perhaps, breathed freely only in sublime and more than sublime -spheres,--the thinker alone can form any idea. - -In the midst of this mode of life, a detailed description of which is -necessary in order to inspire the amount of pity, awe, and admiration -which are its due, he developed a _talent for acquiring knowledge_, -which even in a German--a son of the nation learned above all -others--was really extraordinary. And with this talent yet another -danger threatened Wagner--a danger more formidable than that involved -in a life which was apparently without either a stay or a rule, borne -hither and thither by disturbing illusions. From a novice trying his -strength, Wagner became a thorough master of music and of the theatre, -as also a prolific inventor in the preliminary technical conditions -for the execution of art. No one will any longer deny him the glory of -having given us the supreme model for lofty artistic execution on a -large scale. But he became more than this, and in order so to develop, -he, no less than any one else in like circumstances, had to reach the -highest degree of culture by virtue of his studies. And wonderfully he -achieved this end! It is delightful to follow his progress. From all -sides material seemed to come unto him and into him, and the larger -and heavier the resulting structure became, the more rigid was the -arch of the ruling and ordering thought supporting it. And yet access -to the sciences and arts has seldom been made more difficult for any -man than for Wagner; so much so that he had almost to break his own -road through to them. The reviver of the simple drama, the discoverer -of the position due to art in true human society, the poetic -interpreter of bygone views of life, the philosopher, the historian, -the æsthete and the critic, the master of languages, the mythologist -and the myth poet, who was the first to include all these wonderful -and beautiful products of primitive times in a single Ring, upon which -he engraved the runic characters of his thoughts--what a wealth of -knowledge must Wagner have accumulated and commanded, in order to have -become all that! And yet this mass of material was just as powerless -to impede the action of his will as a matter of detail--however -attractive--was to draw his purpose from its path. For the exceptional -character of such conduct to be appreciated fully, it should be -compared with that of Goethe,--he who, as a student and as a sage, -resembled nothing so much as a huge river-basin, which does not pour -all its water into the sea, but spends as much of it on its way there, -and at its various twists and turns, as it ultimately disgorges at its -mouth. True, a nature like Goethe's not only has, but also engenders, -more pleasure than any other; there is more mildness and noble -profligacy in it; whereas the tenor and tempo of Wagner's power at -times provoke both fear and flight. But let him fear who will, we -shall only be the more courageous, in that we shall be permitted to -come face to face with a hero who, in regard to modern culture, "has -never learned the meaning of fear." - -But neither has he learned to look for repose in history and -philosophy, nor to derive those subtle influences from their study -which tend to paralyse action or to soften a man unduly. Neither the -creative nor the militant artist in him was ever diverted from his -purpose by learning and culture. The moment his constructive powers -direct him, history becomes yielding clay in his hands. His attitude -towards it then differs from that of every scholar, and more nearly -resembles the relation of the ancient Greek to his myths; that is to -say, his subject is something he may fashion, and about which he may -write verses. He will naturally do this with love and a certain -becoming reverence, but with the sovereign right of the creator -notwithstanding. And precisely because history is more supple and more -variable than a dream to him, he can invest the most individual case -with the characteristics of a whole age, and thus attain to a -vividness of narrative of which historians are quite incapable. In -what work of art, of any kind, has the body and soul of the Middle -Ages ever been so thoroughly depicted as in Lohengrin? And will not -the Meistersingers continue to acquaint men, even in the remotest ages -to come, with the nature of Germany's soul? Will they not do more than -acquaint men of it? Will they not represent its very ripest fruit--the -fruit of that spirit which ever wishes to reform and not to overthrow, -and which, despite the broad couch of comfort on which it lies, has -not forgotten how to endure the noblest discomfort when a worthy and -novel deed has to be accomplished? - -And it is just to this kind of discomfort that Wagner always felt -himself drawn by his study of history and philosophy: in them he not -only found arms and coats of mail, but what he felt in their presence -above all was the inspiring breath which is wafted from the graves of -all great fighters, sufferers, and thinkers. Nothing distinguishes a -man more from the general pattern of the age than the use he makes of -history and philosophy. According to present views, the former seems -to have been allotted the duty of giving modern man breathing-time, in -the midst of his panting and strenuous scurry towards his goal, so -that he may, for a space, imagine he has slipped his leash. What -Montaigne was as an individual amid the turmoil of the -Reformation--that is to say, a creature inwardly coming to peace with -himself, serenely secluded in himself and taking breath, as his best -reader, Shakespeare, understood him,--this is what history is to the -modern spirit to-day. The fact that the Germans, for a whole century, -have devoted themselves more particularly to the study of history, -only tends to prove that they are the stemming, retarding, and -becalming force in the activity of modern society--a circumstance -which some, of course, will place to their credit. On the whole, -however, it is a dangerous symptom when the mind of a nation turns -with preference to the study of the past. It is a sign of flagging -strength, of decline and degeneration; it denotes that its people are -perilously near to falling victims to the first fever that may happen -to be rif--the political fever among others. Now, in the history of -modern thought, our scholars are an example of this condition of -weakness as opposed to all reformative and revolutionary activity. The -mission they have chosen is not of the noblest; they have rather been -content to secure smug happiness for their kind, and little more. -Every independent and manly step leaves them halting in the -background, although it by no means outstrips history. For the latter -is possessed of vastly different powers, which only natures like -Wagner have any notion of; but it requires to be written in a much -more earnest and severe spirit, by much more vigorous students, and -with much less optimism than has been the case hitherto. In fact, it -requires to be treated quite differently from the way German scholars -have treated it until now. In all their works there is a continual -desire to embellish, to submit and to be content, while the course of -events invariably seems to have their approbation. It is rather the -exception for one of them to imply that he is satisfied only because -things might have turned out worse; for most of them believe, almost -as a matter of course, that everything has been for the best simply -because it has only happened once. Were history not always a disguised -Christian theodicy, were it written with more justice and fervent -feeling, it would be the very last thing on earth to be made to serve -the purpose it now serves, namely, that of an opiate against -everything subversive and novel. And philosophy is in the same plight: -all that the majority demand of it is, that it may teach them to -understand approximate facts--very approximate facts--in order that -they may then become adapted to them. And even its noblest exponents -press its soporific and comforting powers so strongly to the fore, -that all lovers of sleep and of loafing must think that their aim and -the aim of philosophy are one. For my part, the most important -question philosophy has to decide seems to be, how far things have -acquired an unalterable stamp and form, and, once this question has -been answered, I think it the duty of philosophy unhesitatingly and -courageously to proceed with the task of _improving that part of the -world which has been recognised as still susceptible to change_. But -genuine philosophers do, as a matter of fact, teach this doctrine -themselves, inasmuch as they work at endeavouring to alter the very -changeable views of men, and do not keep their opinions to themselves. -Genuine disciples of genuine philosophies also teach this doctrine; -for, like Wagner, they understand the art of deriving a more decisive -and inflexible will from their master's teaching, rather than an -opiate or a sleeping draught. Wagner is most philosophical where he is -most powerfully active and heroic. It was as a philosopher that he -went, not only through the fire of various philosophical systems -without fear, but also through the vapours of science and scholarship, -while remaining ever true to his highest self. And it was this highest -self which exacted _from his versatile spirit works as complete as his -were_, which bade him suffer and learn, that he might accomplish such -works. - - - -IV. - - -The history of the development of culture since the time of the Greeks -is short enough, when we take into consideration the actual ground it -covers, and ignore the periods during which man stood still, went -backwards, hesitated or strayed. The Hellenising of the world--and to -make this possible, the Orientalising of Hellenism--that double -mission of Alexander the Great, still remains the most important -event: the old question whether a foreign civilisation may be -transplanted is still the problem that the peoples of modern times are -vainly endeavouring to solve. The rhythmic play of those two factors -against each other is the force that has determined the course of -history heretofore. Thus Christianity appears, for instance, as a -product of Oriental antiquity, which was thought out and pursued to -its ultimate conclusions by men, with almost intemperate thoroughness. -As its influence began to decay, the power of Hellenic culture was -revived, and we are now experiencing phenomena so strange that they -would hang in the air as unsolved problems, if it were not possible, -by spanning an enormous gulf of time, to show their relation to -analogous phenomena in Hellenistic culture. Thus, between Kant and the -Eleatics, Schopenhauer and Empedocles, Æschylus and Wagner, there is -so much relationship, so many things in common, that one is vividly -impressed with the very relative nature of all notions of time. It -would even seem as if a whole diversity of things were really all of a -piece, and that time is only a cloud which makes it hard for our eyes -to perceive the oneness of them. In the history of the exact sciences -we are perhaps most impressed by the close bond uniting us with the -days of Alexander and ancient Greece. The pendulum of history seems -merely to have swung back to that point from which it started when it -plunged forth into unknown and mysterious distance. The picture -represented by our own times is by no means a new one: to the student -of history it must always seem as though he were merely in the -presence of an old familiar face, the features of which he recognises. -In our time the spirit of Greek culture is scattered broadcast. While -forces of all kinds are pressing one upon the other, and the fruits of -modern art and science are offering themselves as a means of exchange, -the pale outline of Hellenism is beginning to dawn faintly in the -distance. The earth which, up to the present, has been more than -adequately Orientalised, begins to yearn once more for Hellenism. He -who wishes to help her in this respect will certainly need to be -gifted for speedy action and to have wings on his heels, in order to -synthetise the multitudinous and still undiscovered facts of science -and the many conflicting divisions of talent so as to reconnoitre and -rule the whole enormous field. It is now necessary that a generation -of _anti-Alexanders_ should arise, endowed with the supreme strength -necessary for gathering up, binding together, and joining the -individual threads of the fabric, so as to prevent their being -scattered to the four winds. The object is not to cut the Gordian knot -of Greek culture after the manner adopted by Alexander, and then to -leave its frayed ends fluttering in all directions; it is rather to -_bind it after it has been loosed_. That is our task to-day. In the -person of Wagner I recognise one of these anti-Alexanders: he rivets -and locks together all that is isolated, weak, or in any way -defective; if I may be allowed to use a medical expression, he has an -_astringent_ power. And in this respect he is one of the greatest -civilising forces of his age. He dominates art, religion, and -folklore, yet he is the reverse of a polyhistor or of a mere -collecting and classifying spirit; for he constructs with the -collected material, and breathes life into it, and is a _Simplifier of -the Universe_. We must not be led away from this idea by comparing the -general mission which his genius imposed upon him with the much -narrower and more immediate one which we are at present in the habit -of associating with the name of Wagner. He is expected to effect a -reform in the theatre world; but even supposing he should succeed in -doing this, what would then have been done towards the accomplishment -of that higher, more distant mission? - -But even with this lesser theatrical reform, modern man would also be -altered and reformed; for everything is so intimately related in this -world, that he who removes even so small a thing as a rivet from the -framework shatters and destroys the whole edifice. And what we here -assert, with perhaps seeming exaggeration, of Wagner's activity would -hold equally good of any other genuine reform. It is quite impossible -to reinstate the art of drama in its purest and highest form without -effecting changes everywhere in the customs of the people, in the -State, in education, and in social intercourse. When love and justice -have become powerful in one department of life, namely in art, they -must, in accordance with the law of their inner being, spread their -influence around them, and can no more return to the stiff stillness -of their former pupal condition. In order even to realise how far the -attitude of the arts towards life is a sign of their decline, and how -far our theatres are a disgrace to those who build and visit them, -everything must be learnt over again, and that which is usual and -commonplace should be regarded as something unusual and complicated. -An extraordinary lack of clear judgment, a badly-concealed lust of -pleasure, of entertainment at any cost, learned scruples, assumed airs -of importance, and trifling with the seriousness of art on the part of -those who represent it; brutality of appetite and money-grubbing on -the part of promoters; the empty-mindedness and thoughtlessness of -society, which only thinks of the people in so far as these serve or -thwart its purpose, and which attends theatres and concerts without -giving a thought to its duties,--all these things constitute the -stifling and deleterious atmosphere of our modern art conditions: -when, however, people like our men of culture have grown accustomed to -it, they imagine that it is a condition of their healthy existence, -and would immediately feel unwell if, for any reason, they were -compelled to dispense with it for a while. In point of fact, there is -but one speedy way of convincing oneself of the vulgarity, weirdness, -and confusion of our theatrical institutions, and that is to compare -them with those which once flourished in ancient Greece. If we knew -nothing about the Greeks, it would perhaps be impossible to assail our -present conditions at all, and objections made on the large scale -conceived for the first time by Wagner would have been regarded as the -dreams of people who could only be at home in outlandish places. "For -men as we now find them," people would have retorted, "art of this -modern kind answers the purpose and is fitting--and men have never -been different." But they have been very different, and even now there -are men who are far from satisfied with the existing state of -affairs--the fact of Bayreuth alone demonstrates this point. Here you -will find prepared and initiated spectators, and the emotion of men -conscious of being at the very zenith of their happiness, who -concentrate their whole being on that happiness in order to strengthen -themselves for a higher and more far-reaching purpose. Here you will -find the most noble self-abnegation on the part of the artist, and the -finest of all spectacles--that of a triumphant creator of works which -are in themselves an overflowing treasury of artistic triumphs. Does -it not seem almost like a fairy tale, to be able to come face to face -with such a personality? Must not they who take any part whatsoever, -active or passive, in the proceedings at Bayreuth, already feel -altered and rejuvenated, and ready to introduce reforms and to effect -renovations in other spheres of life? Has not a haven been found for -all wanderers on high and desert seas, and has not peace settled over -the face of the waters? Must not he who leaves these spheres of ruling -profundity and loneliness for the very differently ordered world with -its plains and lower levels, cry continually like Isolde: "Oh, how -could I bear it? How can I still bear it?" And should he be unable to -endure his joy and his sorrow, or to keep them egotistically to -himself, he will avail himself from that time forward of every -opportunity of making them known to all. "Where are they who are -suffering under the yoke of modern institutions?" he will inquire. -"Where are my natural allies, with whom I may struggle against the -ever waxing and ever more oppressive pretensions of modern erudition?" -For at present, at least, we have but one enemy--at present!--and it -is that band of æsthetes, to whom the word Bayreuth means the -completest rout--they have taken no share in the arrangements, they -were rather indignant at the whole movement, or else availed -themselves effectively of the deaf-ear policy, which has now become -the trusty weapon of all very superior opposition. But this proves -that their animosity and knavery were ineffectual in destroying -Wagner's spirit or in hindering the accomplishment of his plans; it -proves even more, for it betrays their weakness and the fact that all -those who are at present in possession of power will not be able to -withstand many more attacks. The time is at hand for those who would -conquer and triumph; the vastest empires lie at their mercy, a note of -interrogation hangs to the name of all present possessors of power, so -far as possession may be said to exist in this respect. Thus -educational institutions are said to be decaying, and everywhere -individuals are to be found who have secretly deserted them. If only -it were possible to invite those to open rebellion and public -utterances, who even now are thoroughly dissatisfied with the state of -affairs in this quarter! If only it were possible to deprive them of -their faint heart and lukewarmness! I am convinced that the whole -spirit of modern culture would receive its deadliest blow if the tacit -support which these natures give it could in any way be cancelled. -Among scholars, only those would remain loyal to the old order of -things who had been infected with the political mania or who were -literary hacks in any form whatever. The repulsive organisation which -derives its strength from the violence and injustice upon which it -relies--that is to say, from the State and Society--and which sees its -advantage in making the latter ever more evil and unscrupulous,--this -structure which without such support would be something feeble and -effete, only needs to be despised in order to perish. He who is -struggling to spread justice and love among mankind must regard this -organisation as the least significant of the obstacles in his way; for -he will only encounter his real opponents once he has successfully -stormed and conquered modern culture, which is nothing more than their -outworks. - -For us, Bayreuth is the consecration of the dawn of the combat. No -greater injustice could be done to us than to suppose that we are -concerned with art alone, as though it were merely a means of healing -or stupefying us, which we make use of in order to rid our -consciousness of all the misery that still remains in our midst. In -the image of this tragic art work at Bayreuth, we see, rather, the -struggle of individuals against everything which seems to oppose them -with invincible necessity, with power, law, tradition, conduct, and -the whole order of things established. Individuals cannot choose a -better life than that of holding themselves ready to sacrifice -themselves and to die in their fight for love and justice. The gaze -which the mysterious eye of tragedy vouchsafes us neither lulls nor -paralyses. Nevertheless, it demands silence of us as long as it keeps -us in view; for art does not serve the purposes of war, but is merely -with us to improve our hours of respite, before and during the course -of the contest,--to improve those few moments when, looking back, yet -dreaming of the future, we seem to understand the symbolical, and are -carried away into a refreshing reverie when fatigue overtakes us. Day -and battle dawn together, the sacred shadows vanish, and Art is once -more far away from us; but the comfort she dispenses is with men from -the earliest hour of day, and never leaves them. Wherever he turns, -the individual realises only too clearly his own shortcomings, his -insufficiency and his incompetence; what courage would he have left -were he not previously rendered impersonal by this consecration! The -greatest of all torments harassing him, the conflicting beliefs and -opinions among men, the unreliability of these beliefs and opinions, -and the unequal character of men's abilities--all these things make -him hanker after art. We cannot be happy so long as everything about -us suffers and causes suffering; we cannot be moral so long as the -course of human events is determined by violence, treachery, and -injustice; we cannot even be wise, so long as the whole of mankind -does not compete for wisdom, and does not lead the individual to the -most sober and reasonable form of life and knowledge. How, then, would -it be possible to endure this feeling of threefold insufficiency if -one were not able to recognise something sublime and valuable in one's -struggles, strivings, and defeats, if one did not learn from tragedy -how to delight in the rhythm of the great passions, and in their -victim? Art is certainly no teacher or educator of practical conduct: -the artist is never in this sense an instructor or adviser; the things -after which a tragic hero strives are not necessarily worth striving -after. As in a dream so in art, the valuation of things only holds -good while we are under its spell. What we, for the time being, regard -as so worthy of effort, and what makes us sympathise with the tragic -hero when he prefers death to renouncing the object of his desire, -this can seldom retain the same value and energy when transferred to -everyday life: that is why art is the business of the man who is -recreating himself. The strife it reveals to us is a simplification of -life's struggle; its problems are abbreviations of the infinitely -complicated phenomena of man's actions and volitions. But from this -very fact--that it is the reflection, so to speak, of a simpler world, -a more rapid solution of the riddle of life--art derives its greatness -and indispensability. No one who suffers from life can do without this -reflection, just as no one can exist without sleep. The more difficult -the science of natural laws becomes, the more fervently we yearn for -the image of this simplification, if only for an instant; and the -greater becomes the tension between each man's general knowledge of -things and his moral and spiritual faculties. Art is with us _to -prevent the bow from snapping_. - -The individual must be consecrated to something impersonal--that is -the aim of tragedy: he must forget the terrible anxiety which death -and time tend to create in him; for at any moment of his life, at any -fraction of time in the whole of his span of years, something sacred -may cross his path which will amply compensate him for all his -struggles and privations. This means having _a sense for the tragic_. -And if all mankind must perish some day--and who could question this! ---it has been given its highest aim for the future, namely, to -increase and to live in such unity that it may confront its final -extermination as a whole, with one spirit--with a common sense of the -tragic: in this one aim all the ennobling influences of man lie -locked; its complete repudiation by humanity would be the saddest blow -which the soul of the philanthropist could receive. That is how I feel -in the matter! There is but one hope and guarantee for the future of -man, and that is _that his sense for the tragic may not die out_. If he -ever completely lost it, an agonised cry, the like of which has never -been heard, would have to be raised all over the world; for there is -no more blessed joy than that which consists in knowing what we -know--how tragic thought was born again on earth. For this joy is -thoroughly impersonal and general: it is the wild rejoicing of -humanity, anent the hidden relationship and progress of all that is -human. - - - -V. - - -Wagner concentrated upon life, past and present, the light of an -intelligence strong enough to embrace the most distant regions in its -rays. That is why he is a simplifier of the universe; for the -simplification of the universe is only possible to him whose eye has -been able to master the immensity and wildness of an apparent chaos, -and to relate and unite those things which before had lain hopelessly -asunder. Wagner did this by discovering a connection between two -objects which seemed to exist apart from each other as though in -separate spheres--that between music and life, and similarly between -music and the drama. Not that he invented or was the first to create -this relationship, for they must always have existed and have been -noticeable to all; but, as is usually the case with a great problem, -it is like a precious stone which thousands stumble over before one -finally picks it up. Wagner asked himself the meaning of the fact that -an art such as music should have become so very important a feature of -the lives of modern men. It is not necessary to think meanly of life -in order to suspect a riddle behind this question. On the contrary, -when all the great forces of existence are duly considered, and -struggling life is regarded as striving mightily after conscious -freedom and independence of thought, only then does music seem to be a -riddle in this world. Should one not answer: Music could not have been -born in our time? What then does its presence amongst us signify? An -accident? A single great artist might certainly be an accident, but -the appearance of a whole group of them, such as the history of modern -music has to show, a group only once before equalled on earth, that is -to say in the time of the Greeks,--a circumstance of this sort leads -one to think that perhaps necessity rather than accident is at the -root of the whole phenomenon. The meaning of this necessity is the -riddle which Wagner answers. - -He was the first to recognise an evil which is as widespread as -civilisation itself among men; language is everywhere diseased, and -the burden of this terrible disease weighs heavily upon the whole of -man's development. Inasmuch as language has retreated ever more and -more from its true province--the expression of strong feelings, which -it was once able to convey in all their simplicity--and has always had -to strain after the practically impossible achievement of -communicating the reverse of feeling, that is to say thought, its -strength has become so exhausted by this excessive extension of its -duties during the comparatively short period of modern civilisation, -that it is no longer able to perform even that function which alone -justifies its existence, to wit, the assisting of those who suffer, in -communicating with each other concerning the sorrows of existence. Man -can no longer make his misery known unto others by means of language; -hence he cannot really express himself any longer. And under these -conditions, which are only vaguely felt at present, language has -gradually become a force in itself which with spectral arms coerces -and drives humanity where it least wants to go. As soon as they would -fain understand one another and unite for a common cause, the -craziness of general concepts, and even of the ring of modern words, -lays hold of them. The result of this inability to communicate with -one another is that every product of their co-operative action bears -the stamp of discord, not only because it fails to meet their real -needs, but because of the very emptiness of those all-powerful words -and notions already mentioned. To the misery already at hand, man thus -adds the curse of convention--that is to say, the agreement between -words and actions without an agreement between the feelings. Just as, -during the decline of every art, a point is reached when the morbid -accumulation of its means and forms attains to such tyrannical -proportions that it oppresses the tender souls of artists and converts -these into slaves, so now, in the period of the decline of language, -men have become the slaves of words. Under this yoke no one is able to -show himself as he is, or to express himself artlessly, while only few -are able to preserve their individuality in their fight against a -culture which thinks to manifest its success, not by the fact that it -approaches definite sensations and desires with the view of educating -them, but by the fact that it involves the individual in the snare of -"definite notions," and teaches him to think correctly: as if there -were any value in making a correctly thinking and reasoning being out -of man, before one has succeeded in making him a creature that feels -correctly. If now the strains of our German masters' music burst upon -a mass of mankind sick to this extent, what is really the meaning of -these strains? Only _correct feeling_, the enemy of all convention, of -all artificial estrangement and misunderstandings between man and man: -this music signifies a return to nature, and at the same time a -purification and remodelling of it; for the need of such a return took -shape in the souls of the most loving of men, and, _through their art, -nature transformed into love makes its voice heard_. - -Let us regard this as _one_ of Wagner's answers to the question, What -does music mean in our time? for he has a second. The relation between -music and life is not merely that existing between one kind of -language and another; it is, besides, the relation between the perfect -world of sound and that of sight. Regarded merely as a spectacle, and -compared with other and earlier manifestations of human life, the -existence of modern man is characterised by indescribable indigence -and exhaustion, despite the unspeakable garishness at which only the -superficial observer rejoices. If one examines a little more closely -the impression which this vehement and kaleidoscopic play of colours -makes upon one, does not the whole seem to blaze with the shimmer and -sparkle of innumerable little stones borrowed from former -civilisations? Is not everything one sees merely a complex of -inharmonious bombast, aped gesticulations, arrogant superficiality?--a -ragged suit of motley for the naked and the shivering? A seeming dance -of joy enjoined upon a sufferer? Airs of overbearing pride assumed by -one who is sick to the backbone? And the whole moving with such -rapidity and confusion that it is disguised and masked--sordid -impotence, devouring dissension, assiduous ennui, dishonest distress! -The appearance of present-day humanity is all appearance, and nothing -else: in what he now represents man himself has become obscured and -concealed; and the vestiges of the creative faculty in art, which -still cling to such countries as France and Italy, are all -concentrated upon this one task of concealing. Wherever form is still -in demand in society, conversation, literary style, or the relations -between governments, men have unconsciously grown to believe that it -is adequately met by a kind of agreeable dissimulation, quite the -reverse of genuine form conceived as a necessary relation between the -proportions of a figure, having no concern whatever with the notions -"agreeable" or "disagreeable," simply because it is necessary and not -optional. But even where form is not openly exacted by civilised -people, there is no greater evidence of this requisite relation of -proportions; a striving after the agreeable dissimulation, already -referred to, is on the contrary noticeable, though it is never so -successful even if it be more eager than in the first instance. How -far this dissimulation is _agreeable_ at times, and why it must please -everybody to see how modern men at least endeavour to dissemble, every -one is in a position to judge, according to, the extent to which he -himself may happen to be modern. "Only galley slaves know each other," -says Tasso, "and if we _mistake_ others, it is only out of courtesy, and -with the hope that they, in their turn, should mistake us." - -Now, in this world of forms and intentional misunderstandings, what -purpose is served by the appearance of souls overflowing with music? -They pursue the course of grand and unrestrained rhythm with noble -candour--with a passion more than personal; they glow with the mighty -and peaceful fire of music, which wells up to the light of day from -their unexhausted depths--and all this to what purpose? - -By means of these souls music gives expression to the longing that it -feels for the company of its natural ally, _gymnastics_--that is to say, -its necessary form in the order of visible phenomena. In its search -and craving for this ally, it becomes the arbiter of the whole visible -world and the world of mere lying appearance of the present day. This -is Wagner's second answer to the question, What is the meaning of -music in our times? "Help me," he cries to all who have ears to hear, -"help me to discover that culture of which my music, as the -rediscovered language of correct feeling, seems to foretell the -existence. Bear in mind that the soul of music now wishes to acquire a -body, that, by means of you all, it would find its way to visibleness -in movements, deeds, institutions, and customs!" There are some men -who understand this summons, and their number will increase; they have -also understood, for the first time, what it means to found the State -upon music. It is something that the ancient Hellenes not only -understood but actually insisted upon; and these enlightened creatures -would just as soon have sentenced the modern State to death as modern -men now condemn the Church. The road to such a new though not -unprecedented goal would lead to this: that we should be compelled to -acknowledge where the worst faults of our educational system lie, and -why it has failed hitherto to elevate us out of barbarity: in reality, -it lacks the stirring and creative soul of music; its requirements and -arrangements are moreover the product of a period in which the music, -to which We seem to attach so much importance, had not yet been born. -Our education is the most antiquated factor of our present conditions, -and it is so more precisely in regard to the one new educational force -by which it makes men of to-day in advance of those of bygone -centuries, or by which it would make them in advance of their remote -ancestors, provided only they did not persist so rashly in hurrying -forward in meek response to the scourge of the moment. Through not -having allowed the soul of music to lodge within them, they have no -notion of gymnastics in the Greek and Wagnerian sense; and that is why -their creative artists are condemned to despair, as long as they wish -to dispense with music as a guide in a new world of visible phenomena. -Talent may develop as much as may be desired: it either comes too late -or too soon, and at all events out of season; for it is in the main -superfluous and abortive, just as even the most perfect and the -highest products of earlier times which serve modern artists as models -are superfluous and abortive, and add not a stone to the edifice -already begun. If their innermost consciousness can perceive no new -forms, but only the old ones belonging to the past, they may certainly -achieve something for history, but not for life; for they are already -dead before having expired. He, however, who feels genuine and -fruitful life in him, which at present can only be described by the -one term "Music," could he allow himself to be deceived for one moment -into nursing solid hopes by this something which exhausts all its -energy in producing figures, forms, and styles? He stands above all -such vanities, and as little expects to meet with artistic wonders -outside his ideal world of sound as with great writers bred on our -effete and discoloured language. Rather than lend an ear to illusive -consolations, he prefers to turn his unsatisfied gaze stoically upon -our modern world, and if his heart be not warm enough to feel pity, -let it at least feel bitterness and hate! It were better for him to -show anger and scorn than to take cover in spurious contentment or -steadily to drug himself, as our "friends of art" are wont to do. But -if he can do more than condemn and despise, if he is capable of -loving, sympathising, and assisting in the general work of -construction, he must still condemn, notwithstanding, in order to -prepare the road for his willing soul. In order that music may one day -exhort many men to greater piety and make them privy to her highest -aims, an end must first be made to the whole of the pleasure-seeking -relations which men now enjoy with such a sacred art. Behind all our -artistic pastimes--theatres, museums, concerts, and the like--that -aforementioned "friend of art" is to be found, and he it is who must -be suppressed: the favour he now finds at the hands of the State must -be changed into oppression; public opinion, which lays such particular -stress upon the training of this love of art, must be routed by better -judgment. Meanwhile we must reckon the _declared enemy of art_ as our -best and most useful ally; for the object of his animosity is -precisely art as understood by the "friend of art,"--he knows of no -other kind! Let him be allowed to call our "friend of art" to account -for the nonsensical waste of money occasioned by the building of his -theatres and public monuments, the engagement of his celebrated -singers and actors, and the support of his utterly useless schools of -art and picture-galleries--to say nothing of all the energy, time, and -money which every family squanders in pretended "artistic interests." -Neither hunger nor satiety is to be noticed here, but a dead-and-alive -game is played--with the semblance of each, a game invented by the -idle desire to produce an effect and to deceive others. Or, worse -still, art is taken more or less seriously, and then it is itself -expected to provoke a kind of hunger and craving, and to fulfil its -mission in this artificially induced excitement. It is as if people -were afraid of sinking beneath the weight of their loathing and -dulness, and invoked every conceivable evil spirit to scare them and -drive them about like wild cattle. Men hanker after pain, anger, hate, -the flush of passion, sudden flight, and breathless suspense, and they -appeal to the artist as the conjurer of this demoniacal host. In the -spiritual economy of our cultured classes art has become a spurious or -ignominious and undignified need--a nonentity or a something evil. The -superior and more uncommon artist must be in the throes of a -bewildering nightmare in order to be blind to all this, and like a -ghost, diffidently and in a quavering voice, he goes on repeating -beautiful words which he declares descend to him from higher spheres, -but whose sound he can hear only very indistinctly. The artist who -happens to be moulded according to the modern pattern, however, -regards the dreamy gropings and hesitating speech of his nobler -colleague with contempt, and leads forth the whole brawling mob of -assembled passions on a leash in order to let them loose upon modern -men as he may think fit. For these modern creatures wish rather to be -hunted down, wounded, and torn to shreds, than to live alone with -themselves in solitary calm. Alone with oneself!--this thought -terrifies the modern soul; it is his one anxiety, his one ghastly -fear. - -When I watch the throngs that move and linger about the streets of a -very populous town, and notice no other expression in their faces than -one of hunted stupor, I can never help commenting to myself upon the -misery of their condition. For them all, art exists only that they may -be still more wretched, torpid, insensible, or even more flurried and -covetous. For _incorrect feeling_ governs and drills them unremittingly, -and does not even give them time to become aware of their misery. -Should they wish to speak, convention whispers their cue to them, and -this makes them forget what they originally intended to say; should -they desire to understand one another, their comprehension is maimed -as though by a spell: they declare that to be their joy which in -reality is but their doom, and they proceed to collaborate in wilfully -bringing about their own damnation. Thus they have become transformed -into perfectly and absolutely different creatures, and reduced to the -state of abject slaves of incorrect feeling. - - - -VI. - - -I shall only give two instances showing how utterly the sentiment of -our time has been perverted, and how completely unconscious the -present age is of this perversion. Formerly financiers were looked -down upon with honest scorn, even though they were recognised as -needful; for it was generally admitted that every society must have -its viscera. Now, however, they are the ruling power in the soul of -modern humanity, for they constitute the most covetous portion -thereof. In former times people were warned especially against taking -the day or the moment too seriously: the _nil admirari_ was recommended -and the care of things eternal. Now there is but one kind of -seriousness left in the modern mind, and it is limited to the news -brought by the newspaper and the telegraph. Improve each shining hour, -turn it to some account and judge it as quickly as possible!--one -would think modern men had but one virtue left--presence of mind. -Unfortunately, it much more closely resembles the omnipresence of -disgusting and insatiable cupidity, and spying inquisitiveness become -universal. For the question is whether mind is _present at all -to-day_;--but we shall leave this problem for future judges to solve; -they, at least, are bound to pass modern men through a sieve. But that -this age is vulgar, even we can see now, and it is so because it -reveres precisely what nobler ages contemned. If, therefore, it loots -all the treasures of bygone wit and wisdom, and struts about in this -richest of rich garments, it only proves its sinister consciousness of -its own vulgarity in so doing; for it does not don this garb for -warmth, but merely in order to mystify its surroundings. The desire to -dissemble and to conceal himself seems stronger than the need of -protection from the cold in modern man. Thus scholars and philosophers -of the age do not have recourse to Indian and Greek wisdom in order to -become wise and peaceful: the only purpose of their work seems to be -to earn them a fictitious reputation for learning in their own time. -The naturalists endeavour to classify the animal outbreaks of -violence, ruse and revenge, in the present relations between nations -and individual men, as immutable laws of nature. Historians are -anxiously engaged in proving that every age has its own particular -right and special conditions,--with the view of preparing the -groundwork of an apology for the day that is to come, when our -generation will be called to judgment. The science of government, of -race, of commerce, and of jurisprudence, all have that _preparatorily -apologetic_ character now; yea, it even seems as though the small -amount of intellect which still remains active to-day, and is not used -up by the great mechanism of gain and power, has as its sole task the -defending--and excusing of the present - -Against what accusers? one asks, surprised. - -Against its own bad conscience. - -And at this point we plainly discern the task assigned to modern -art--that of stupefying or intoxicating, of lulling to sleep or -bewildering. By hook or by crook to make conscience unconscious! To -assist the modern soul over the sensation of guilt, not to lead it -back to innocence! And this for the space of moments only! To defend -men against themselves, that their inmost heart may be silenced, that -they may turn a deaf ear to its voice! The souls of those few who -really feel the utter ignominy of this mission and its terrible -humiliation of art, must be filled to the brim with sorrow and pity, -but also with a new and overpowering yearning. He who would fain -emancipate art, and reinstall its sanctity, now desecrated, must first -have freed himself from all contact with modern souls; only as an -innocent being himself can he hope to discover the innocence of art, -for he must be ready to perform the stupendous tasks of -self-purification and self-consecration. If he succeeded, if he were -ever able to address men from out his enfranchised soul and by means -of his emancipated art, he would then find himself exposed to the -greatest of dangers and involved in the most appalling of struggles. -Man would prefer to tear him and his art to pieces, rather than -acknowledge that he must die of shame in presence of them. It is just -possible that the emancipation of art is the only ray of hope -illuminating the future, an event intended only for a few isolated -souls, while the many remain satisfied to gaze into the flickering and -smoking flame of their art and can endure to do so. For they do not -_want_ to be enlightened, but dazzled. They rather _hate_ light--more -particularly when it is thrown on themselves. - -That is why they evade the new messenger of light; but he follows -them--the love which gave him birth compels him to follow them and to -reduce them to submission. "Ye must go through my mysteries," he cries -to them; "ye need to be purified and shaken by them. Dare to submit to -this for your own salvation, and abandon the gloomily lighted corner -of life and nature which alone seems familiar to you. I lead you into -a kingdom which is also real, and when I lead you out of my cell into -your daylight, ye will be able to judge which life is more real, -which, in fact, is day and which night. Nature is much richer, more -powerful, more blessed and more terrible below the surface; ye cannot -divine this from the way in which ye live. O that ye yourselves could -learn to become natural again, and then suffer yourselves to be -transformed through nature, and into her, by the charm of my ardour -and love!" - -It is the voice _of Wagner's art_ which thus appeals to men. And that -we, the children of a wretched age, should be the first to hear it, -shows how deserving of pity this age must be: it shows, moreover, that -real music is of a piece with fate and primitive law; for it is quite -impossible to attribute its presence amongst us precisely at the -present time to empty and meaningless chance. Had Wagner been an -accident, he would certainly have been crushed by the superior -strength of the other elements in the midst of which he was placed, -out in the coming of Wagner there seems to have been a necessity which -both justifies it and makes it glorious. Observed from its earliest -beginnings, the development of his art constitutes a most magnificent -spectacle, and--even though it was attended with great -suffering--reason, law, and intention mark its course throughout. -Under the charm of such a spectacle the observer will be led to take -pleasure even in this painful development itself, and will regard it -as fortunate. He will see how everything necessarily contributes to -the welfare and benefit of talent and a nature foreordained, however -severe the trials may be through which it may have to pass. He will -realise how every danger gives it more heart, and every triumph more -prudence; how it partakes of poison and sorrow and thrives upon them. -The mockery and perversity of the surrounding world only goad and spur -it on the more. Should it happen to go astray, it but returns from its -wanderings and exile loaded with the most precious spoil; should it -chance to slumber, "it does but recoup its strength." It tempers the -body itself and makes it tougher; it does not consume life, however -long it lives; it rules over man like a pinioned passion, and allows -him to fly just in the nick of time, when his foot has grown weary in -the sand or has been lacerated by the stones on his way. It can do -nought else but impart; every one must share in its work, and it is no -stinted giver. When it is repulsed it is but more prodigal in its -gifts; ill used by those it favours, it does but reward them with the -richest treasures it possesses,--and, according to the oldest and most -recent experience, its favoured ones have never been quite worthy of -its gifts. That is why the nature foreordained, through which music -expresses itself to this world of appearance, is one of the most -mysterious things under the sun--an abyss in which strength and -goodness lie united, a bridge between self and non-self. Who would -undertake to name the object of its existence with any -certainty?--even supposing the sort of purpose which it would be -likely to have could be divined at all. But a most blessed foreboding -leads one to ask whether it is possible for the grandest things to -exist for the purpose of the meanest, the greatest talent for the -benefit of the smallest, the loftiest virtue and holiness for the sake -of the defective and faulty? Should real music make itself heard, -because mankind of all creatures _least deserves to hear it, though it -perhaps need it most_? If one ponder over the transcendental and -wonderful character of this possibility, and turn from these -considerations to look back on life, a light will then be seen to -ascend, however dark and misty it may have seemed a moment before. - - - -VII. - - -It is quite impossible otherwise: the observer who is confronted with -a nature such as Wagner's must, willy-nilly, turn his eyes from time -to time upon himself, upon his insignificance and frailty, and ask -himself, What concern is this of thine? Why, pray, art thou there at -all? Maybe he will find no answer to these questions, in which case he -will remain estranged and confounded, face to face with his own -personality. Let it then suffice him that he has experienced this -feeling; let the fact _that he has felt strange and embarrassed in the -presence of his own soul_ be the answer to his question For it is -precisely by virtue of this feeling that he shows the most powerful -manifestation of life in Wagner--the very kernel of his strength--that -demoniacal _magnetism_ and gift of imparting oneself to others, which is -peculiar to his nature, and by which it not only conveys itself to -other beings, but also absorbs other beings into itself; thus -attaining to its greatness by giving and by taking. As the observer is -apparently subject to Wagner's exuberant and prodigally generous -nature, he partakes of its strength, and thereby becomes formidable -_through him and to him_. And every one who critically examines himself -knows that a certain mysterious antagonism is necessary to the process -of mutual study. Should his art lead us to experience all that falls -to the lot of a soul engaged upon a journey, _i.e._ feeling sympathy -with others and sharing their fate, and seeing the world through -hundreds of different eyes, we are then able, from such a distance, -and under such strange influences, to contemplate him, once we have -lived his life. We then feel with the utmost certainty that in Wagner -the whole visible world desires to be spiritualised, absorbed, and -lost in the world of sounds. In Wagner, too, the world of sounds seeks -to manifest itself as a phenomenon for the sight; it seeks, as it -were, to incarnate itself. His art always leads him into two distinct -directions, from the world of the play of sound to the mysterious and -yet related world of visible things, and _vice versâ_. He is continually -forced--and the observer with him--to re-translate the visible into -spiritual and primeval life, and likewise to perceive the most hidden -interstices of the soul as something concrete and to lend it a visible -body. This constitutes the nature of the _dithyrambic dramatist_, if the -meaning given to the term includes also the actor, the poet, and the -musician; a conception necessarily borrowed from Æschylus and the -contemporary Greek artists--the only perfect examples of the -dithyrambic dramatist before Wagner. If attempts have been made to -trace the most wonderful developments to inner obstacles or -deficiencies, if, for instance, in Goethe's case, poetry was merely -the refuge of a foiled talent for painting; if one may speak of -Schiller's dramas as of vulgar eloquence directed into uncommon -channels; if Wagner himself tries to account for the development of -music among the Germans by showing that, inasmuch as they are devoid -of the entrancing stimulus of a natural gift for singing, they were -compelled to take up instrumental music with the same profound -seriousness as that with which their reformers took up -Christianity,--if, on the same principle, it were sought to associate -Wagner's development with an inner barrier of the same kind, it would -then be necessary to recognise in him a primitive dramatic talent, -which had to renounce all possibility of satisfying its needs by the -quickest and most methods, and which found its salvation and its means -of expression in drawing all arts to it for one great dramatic -display. But then one would also have to assume that the most powerful -musician, owing to his despair at having to appeal to people who were -either only semi-musical or not musical at all, violently opened a -road for himself to the other arts, in order to acquire that capacity -for diversely communicating himself to others, by which he compelled -them to understand him, by which he compelled the masses to understand -him. However the development of the born dramatist may be pictured, in -his ultimate expression he is a being free from all inner barriers and -voids: the real, emancipated artist cannot help himself, he must think -in the spirit of all the arts at once, as the mediator and intercessor -between apparently separated spheres, the one who reinstalls the unity -and wholeness of the artistic faculty, which cannot be divined or -reasoned out, but can only be revealed by deeds themselves. But he in -whose presence this deed is performed will be overcome by its gruesome -and seductive charm: in a flash he will be confronted with a power -which cancels both resistance and reason, and makes every detail of -life appear irrational and incomprehensible. Carried away from -himself, he seems to be suspended in a mysterious fiery element; he -ceases to understand himself, the standard of everything has fallen -from his hands; everything stereotyped and fixed begins to totter; -every object seems to acquire a strange colour and to tell us its tale -by means of new symbols;--one would need to be a Plato in order to -discover, amid this confusion of delight and fear, how he accomplishes -the feat, and to say to the dramatist: "Should a man come into our -midst who possessed sufficient knowledge to simulate or imitate -anything, we would honour him as something wonderful and holy; we -would even anoint him and adorn his brow with a sacred diadem; but we -would urge him to leave our circle for another, notwithstanding." It -may be that a member of the Platonic community would have been able to -chasten himself to such conduct: we, however, who live in a very -different community, long for, and earnestly desire, the charmer to -come to us, although we may fear him already,--and we only desire his -presence in order that our society and the mischievous reason and -might of which it is the incarnation may be confuted. A state of human -civilisation, of human society, morality, order, and general -organisation which would be able to dispense with the services of an -imitative artist or mimic, is not perhaps so utterly inconceivable; -but this Perhaps is probably the most daring that has ever been -posited, and is equivalent to the gravest expression of doubt. The -only man who ought to be at liberty to speak of such a possibility is -he who could beget, and have the presentiment of, the highest phase of -all that is to come, and who then, like Faust, would either be obliged -to turn blind, or be permitted to become so. For we have no right to -this blindness; whereas Plato, after he had cast that one glance into -the ideal Hellenic, had the right to be blind to all Hellenism. For -this reason, we others are in much greater need of art; because it was -_in the presence of the realistic that our eyes began to see_, and we -require the complete dramatist in order that he may relieve us, if -only for an hour or so, of the insufferable tension arising from our -knowledge of the chasm which lies between our capabilities and the -duties we have to perform. With him we ascend to the highest pinnacle -of feeling, and only then do we fancy we have returned to nature's -unbounded freedom, to the actual realm of liberty. From this point of -vantage we can see ourselves and our fellows emerge as something -sublime from an immense mirage, and we see the deep meaning in our -struggles, in our victories and defeats; we begin to find pleasure in -the rhythm of passion and in its victim in the hero's every footfall -we distinguish the hollow echo of death, and in its proximity we -realise the greatest charm of life: thus transformed into tragic men, -we return again to life with comfort in our souls. We are conscious of -a new feeling of security, as if we had found a road leading out of -the greatest dangers, excesses, and ecstasies, back to the limited and -the familiar: there where our relations with our fellows seem to -partake of a superior benevolence, and are at all events more noble -than they were. For here, everything seemingly serious and needful, -which appears to lead to a definite goal, resembles only detached -fragments when compared with the path we ourselves have trodden, even -in our dreams,--detached fragments of that complete and grand -experience whereof we cannot even think without a thrill. Yes, we -shall even fall into danger and be tempted to take life too easily, -simply because in art we were in such deadly earnest concerning it, as -Wagner says somewhere anent certain incidents in his own life. For if -we who are but the spectators and not the creators of this display of -dithyrambic dramatic art, can almost imagine a dream to be more real -than the actual experiences of our wakeful hours, how much more keenly -must the creator realise this contrast! There he stands amid all the -clamorous appeals and importunities of the day, and of the necessities -of life; in the midst of Society and State--and as what does he stand -there? Maybe he is the only wakeful one, the only being really and -truly conscious, among a host of confused and tormented sleepers, -among a multitude of deluded and suffering people. He may even feel -like a victim of chronic insomnia, and fancy himself obliged to bring -his clear, sleepless, and conscious life into touch with somnambulists -and ghostly well-intentioned creatures. Thus everything that others -regard as commonplace strikes him as weird, and he is tempted to meet -the whole phenomenon with haughty mockery. But how peculiarly this -feeling is crossed, when another force happens to join his quivering -pride, the craving of the heights for the depths, the affectionate -yearning for earth, for happiness and for fellowship--then, when he -thinks of all he misses as a hermit-creator, he feels as though he -ought to descend to the earth like a god, and bear all that is weak, -human, and lost, "in fiery arms up to heaven," so as to obtain love -and no longer worship only, and to be able to lose himself completely -in his love. But it is just this contradiction which is the miraculous -fact in the soul of the dithyrambic dramatist, and if his nature can -be understood at all, surely it must be here. For his creative moments -in art occur when the antagonism between his feelings is at its height -and when his proud astonishment and wonder at the world combine with -the ardent desire to approach that same world as a lover. The glances -he then bends towards the earth are always rays of sunlight which -"draw up water," form mist, and gather storm-clouds. _Clear-sighted and -prudent, loving and unselfish at the same time_, his glance is -projected downwards; and all things that are illumined by this double -ray of light, nature conjures to discharge their strength, to reveal -their most hidden secret, and this through bashfulness. It is more -than a mere figure of speech to say that he surprised Nature with that -glance, that he caught her naked; that is why she would conceal her -shame by seeming precisely the reverse. What has hitherto been -invisible, the inner life, seeks its salvation in the region of the -visible; what has hitherto been only visible, repairs to the dark -ocean of sound: _thus Nature, in trying to conceal herself, unveils the -character of her contradictions_. In a dance, wild, rhythmic and -gliding, and with ecstatic movements, the born dramatist makes known -something of what is going on within him, of what is taking place in -nature: the dithyrambic quality of his movements speaks just as -eloquently of quivering comprehension and of powerful penetration as -of the approach of love and self-renunciation. Intoxicated speech -follows the course of this rhythm; melody resounds coupled with -speech, and in its turn melody projects its sparks into the realm of -images and ideas. A dream-apparition, like and unlike the image of -Nature and her wooer, hovers forward; it condenses into more human -shapes; it spreads out in response to its heroically triumphant will, -and to a most delicious collapse and cessation of will:--thus tragedy -is born; thus life is presented with its grandest knowledge--that of -tragic thought; thus, at last, the greatest charmer and benefactor -among mortals--the dithyrambic dramatist--is evolved. - - - -VIII. - - -Wagner's actual life--that is to say, the gradual evolution of the -dithyrambic dramatist in him--was at the same time an uninterrupted -struggle with himself, a struggle which never ceased until his -evolution was complete. His fight with the opposing world was grim and -ghastly, only because it was this same world--this alluring -enemy--which he heard speaking out of his own heart, and because he -nourished a violent demon in his breast--the demon of resistance. When -the ruling idea of his life gained ascendancy over his mind--the idea -that drama is, of all arts, the one that can exercise the greatest -amount of influence over the world--it aroused the most active -emotions in his whole being. It gave him no very clear or luminous -decision, at first, as to what was to be done and desired in the -future; for the idea then appeared merely as a form of -temptation--that is to say, as the expression of his gloomy, selfish, -and insatiable will, eager for _power and glory_. Influence--the -greatest amount of influence--how? over whom?--these were henceforward -the questions and problems which did not cease to engage his head and -his heart. He wished to conquer and triumph as no other artist had -ever done before, and, if possible, to reach that height of tyrannical -omnipotence at one stroke for which all his instincts secretly craved. -With a jealous and cautious eye, he took stock of everything -successful, and examined with special care all that upon which this -influence might be brought to bear. With the magic sight of the -dramatist, which scans souls as easily as the most familiar book, he -scrutinised the nature of the spectator and the listener, and although -he was often perturbed by the discoveries he made, he very quickly -found means wherewith he could enthral them. These means were ever -within his reach: everything that moved him deeply he desired and -could also produce; at every stage in his career he understood just as -much of his predecessors as he himself was able to create, and he -never doubted that he would be able to do what they had done. In this -respect his nature is perhaps more presumptuous even than Goethe's, -despite the fact that the latter said of himself: "I always thought I -had mastered everything; and even had I been crowned king, I should -have regarded the honour as thoroughly deserved." Wagner's ability, -his taste and his aspirations--all of which have ever been as closely -related as key to lock--grew and attained to freedom together; but -there was a time when it was not so. What did he care about the feeble -but noble and egotistically lonely feeling which that friend of art -fosters, who, blessed with a literary and æsthetic education, takes -his stand far from the common mob! But those violent spiritual -tempests which are created by the crowd when under the influence of -certain climactic passages of dramatic song, that sudden bewildering -ecstasy of the emotions, thoroughly honest and selfless--they were but -echoes of his own experiences and sensations, and filled him with -glowing hope for the greatest possible power and effect. Thus he -recognised _grand opera_ as the means whereby he might express his -ruling thoughts; towards it his passions impelled him; his eyes turned -in the direction of its home. The larger portion of his life, his most -daring wanderings, and his plans, studies, sojourns, and acquaintances -are only to be explained by an appeal to these passions and the -opposition of the outside world, which the poor, restless, -passionately ingenuous German artist had to face. Another artist than -he knew better how to become master of this calling, and now that it -has gradually become known by means of what ingenious artifices of all -kinds Meyerbeer succeeded in preparing and achieving every one of his -great successes, and how scrupulously the sequence of "effects" was -taken into account in the opera itself, people will begin to -understand how bitterly Wagner was mortified when his eyes were opened -to the tricks of the _métier_ which were indispensable to a great public -success. I doubt whether there has ever been another great artist in -history who began his career with such extraordinary illusions and who -so unsuspectingly and sincerely fell in with the most revolting form -of artistic trickery. And yet the way in which he proceeded partook of -greatness and was therefore extraordinarily fruitful. For when he -perceived his error, despair made him understand the meaning of modern -success, of the modern public, and the whole prevaricating spirit of -modern art. And while becoming the critic of "effect," indications of -his own purification began to quiver through him. It seems as if from -that time forward the spirit of music spoke to him with an -unprecedented spiritual charm. As though he had just risen from a long -illness and had for the first time gone into the open, he scarcely -trusted his hand and his eye, and seemed to grope along his way. Thus -it was an almost delightful surprise to him to find that he was still -a musician and an artist, and perhaps then only for the first time. - -Every subsequent stage in Wagner's development may be distinguished -thus, that the two fundamental powers of his nature drew ever more -closely together: the aversion of the one to the other lessened, the -higher self no longer condescended to serve its more violent and baser -brother; it loved him and felt compelled to serve him. The tenderest -and purest thing is ultimately--that is to say, at the highest stage -of its evolution--always associated with the mightiest; the storming -instincts pursue their course as before, but along different roads, in -the direction of the higher self; and this in its turn descends to -earth and finds its likeness in everything earthly. If it were -possible, on this principle, to speak of the final aims and -unravelments of that evolution, and to remain intelligible, it might -also be possible to discover the graphic terms with which to describe -the long interval preceding that last development; but I doubt whether -the first achievement is possible at all, and do not therefore attempt -the second. The limits of the interval separating the preceding and -the subsequent ages will be described historically in two sentences: -Wagner was the _revolutionist of society_; Wagner recognised the only -artistic element that ever existed hitherto--_the poetry of the people_. -The ruling idea which in a new form and mightier than it had ever -been, obsessed Wagner, after he had overcome his share of despair and -repentance, led him to both conclusions. Influence, the greatest -possible amount of influence to be exercised by means of the stage! ---but over whom? He shuddered when he thought of those whom he had, -until then, sought to influence. His experience led him to realise the -utterly ignoble position which art and the artist adorn; how a callous -and hard-hearted community that calls itself the good, but which is -really the evil, reckons art and the artist among its slavish retinue, -and keeps them both in order to minister to its need of deception. -Modern art is a luxury; he saw this, and understood that it must stand -or fall with the luxurious society of which it forms but a part. This -society had but one idea, to use its power as hard-heartedly and as -craftily as possible in order to render the impotent--the people--ever -more and more serviceable, base and unpopular, and to rear the modern -workman out of them. It also robbed them of the greatest and purest -things which their deepest needs led them to create, and through which -they meekly expressed the genuine and unique art within their soul: -their myths, songs, dances, and their discoveries in the department of -language, in order to distil therefrom a voluptuous antidote against -the fatigue and boredom of its existence--modern art. How this -society came into being, how it learned to draw new strength for -itself from the seemingly antagonistic spheres of power, and how, for -instance, decaying Christianity allowed itself to be used, under the -cover of half measures and subterfuges, as a shield against the masses -and as a support of this society and its possessions, and finally how -science and men of learning pliantly consented to become its -drudges--all this Wagner traced through the ages, only to be convulsed -with loathing at the end of his researches. Through his compassion for -the people, he became a revolutionist. From that time forward he loved -them and longed for them, as he longed for his art; for, alas! in them -alone, in this fast disappearing, scarcely recognisable body, -artificially held aloof, he now saw the only spectators and listeners -worthy and fit for the power of his masterpieces, as he pictured them. -Thus his thoughts concentrated themselves upon the question, How do -the people come into being? How are they resuscitated? - -He always found but one answer: if a large number of people were -afflicted with the sorrow that afflicted him, that number would -constitute the people, he said to himself. And where the same sorrow -leads to the same impulses and desires, similar satisfaction would -necessarily be sought, and the same pleasure found in this -satisfaction. If he inquired into what it was that most consoled him -and revived his spirits in his sorrow, what it was that succeeded best -in counteracting his affliction, it was with joyful certainty that he -discovered this force only in music and myth, the latter of which he -had already recognised as the people's creation and their language of -distress. It seemed to him that the origin of music must be similar, -though perhaps more mysterious. In both of these elements he steeped -and healed his soul; they constituted his most urgent need:--in this -way he was able to ascertain how like his sorrow was to that of the -people, when they came into being, and how they must arise anew if -_many Wagners_ are going to appear. What part did myth and music play in -modern society, wherever they had not been actually sacrificed to it? -They shared very much the same fate, a fact which only tends to prove -their close relationship: myth had been sadly debased and usurped by -idle tales and stories; completely divested of its earnest and sacred -virility, it was transformed into the plaything and pleasing bauble of -children and women of the afflicted people. Music had kept itself -alive among the poor, the simple, and the isolated; the German -musician had not succeeded in adapting himself to the luxurious -traffic of the arts; he himself had become a fairy tale full Of -monsters and mysteries, full of the most touching omens and -auguries--a helpless questioner, something bewitched and in need of -rescue. Here the artist distinctly heard the command that concerned -him alone--to recast myth and make it virile, to break the spell lying -over music and to make music speak: he felt his strength for drama -liberated at one stroke, and the foundation of his sway established -over the hitherto undiscovered province lying between myth and music. -His new masterpiece, which included all the most powerful, effective, -and entrancing forces that he knew, he now laid before men with this -great and painfully cutting question: "Where are ye all who suffer and -think as I do? Where is that number of souls that I wish to see become -a people, that ye may share the same joys and comforts with me? In -your joy ye will reveal your misery to me." These were his questions -in Tannhauser and Lohengrin, in these operas he looked about him for -his equals--the anchorite yearned for the number. - -But what were his feelings withal? Nobody answered him. Nobody had -understood his question. Not that everybody remained silent: on the -contrary, answers were given to thousands of questions which he had -never put; people gossipped about the new masterpieces as though they -had only been composed for the express purpose of supplying subjects -for conversation. The whole mania of æsthetic scribbling and small -talk overtook the Germans like a pestilence, and with that lack of -modesty which characterises both German scholars and German -journalists, people began measuring, and generally meddling with, -these masterpieces, as well as with the person of the artist. Wagner -tried to help the comprehension of his question by writing about it; -but this only led to fresh confusion and more uproar,--for a musician -who writes and thinks was, at that time, a thing unknown. The cry -arose: "He is a theorist who wishes to remould art with his -far-fetched notions--stone him!" Wagner was stunned: his question was -not understood, his need not felt; his masterpieces seemed a message -addressed only to the deaf and blind; his people--an hallucination. -He staggered and vacillated. The feasibility of a complete upheaval of -all things then suggested itself to him, and he no longer shrank from -the thought: possibly, beyond this revolution and dissolution, there -might be a chance of a new hope; on the other hand, there might not. -But, in any case, would not complete annihilation be better than the -wretched existing state of affairs? Not very long afterwards, he was a -political exile in dire distress. - -And then only, with this terrible change in his environment and in his -soul, there begins that period of the great man's life over which as a -golden reflection there is stretched the splendour of highest mastery. -Now at last the genius of dithyrambic drama doffs its last disguise. -He is isolated; the age seems empty to him; he ceases to hope; and his -all-embracing glance descend once more into the deep, and finds the -bottom, there he sees suffering in the nature of things, and -henceforward, having become more impersonal, he accepts his portion of -sorrow more calmly. The desire for great power which was but the -inheritance of earlier conditions is now directed wholly into the -channel of creative art; through his art he now speaks only to -himself, and no longer to a public or to a people, and strives to lend -this intimate conversation all the distinction and other qualities in -keeping with such a mighty dialogue. During the preceding period -things had been different with his art; then he had concerned himself, -too, albeit with refinement and subtlety, with immediate effects: that -artistic production was also meant as a question, and it ought to have -called forth an immediate reply. And how often did Wagner not try to -make his meaning clearer to those he questioned! In view of their -inexperience in having questions put to them, he tried to meet them -half way and to conform with older artistic notions and means of -expression. When he feared that arguments couched in his own terms -would only meet with failure, he had tried to persuade and to put his -question in a language half strange to himself though familiar to his -listeners. Now there was nothing to induce him to continue this -indulgence: all he desired now was to come to terms with himself, to -think of the nature of the world in dramatic actions, and to -philosophise in music; _what desires_ he still possessed turned in the -direction of the _latest philosophical views_. He who is worthy of -knowing what took place in him at that time or what questions were -thrashed out in the darkest holy of holies in his soul--and not many -are worthy of knowing all this--must hear, observe, and experience -Tristan and Isolde, the real _opus metaphysicum_ of all art, a work upon -which rests the broken look of a dying man with his insatiable and -sweet craving for the secrets of night and death, far away from life -which throws a horribly spectral morning light, sharply, upon all that -is evil, delusive, and sundering: moreover, a drama austere in the -severity of its form, overpowering in its simple grandeur, and in -harmony with the secret of which it treats--lying dead in the midst of -life, being one in two. And yet there is something still more -wonderful than this work, and that is the artist himself, the man who, -shortly after he had accomplished it, was able to create a picture of -life so full of clashing colours as the Meistersingers of Nürnberg, -and who in both of these compositions seems merely to have refreshed -and equipped himself for the task of completing at his ease that -gigantic edifice in four parts which he had long ago planned and -begun--the ultimate result of all his meditations and poetical flights -for over twenty years, his Bayreuth masterpiece, the Ring of the -Nibelung! He who marvels at the rapid succession of the two operas, -Tristan and the Meistersingers, has failed to understand one important -side of the life and nature of all great Germans: he does not know the -peculiar soil out of which that essentially German gaiety, which -characterised Luther, Beethoven, and Wagner, can grow, the gaiety -which other nations quite fail to understand and which even seems to -be missing in the Germans of to-day--that clear golden and thoroughly -fermented mixture of simplicity, deeply discriminating love, -observation, and roguishness which Wagner has dispensed, as the most -precious of drinks, to all those who have suffered deeply through -life, but who nevertheless return to it with the smile of -convalescents. And, as he also turned upon the world the eyes of one -reconciled, he was more filled with rage and disgust than with sorrow, -and more prone to renounce the love of power than to shrink in awe -from it. As he thus silently furthered his greatest work and gradually -laid score upon score, something happened which caused him to stop and -listen: _friends_ were coming, a kind of subterranean movement of many -souls approached with a message for him--it was still far from being -the people that constituted this movement and which wished to bear him -news, but it may have been the nucleus and first living source of a -really human community which would reach perfection in some age still -remote. For the present they only brought him the warrant that his -great work could be entrusted to the care and charge of faithful men, -men who would watch and be worthy to watch over this most magnificent -of all legacies to posterity. In the love of friends his outlook began -to glow with brighter colours; his noblest care--the care that his -work should be accomplished and should find a refuge before the -evening of his life--was not his only preoccupation, something -occurred which he could only understand as a symbol: it was as much as -a new comfort and a new token of happiness to him. A great German war -caused him to open his eyes, and he observed that those very Germans -whom he considered so thoroughly degenerate and so inferior to the -high standard of real Teutonism, of which he had formed an ideal both -from self-knowledge and the conscientious study of other great Germans -in history; he observed that those very Germans were, in the midst of -terrible circumstances, exhibiting two virtues of the highest -order--simple bravery and prudence; and with his heart bounding with -delight he conceived the hope that he might not be the last German, -and that some day a greater power would perhaps stand by his works -than that devoted yet meagre one consisting of his little band of -friends--a power able to guard it during that long period preceding -its future glory, as the masterpiece of this future. Perhaps it was -not possible to steel this belief permanently against doubt, more -particularly when it sought to rise to hopes of immediate results: -suffice it that he derived a tremendous spur from his environment, -which constantly reminded him of a lofty duty ever to be fulfilled. - -His work would not have been complete had he handed it to the world -only in the form of silent manuscript. He must make known to the world -what it could not guess in regard to his productions, what was his -alone to reveal--the new style for the execution and presentation of -his works, so that he might set that example which nobody else could -set, and thus establish a _tradition of style_, not on paper, not by -means of signs, but through impressions made upon the very souls of -men. This duty had become all the more pressing with him, seeing that -precisely in regard to the style of their execution his other works -had meanwhile succumbed to the most insufferable and absurd of fates: -they were famous and admired, yet no one manifested the slightest sign -of indignation when they were mishandled. For, strange to say, whereas -he renounced ever more and more the hope of success among his -contemporaries, owing to his all too thorough knowledge of them, and -disclaimed all desire for power, both "success" and "power" came to -him, or at least everybody told him so. It was in vain that he made -repeated attempts to expose, with the utmost clearness, how worthless -and humiliating such successes were to him: people were so unused to -seeing an artist able to differentiate at all between the effects of -his works that even his most solemn protests were never entirely -trusted. Once he had perceived the relationship existing between our -system of theatres and their success, and the men of his time, his -soul ceased to be attracted by the stage at all. He had no further -concern with æsthetic ecstasies and the exultation of excited crowds, -and he must even have felt angry to see his art being gulped down -indiscriminately by the yawning abyss of boredom and the insatiable -love of distraction. How flat and pointless every effect proved under -these circumstances--more especially as it was much more a case of -having to minister to one quite insatiable than of cloying the hunger -of a starving man--Wagner began to perceive from the following -repeated experience: everybody, even the performers and promoters, -regarded his art as nothing more nor less than any other kind of -stage-music, and quite in keeping with the repulsive style of -traditional opera; thanks to the efforts of cultivated conductors, his -works were even cut and hacked about, until, after they had been -bereft of all their spirit, they were held to be nearer the -professional singer's plane. But when people tried to follow Wagner's -instructions to the letter, they proceeded so clumsily and timidly -that they were not incapable of representing the midnight riot in the -second act of the Meistersingers by a group of ballet-dancers. They -seemed to do all this, however, in perfectly good faith--without the -smallest evil intention. Wagner's devoted efforts to show, by means of -his own example, the correct and complete way of performing his works, -and his attempts at training individual singers in the new style, were -foiled time after time, owing only to the thoughtlessness and iron -tradition that ruled all around him. Moreover, he was always induced -to concern himself with that class of theatricals which he most -thoroughly loathed. Had not even Goethe, in his time, once grown tired -of attending the rehearsals of his Iphigenia? "I suffer unspeakably," -he explained, "when I have to tumble about with these spectres, which -never seem to act as they should." Meanwhile Wagner's "success" in the -kind of drama which he most disliked steadily increased; so much so, -indeed, that the largest theatres began to subsist almost entirely -upon the receipts which Wagner's art, in the guise of operas, brought -into them. This growing passion on the part of the theatre-going -public bewildered even some of Wagner's friends; but this man who had -endured so much, had still to endure the bitterest pain of all--he had -to see his friends intoxicated with his "successes" and "triumphs" -everywhere where his highest ideal was openly belied and shattered. It -seemed almost as though a people otherwise earnest and reflecting had -decided to maintain an attitude of systematic levity only towards its -most serious artist, and to make him the privileged recipient of all -the vulgarity, thoughtlessness, clumsiness, and malice of which the -German nature is capable. When, therefore, during the German War, a -current of greater magnanimity and freedom seemed to run through every -one, Wagner remembered the duty to which he had pledged himself, -namely, to rescue his greatest work from those successes and affronts -which were so largely due to misunderstandings, and to present it in -his most personal rhythm as an example for all times. Thus he -conceived _the idea of Bayreuth_. In the wake of that current of better -feeling already referred to, he expected to notice an enhanced sense -of duty even among those with whom he wished to entrust his most -precious possession. Out of this two-fold duty, that event took shape -which, like a glow of strange sunlight, will illumine the few years -that lie behind and before us, and was designed to bless that distant -and problematic future which to our time and to the men of our time -can be little more than a riddle or a horror, but which to the few -who are allowed to assist in its realisation is a foretaste of coming -joy, a foretaste of love in a higher sphere, through which they know -themselves to be blessed, blessing and fruitful, far beyond their span -of years; and which to Wagner himself is but a cloud of distress, -care, meditation, and grief, a fresh passionate outbreak of -antagonistic elements, but all bathed in the starlight of _selfless -fidelity_, and changed by this light into indescribable joy. - -It scarcely need be said that it is the breath of tragedy that fills -the lungs of the world. And every one whose innermost soul has a -presentiment of this, every one unto whom the yoke of tragic deception -concerning the aim of life, the distortion and shattering of -intentions, renunciation and purification through love, are not -unknown things, must be conscious of a vague reminiscence of Wagner's -own heroic life, in the masterpieces with which the great man now -presents us. We shall feel as though Siegfried from some place far -away were relating his deeds to us: the most blissful of touching -recollections are always draped in the deep mourning of waning summer, -when all nature lies still in the sable twilight. - - - -IX. - - -All those to whom the thought of Wagner's development as a man may -have caused pain will find it both restful and healing to reflect upon -what he was as an artist, and to observe how his ability and daring -attained to such a high degree of independence. If art mean only the -faculty of communicating to others what one has oneself experienced, -and if every work of art confutes itself which does not succeed in -making itself understood, then Wagner's greatness as an artist would -certainly lie in the almost demoniacal power of his nature to -communicate with others, to express itself in all languages at once, -and to make known its most intimate and personal experience with the -greatest amount of distinctness possible. His appearance in the -history of art resembles nothing so much as a volcanic eruption of the -united artistic faculties of Nature herself, after mankind had grown -to regard the practice of a special art as a necessary rule. It is -therefore a somewhat moot point whether he ought to be classified as a -poet, a painter, or a musician, even using each these words in its -widest sense, or whether a new word ought not to be invented in order -to describe him. - -Wagner's _poetic_ ability is shown by his thinking in visible and actual -facts, and not in ideas; that is to say, he thinks mythically, as the -people have always done. No particular thought lies at the bottom of a -myth, as the children of an artificial culture would have us believe; -but it is in itself a thought: it conveys an idea of the world, but -through the medium of a chain of events, actions, and pains. The Ring -of the Nibelung is a huge system of thought without the usual -abstractness of the latter. It were perhaps possible for a philosopher -to present us with its exact equivalent in pure thought, and to purge -it of all pictures drawn from life, and of all living actions, in -which case we should be in possession of the same thing portrayed in -two completely different forms--the one for the people, and the other -for the very reverse of the people; that is to say, men of theory. But -Wagner makes no appeal to this last class, for the man of theory can -know as little of poetry or myth as the deaf man can know of music; -both of them being conscious only of movements which seem meaningless -to them. It is impossible to appreciate either one of these completely -different forms from the standpoint of the other: as long as the -poet's spell is upon one, one thinks with him just as though one were -merely a feeling, seeing, and hearing creature; the conclusions thus -reached are merely the result of the association of the phenomena one -sees, and are therefore not logical but actual causalities. - -If, therefore, the heroes and gods of mythical dramas, as understood -by Wagner, were to express themselves plainly in words, there would be -a danger (inasmuch as the language of words might tend to awaken the -theoretical side in us) of our finding ourselves transported from the -world of myth to the world of ideas, and the result would be not only -that we should fail to understand with greater ease, but that we -should probably not understand at all. Wagner thus forced language -back to a more primeval stage in its development a stage at which it -was almost free of the abstract element, and was still poetry, -imagery, and feeling; the fearlessness with which Wagner undertook -this formidable mission shows how imperatively he was led by the -spirit of poetry, as one who must follow whithersoever his phantom -leader may direct him. Every word in these dramas ought to allow of -being sung, and gods and heroes should make them their own--that was -the task which Wagner set his literary faculty. Any other person in -like circumstances would have given up all hope; for our language -seems almost too old and decrepit to allow of one's exacting what -Wagner exacted from it; and yet, when he smote the rock, he brought -forth an abundant flow. Precisely owing to the fact that he loved his -language and exacted a great deal from it, Wagner suffered more than -any other German through its decay and enfeeblement, from its manifold -losses and mutilations of form, from its unwieldy particles and clumsy -construction, and from its unmusical auxiliary verbs. All these are -things which have entered the language through sin and depravity. On -the other hand, he was exceedingly proud to record the number of -primitive and vigorous factors still extant in the current speech; and -in the tonic strength of its roots he recognised quite a wonderful -affinity and relation to real music, a quality which distinguished it -from the highly evolved and artificially rhetorical Latin languages. -Wagner's poetry is eloquent of his affection for the German language, -and there is a heartiness and candour in his treatment of it which are -scarcely to be met with in any other German writer, save perhaps -Goethe. Forcibleness of diction, daring brevity, power and variety in -rhythm, a remarkable wealth of strong and striking words, simplicity -in construction, an almost unique inventive faculty in regard to -fluctuations of feeling and presentiment, and therewithal a perfectly -pure and overflowing stream of colloquialisms--these are the qualities -that have to be enumerated, and even then the greatest and most -wonderful of all is omitted. Whoever reads two such poems as Tristan -and the Meistersingers consecutively will be just as astonished and -doubtful in regard to the language as to the music; for he will wonder -how it could have been possible for a creative spirit to dominate so -perfectly two worlds as different in form, colour, and arrangement, as -in soul. This is the most wonderful achievement of Wagner's talent; -for the ability to give every work its own linguistic stamp and to -find a fresh body and a new sound for every thought is a task which -only the great master can successfully accomplish. Where this rarest -of all powers manifests itself, adverse criticism can be but petty and -fruitless which confines itself to attacks upon certain excesses and -eccentricities in the treatment, or upon the more frequent obscurities -of expression and ambiguity of thought. Moreover, what seemed to -electrify and scandalise those who were most bitter in their criticism -was not so much the language as the spirit of the Wagnerian -operas--that is to say, his whole manner of feeling and suffering. It -were well to wait until these very critics have acquired another -spirit themselves; they will then also speak a different tongue, and, -by that time, it seems to me things will go better with the German -language than they do at present. - -In the first place, however, no one who studies Wagner the poet and -word-painter should forget that none of his dramas were meant to be -read, and that it would therefore be unjust to judge them from the -same standpoint as the spoken drama. The latter plays upon the -feelings by means of words and ideas, and in this respect it is under -the dominion of the laws of rhetoric. But in real life passion is -seldom eloquent: in spoken drama it perforce must be, in order to be -able to express itself at all. When, however, the language of a people -is already in a state of decay and deterioration, the word-dramatist -is tempted to impart an undue proportion of new colour and form both -to his medium and to his thoughts; he would elevate the language in -order to make it a vehicle capable of conveying lofty feelings, and by -so doing he runs the risk of becoming abstruse. By means of sublime -phrases and conceits he likewise tries to invest passion with some -nobility, and thereby runs yet another risk, that of appearing false -and artificial. For in real life passions do not speak in sentences, -and the poetical element often draws suspicion upon their genuineness -when it departs too palpably from reality. Now Wagner, who was the -first to detect the essential feeling in spoken drama, presents every -dramatic action threefold: in a word, in a gesture, and in a sound. -For, as a matter of fact, music succeeds in conveying the deepest -emotions of the dramatic performers direct to the spectators, and -while these see the evidence of the actors' states of soul in their -bearing and movements, a third though more feeble confirmation of -these states, translated into conscious will, quickly follows in the -form of the spoken word. All these effects fulfil their purpose -simultaneously, without disturbing one another in the least, and urge -the spectator to a completely new understanding and sympathy, just as -if his senses had suddenly grown more spiritual and his spirit more -sensual, and as if everything which seeks an outlet in him, and which -makes him thirst for knowledge, were free and joyful in exultant -perception. Because every essential factor in a Wagnerian drama is -conveyed to the spectator with the utmost clearness, illumined and -permeated throughout by music as by an internal flame, their author -can dispense with the expedients usually employed by the writer of the -spoken play in order to lend light and warmth to the action. The whole -of the dramatist's stock in trade could be more simple, and the -architect's sense of rhythm could once more dare to manifest itself in -the general proportions of the edifice; for there was no more need of -"the deliberate confusion and involved variety of styles, whereby the -ordinary playwright strove in the interests of his work to produce -that feeling of wonder and thrilling suspense which he ultimately -enhanced to one of delighted amazement. The impression of ideal -distance and height was no more to be induced by means of tricks and -artifices. Language withdrew itself from the length and breadth of -rhetoric into the strong confines of the speech of the feelings, and -although the actor spoke much less about all he did and felt in the -performance, his innermost sentiments, which the ordinary playwright -had hitherto ignored for fear of being undramatic, was now able to -drive the spectators to passionate sympathy, while the accompanying -language of gestures could be restricted to the most delicate -modulations. Now, when passions are rendered in song, they require -rather more time than when conveyed by speech; music prolongs, so to -speak, the duration of the feeling, from which it follows, as a rule, -that the actor who is also a singer must overcome the extremely -unplastic animation from which spoken drama suffers. He feels himself -incited all the more to a certain nobility of bearing, because music -envelopes his feelings in a purer atmosphere, and thus brings them -closer to beauty. - -The extraordinary tasks which Wagner set his actors and singers will -provoke rivalry between them for ages to come, in the personification -of each of his heroes with the greatest possible amount of clearness, -perfection, and fidelity, according to that perfect incorporation -already typified by the music of drama. Following this leader, the eye -of the plastic artist will ultimately behold the marvels of another -visible world, which, previous to him, was seen for the first time -only by the creator of such works as the Ring of the Nibelung--that -creator of highest rank, who, like Æschylus, points the way to a -coming art. Must not jealousy awaken the greatest talent, if the -plastic artist ever compares the effect of his productions with that -of Wagnerian music, in which there is so much pure and sunny happiness -that he who hears it feels as though all previous music had been but -an alien, faltering, and constrained language; as though in the past -it had been but a thing to sport with in the presence of those who -were not deserving of serious treatment, or a thing with which to -train and instruct those who were not even deserving of play? In the -case of this earlier kind of music, the joy we always experience while -listening to Wagner's compositions is ours only for a short space of -time, and it would then seem as though it were overtaken by certain -rare moments of forgetfulness, during which it appears to be communing -with its inner self and directing its eyes upwards, like Raphael's -Cecilia, away from the listeners and from all those who demand -distraction, happiness, or instruction from it. - -In general it may be said of Wagner the Musician, that he endowed -everything in nature which hitherto had had no wish to speak with the -power of speech: he refuses to admit that anything must be dumb, and, -resorting to the dawn, the forest, the mist, the cliffs, the hills, -the thrill of night and the moonlight, he observes a desire common to -them all--they too wish to sing their own melody. If the philosopher -says it is will that struggles for existence in animate and inanimate -nature, the musician adds: And this will wherever it manifests itself, -yearns for a melodious existence. - -Before Wagner's time, music for the most part moved in narrow limits: -it concerned itself with the permanent states of man, or with what the -Greeks call ethos. And only with Beethoven did it begin to find the -language of pathos, of passionate will, and of the dramatic -occurrences in the souls of men. Formerly, what people desired was to -interpret a mood, a stolid, merry, reverential, or penitential state -of mind, by means of music; the object was, by means of a certain -striking uniformity of treatment and the prolonged duration of this -uniformity, to compel the listener to grasp the meaning of the music -and to impose its mood upon him. To all such interpretations of mood -or atmosphere, distinct and particular forms of treatment were -necessary: others were established by convention. The question of -length was left to the discretion of the musician, whose aim was not -only to put the listener into a certain mood, but also to avoid -rendering that mood monotonous by unduly protracting it. A further -stage was reached when the interpretations of contrasted moods were -made to follow one upon the other, and the charm of light and shade -was discovered; and yet another step was made when the same piece of -music was allowed to contain a contrast of the ethos--for instance, -the contest between a male and a female theme. All these, however, are -crude and primitive stages in the development of music. The fear of -passion suggested the first rule, and the fear of monotony the second; -all depth of feeling and any excess thereof were regarded as -"unethical." Once, however, the art of the ethos had repeatedly been -made to ring all the changes on the moods and situations which -convention had decreed as suitable, despite the most astounding -resourcefulness on the part of its masters, its powers were exhausted. -Beethoven was the first to make music speak a new language--till then -forbidden--the language of passion; but as his art was based upon the -laws and conventions of the ETHOS, and had to attempt to justify -itself in regard to them, his artistic development was beset with -peculiar difficulties and obscurities. An inner dramatic factor--and -every passion pursues a dramatic course--struggled to obtain a new -form, but the traditional scheme of "mood music" stood in its way, and -protested--almost after the manner in which morality opposes -innovations and immorality. It almost seemed, therefore, as if -Beethoven had set himself the contradictory task of expressing pathos -in the terms of the ethos. This view does not, however, apply to -Beethoven's latest and greatest works; for he really did succeed in -discovering a novel method of expressing the grand and vaulting arch -of passion. He merely selected certain portions of its curve; imparted -these with the utmost clearness to his listeners, and then left it to -them to divine its whole span. Viewed superficially, the new form -seemed rather like an aggregation of several musical compositions, of -which every one appeared to represent a sustained situation, but was -in reality but a momentary stage in the dramatic course of a passion. -The listener might think that he was hearing the old "mood" music over -again, except that he failed to grasp the relation of the various -parts to one another, and these no longer conformed with the canon of -the law. Even among minor musicians, there flourished a certain -contempt for the rule which enjoined harmony in the general -construction of a composition and the sequence of the parts in their -works still remained arbitrary. Then, owing to a misunderstanding, the -discovery of the majestic treatment of passion led back to the use of -the single movement with an optional setting, and the tension between -the parts thus ceased completely. That is why the symphony, as -Beethoven understood it, is such a wonderfully obscure production, -more especially when, here and there, it makes faltering attempts at -rendering Beethoven's pathos. The means ill befit the intention, and -the intention is, on the whole, not sufficiently clear to the -listener, because it was never really clear, even in the mind of the -composer. But the very injunction that something definite must be -imparted, and that this must be done as distinctly as possible, -becomes ever more and more essential, the higher, more difficult, and -more exacting the class of work happens to be. - -That is why all Wagner's efforts were concentrated upon the one object -of discovering those means which best served the purpose of -_distinctness_, and to this end it was above all necessary for him to -emancipate himself from all the prejudices and claims of the old -"mood" music, and to give his compositions--the musical -interpretations of feelings and passion--a perfectly unequivocal mode -of expression. If we now turn to what he has achieved, we see that his -services to music are practically equal in rank to those which that -sculptor-inventor rendered to sculpture who introduced "sculpture in -the round." All previous music seems stiff and uncertain when compared -with Wagner's, just as though it were ashamed and did not wish to be -inspected from all sides. With the most consummate skill and -precision, Wagner avails himself of every degree and colour in the -realm of feeling; without the slightest hesitation or fear of its -escaping him, he seizes upon the most delicate, rarest, and mildest -emotion, and holds it fast, as though it had hardened at his touch, -despite the fact that it may seem like the frailest butterfly to every -one else. His music is never vague or dreamy; everything that is -allowed to speak through it, whether it be of man or of nature, has a -strictly individual passion; storm and fire acquire the ruling power -of a personal will in his hands. Over all the clamouring characters -and the clash of their passions, over the whole torrent of contrasts, -an almighty and symphonic understanding hovers with perfect serenity, -and continually produces concord out of war. Taken as a whole, -Wagner's music is a reflex of the world as it was understood by the -great Ephesian poet--that is to say, a harmony resulting from strife, -as the union of justice and enmity. I admire the ability which could -describe the grand line of universal passion out of a confusion of -passions which all seem to be striking out in different directions: -the fact that this was a possible achievement I find demonstrated in -every individual act of a Wagnerian drama, which describes the -individual history of various characters side by side with a general -history of the whole company. Even at the very beginning we know we -are watching a host of cross currents dominated by one great violent -stream; and though at first this stream moves unsteadily over hidden -reefs, and the torrent seems to be torn asunder as if it were -travelling towards different points, gradually we perceive the central -and general movement growing stronger and more rapid, the convulsive -fury of the contending waters is converted into one broad, steady, and -terrible flow in the direction of an unknown goal; and suddenly, at -the end, the whole flood in all its breadth plunges into the depths, -rejoicing demoniacally over the abyss and all its uproar. Wagner is -never more himself than when he is overwhelmed with difficulties and -can exercise power on a large scale with all the joy of a law-giver. To -bring restless and contending masses into simple rhythmic movement, -and to exercise one will over a bewildering host of claims and -desires--these are the tasks for which he feels he was born, and in -the performance of which he finds freedom. And he never loses his -breath withal, nor does he ever reach his goal panting. He strove just -as persistently to impose the severest laws upon himself as to lighten -the burden of others in this respect. Life and art weigh heavily upon -him when he cannot play wit their most difficult questions. If one -considers the relation between the melody of song and that of speech, -one will perceive how he sought to adopt as his natural model the -pitch, strength, and tempo of the passionate man's voice in order to -transform it into art; and if one further considers the task of -introducing this singing passion into the general symphonic order of -music, one gets some idea of the stupendous difficulties he had to -overcome. In this behalf, his inventiveness in small things as in -great, his omniscience and industry are such, that at the sight of one -of Wagner's scores one is almost led to believe that no real work or -effort had ever existed before his time. It seems almost as if he too -could have said, in regard to the hardships of art, that the real -virtue of the dramatist lies in self-renunciation. But he would -probably have added, There is but one kind of hardship--that of the -artist who is not yet free: virtue and goodness are trivial -accomplishments. - -Viewing him generally as an artist, and calling to mind a more famous -type, we see that Wagner is not at all unlike Demosthenes: in him also -we have the terrible earnestness of purpose and that strong prehensile -mind which always obtains a complete grasp of a thing; in him, too, we -have the hand's quick clutch and the grip as of iron. Like -Demosthenes, he conceals his art or compels one to forget it by the -peremptory way he calls attention to the subject he treats; and yet, -like his great predecessor, he is the last and greatest of a whole -line of artist-minds, and therefore has more to conceal than his -forerunners: his art acts like nature, like nature recovered and -restored. Unlike all previous musicians, there is nothing bombastic -about him; for the former did not mind playing at times with their -art, and making an exhibition of their virtuosity. One associates -Wagner's art neither with interest nor with diversion, nor with Wagner -himself and art in general. All one is conscious of is of the great -_necessity_ of it all. No one will ever be able to appreciate what -severity evenness of will, and self-control the artist required during -his development, in order, at his zenith, to be able to do the -necessary thing joyfully and freely. Let it suffice if we can -appreciate how, in some respects, his music, with a certain cruelty -towards itself, determines to subserve the course of the drama, which -is as unrelenting as fate, whereas in reality his art was ever -thirsting for a free ramble in the open and over the wilderness. - - - -X. - - -An artist who has this empire over himself subjugates all other -artists, even though he may not particularly desire to do so. For him -alone there lies no danger or stemming-force in those he has -subjugated--his friends and his adherents; whereas the weaker natures -who learn to rely on their friends pay for this reliance by forfeiting -their independence. It is very wonderful to observe how carefully, -throughout his life, Wagner avoided anything in the nature of heading -a party, notwithstanding the fact that at the close of every phase in -his career a circle of adherents formed, presumably with the view of -holding him fast to his latest development He always succeeded, -however, in wringing himself free from them, and never allowed himself -to be bound; for not only was the ground he covered too vast for one -alone to keep abreast of him with any ease, but his way was so -exceptionally steep that the most devoted would have lost his breath. -At almost every stage in Wagner's progress his friends would have -liked to preach to him, and his enemies would fain have done so -too--but for other reasons. Had the purity of his artist's nature been -one degree less decided than it was, he would have attained much -earlier than he actually did to the leading position in the artistic -and musical world of his time. True, he has reached this now, but in a -much higher sense, seeing that every performance to be witnessed in -any department of art makes its obeisance, so to speak, before the -judgment-stool of his genius and of his artistic temperament. He has -overcome the most refractory of his contemporaries; there is not one -gifted musician among them but in his innermost heart would willingly -listen to him, and find Wagner's compositions more worth listening to -than his own and all other musical productions taken together. Many -who wish, by hook or by crook, to make their mark, even wrestle with -Wagner's secret charm, and unconsciously throw in their lot with the -older masters, preferring to ascribe their "independence" to Schubert -or Handel rather than to Wagner. But in vain! Thanks to their very -efforts in contending against the dictates of their own consciences, -they become ever meaner and smaller artists; they ruin their own -natures by forcing themselves to tolerate undesirable allies and -friends And in spite of all these sacrifices, they still find perhaps -in their dreams, that their ear turns attentively to Wagner. These -adversaries are to be pitied: they imagine they lose a great deal when -they lose themselves, but here they are mistaken. - -Albeit it is obviously all one to Wagner whether musicians compose in -his style, or whether they compose at all, he even does his utmost to -dissipate the belief that a school of composers should now necessarily -follow in his wake; though, in so far as he exercises a direct -influence upon musicians, he does indeed try to instruct them -concerning the art of grand execution. In his opinion, the evolution -of art seems to have reached that stage when the honest endeavour to -become an able and masterly exponent or interpreter is ever so much -more worth talking about than the longing to be a creator at all -costs. For, at the present stage of art, universal creating has this -fatal result, that inasmuch as it encourages a much larger output, it -tends to exhaust the means and artifices of genius by everyday use, -and thus to reduce the real grandeur of its effect. Even that which is -good in art is superfluous and detrimental when it proceeds from the -imitation of what is best. Wagnerian ends and means are of one piece: -to perceive this, all that is required is honesty in art matters, and -it would be dishonest to adopt his means in order to apply them to -other and less significant ends. - -If, therefore, Wagner declines to live on amid a multitude of creative -musicians, he is only the more desirous of imposing upon all men of -talent the new duty of joining him in seeking the _law of style for -dramatic performances_. He deeply feels the need of establishing a -_traditional style_ for his art, by means of which his work may continue -to live from one age to another in a pure form, until it reaches that -_future_ which its creator ordained for it. - -Wagner is impelled by an undaunted longing to make known everything -relating to that foundation of a style, mentioned above, and, -accordingly, everything relating to the continuance of his art. To -make his work--as Schopenhauer would say--a sacred depository and the -real fruit of his life, as well as the inheritance of mankind, and to -store it for the benefit of a posterity better able to appreciate -it,--these were _the supreme objects_ of his life, and for these he bore -that crown of thorns which, one day, will shoot forth leaves of bay. -Like the insect which, in its last form, concentrates all its energies -upon the one object of finding a safe depository for its eggs and of -ensuring the future welfare of its posthumous brood,--then only to die -content, so Wagner strove with equal determination to find a place of -security for his works. - -This subject, which took precedence of all others with him, constantly -incited him to new discoveries; and these he sought ever more and more -at the spring of his demoniacal gift of communicability, the more -distinctly he saw himself in conflict with an age that was both -perverse and unwilling to lend him its ear. Gradually however, even -this same age began to mark his indefatigable efforts, to respond to -his subtle advances, and to turn its ear to him. Whenever a small or a -great opportunity arose, however far away, which suggested to Wagner a -means wherewith to explain his thoughts, he availed himself of it: he -thought his thoughts anew into every fresh set of circumstances, and -would make them speak out of the most paltry bodily form. Whenever a -soul only half capable of comprehending him opened itself to him, he -never failed to implant his seed in it. He saw hope in things which -caused the average dispassionate observer merely to shrug his -shoulders; and he erred again and again, only so as to be able to -carry his point against that same observer. Just as the sage, in -reality, mixes with living men only for the purpose of increasing his -store of knowledge, so the artist would almost seem to be unable to -associate with his contemporaries at all, unless they be such as can -help him towards making his work eternal. He cannot be loved otherwise -than with the love of this eternity, and thus he is conscious only of -one kind of hatred directed at him, the hatred which would demolish -the bridges bearing his art into the future. The pupils Wagner -educated for his own purpose, the individual musicians and actors whom -he advised and whose ear he corrected and improved, the small and -large orchestras he led, the towns which witnessed him earnestly -fulfilling the duties of us calling, the princes and ladies who half -boastfully and half lovingly participated in the framing of his plans, -the various European countries to which he temporarily belonged as the -judge and evil conscience of their arts,--everything gradually became -the echo of his thought and of his indefatigable efforts to attain to -fruitfulness in the future. Although this echo often sounded so -discordant as to confuse him, still the tremendous power of his voice -repeatedly crying out into the world must in the end call forth -reverberations, and it will soon be impossible to be deaf to him or to -misunderstand him. It is this reflected sound which even now causes -the art-institutions of modern men to shake: every time the breath of -his spirit blew into these coverts, all that was overripe or withered -fell to the ground; but the general increase of scepticism in all -directions speaks more eloquently than all this trembling. Nobody any -longer dares to predict where Wagner's influence may not unexpectedly -break out. He is quite unable to divorce the salvation of art from any -other salvation or damnation: wherever modern life conceals a danger, -he, with the discriminating eye of mistrust, perceives a danger -threatening art. In his imagination he pulls the edifice of modern -civilisation to pieces, and allows nothing rotten, no unsound -timber-work to escape: if in the process he should happen to encounter -weather-tight walls or anything like solid foundations, he immediately -casts about for means wherewith he can convert them into bulwarks and -shelters for his art. He lives like a fugitive, whose will is not to -preserve his own life, but to keep a secret--like an unhappy woman -who does not wish to save her own soul, but that of the child lying in -her lap: in short, he lives like Sieglinde, "for the sake of love." - -For life must indeed be full of pain and shame to one who can find -neither rest nor shelter in this world, and who must nevertheless -appeal to it, exact things from it, contemn it, and still be unable to -dispense with the thing contemned,--this really constitutes the -wretchedness of the artist of the future, who, unlike the philosopher, -cannot prosecute his work alone in the seclusion of a study, but who -requires human souls as messengers to this future, public institutions -as a guarantee of it, and, as it were, bridges between now and -hereafter. His art may not, like the philosopher's, be put aboard the -boat of written documents: art needs _capable men_, not letters and -notes, to transmit it. Over whole periods in Wagner's life rings a -murmur of distress--his distress at not being able to meet with these -capable interpreters before whom he longed to execute examples of his -work, instead of being confined to written symbols; before whom he -yearned to practise his art, instead of showing a pallid reflection of -it to those who read books, and who, generally speaking, therefore are -not artists. - -In Wagner the man of letters we see the struggle of a brave fighter, -whose right hand has, as it were, been lopped off, and who has -continued the contest with his left. In his writings he is always the -sufferer, because a temporary and insuperable destiny deprives him of -his own and the correct way of conveying his thoughts--that is to say, -in the form of apocalyptic and triumphant examples. His writings -contain nothing canonical or severe: the canons are to be found in his -works as a whole. Their literary side represents his attempts to -understand the instinct which urged him to create his works and to get -a glimpse of himself through them. If he succeeded in transforming his -instincts into terms of knowledge, it was always with the hope that -the reverse process might take place in the souls of his readers--it -was with this intention that he wrote. Should it ultimately be proved -that, in so doing, Wagner attempted the impossible, he would still -only share the lot of all those who have meditated deeply on art; and -even so he would be ahead of most of them in this, namely, that the -strongest instinct for all arts harboured in him. I know of no written -æsthetics that give more light than those of Wagner; all that can -possibly be learnt concerning the origin of a work of art is to be -found in them. He is one of the very great, who appeared amongst us a -witness, and who is continually improving his testimony and making it -ever clearer and freer; even when he stumbles as a scientist, sparks -rise from the ground. Such tracts as "Beethoven," "Concerning the Art -of Conducting," "Concerning Actors and Singers," "State and Religion," -silence all contradiction, and, like sacred reliquaries, impose upon -all who approach them a calm, earnest, and reverential regard. Others, -more particularly the earlier ones, including "Opera and Drama," -excite and agitate one; their rhythm is so uneven that, as prose they -are bewildering. Their dialectics is constantly interrupted, and their -course is more retarded than accelerated by outbursts of feeling; a -certain reluctance on the part of the writer seems to hang over them -like a pall, just as though the artist were somewhat ashamed of -speculative discussions. What the reader who is only imperfectly -initiated will probably find most oppressive is the general tone of -authoritative dignity which is peculiar to Wagner, and which is very -difficult to describe: it always strikes me as though Wagner were -continually _addressing enemies_; for the style of all these tracts more -resembles that of the spoken than of the written language, hence they -will seem much more intelligible if heard read aloud, in the presence -of his enemies, with whom he cannot be on familiar terms, and towards -whom he must therefore show some reserve and aloofness. The entrancing -passion of his feelings, however, constantly pierces this intentional -disguise, and then the stilted and heavy periods, swollen with -accessary words, vanish, and his pen dashes off sentences, and even -whole pages, which belong to the best in German prose. But even -admitting that while he wrote such passages he was addressing friends, -and that the shadow of his enemies had been removed for a while, all -the friends and enemies that Wagner, as a man of letters, has, possess -one factor in common, which differentiates them fundamentally from the -"people" for whom he worked as an artist. Owing to the refining and -fruitless nature of their education, they are quite_ devoid of the -essential traits of the national character_, and he who would appeal to -them must speak in a way which is not of the people--that is to say, -after the manner of our best prose-writers and Wagner himself; though -that he did violence to himself in writing thus is evident. But the -strength of that almost maternal instinct of prudence in him, which is -ready to make any sacrifice, rather tends to reinstall him among the -scholars and men of learning, to whom as a creator he always longed to -bid farewell. He submits to the language of culture and all the laws -governing its use, though he was the first to recognise its profound -insufficiency as a means of communication. - -For if there is anything that distinguishes his art from every other -art of modern times, it is that it no longer speaks the language of -any particular caste, and refuses to admit the distinctions "literate" -and "illiterate." It thus stands as a contrast to every culture of the -Renaissance, which to this day still bathes us modern men in its light -and shade. Inasmuch as Wagner's art bears us, from time to time, -beyond itself, we are enabled to get a general view of its uniform -character: we see Goethe and Leopardi as the last great stragglers of -the Italian philologist-poets, Faust as the incarnation of a most -unpopular problem, in the form of a man of theory thirsting for life; -even Goethe's song is an imitation of the song of the people rather -than a standard set before them to which they are expected to attain, -and the poet knew very well how truly he spoke when he seriously -assured his adherents: "My compositions cannot become popular; he who -hopes and strives to make them so is mistaken." - -That an art could arise which would be so clear and warm as to flood -the base and the poor in spirit with its light, as well as to melt the -haughtiness of the learned--such a phenomenon had to be experienced -though it could not be guessed. But even in the mind of him who -experiences it to-day it must upset all preconceived notions -concerning education and culture; to such an one the veil will seem to -have been rent in twain that conceals a future in which no highest -good or highest joys exist that are not the common property of all. -The odium attaching to the word "common" will then be abolished. - -If presentiment venture thus into the remote future, the discerning -eye of all will recognise the dreadful social insanity of our present -age, and will no longer blind itself to the dangers besetting an art -which seems to have roots only in the remote and distant future, and -which allows its burgeoning branches to spread before our gaze when it -has not yet revealed the ground from which it draws its sap. How can -we protect this homeless art through the ages until that remote future -is reached? How can we so dam the flood of a revolution seemingly -inevitable everywhere, that the blessed prospect and guarantee of a -better future--of a freer human life--shall not also be washed away -with all that is destined to perish and deserves to perish? - -He who asks himself this question shares Wagner's care: he will feel -himself impelled with Wagner to seek those established powers that -have the goodwill to protect the noblest passions of man during the -period of earthquakes and upheavals. In this sense alone Wagner -questions the learned through his writings, whether they intend -storing his legacy to them--the precious Ring of his art--among their -other treasures. And even the wonderful confidence which he reposes in -the German mind and the aims of German politics seems to me to arise -from the fact that he grants the people of the Reformation that -strength, mildness, and bravery which is necessary in order to divert -"the torrent of revolution into the tranquil river-bed of a calmly -flowing stream of humanity": and I could almost believe that this and -only this is what he meant to express by means of the symbol of his -Imperial march. - -As a rule, though, the generous impulses of the creative artist and -the extent of his philanthropy are too great for his gaze to be -confined within the limits of a single nation. His thoughts, like -those of every good and great German, are _more_ than German, and the -language of his art does not appeal to particular races but to mankind -in general. -_ -But to the men of the future._ - -This is the belief that is proper to him; this is his torment and his -distinction. No artist, of what past soever, has yet received such a -remarkable portion of genius; no one, save him, has ever been obliged -to mix this bitterest of ingredients with the drink of nectar to which -enthusiasm helped him. It is not as one might expect, the -misunderstood and mishandled artist, the fugitive of his age, who -adopted this faith in self-defence: success or failure at the hands of -his contemporaries was unable either to create or to destroy it -Whether it glorified or reviled him, he did not belong to this -generation: that was the conclusion to which his instincts led him. -And the possibility of any generation's ever belonging to him is -something which he who disbelieves in Wagner can never be made to -admit. But even this unbeliever may at least ask, what kind of -generation it will be in which Wagner will recognise his "people," and -in which he will see the type of all those who suffer a common -distress, and who wish to escape from it by means of an art common to -them all. Schiller was certainly more hopeful and sanguine; he did not -ask what a future must be like if the instinct of the artist that -predicts it prove true; his command to every artist was rather-- - - Soar aloft in daring flight - Out of sight of thine own years! - In thy mirror, gleaming bright, - Glimpse of distant dawn appears. - - - -XI. - - -May blessed reason preserve us from ever thinking that mankind will at -any time discover a final and ideal order of things, and that -happiness will then and ever after beam down upon us uniformly, like -the rays of the sun in the tropics. Wagner has nothing to do with such -a hope; he is no Utopian. If he was unable to dispense with the belief -in a future, it only meant that he observed certain properties in -modern men which he did not hold to be essential to their nature, and -which did not seem to him to form any necessary part of their -constitution; in fact, which were changeable and transient; and that -precisely _owing to these properties_ art would find no home among them, -and he himself had to be the precursor and prophet of another epoch. -No golden age, no cloudless sky will fall to the portion of those -future generations, which his instinct led him to expect, and whose -approximate characteristics may be gleaned from the cryptic characters -of his art, in so far as it is possible to draw conclusions concerning -the nature of any pain from the kind of relief it seeks. Nor will -superhuman goodness and justice stretch like an everlasting rainbow -over this future land. Belike this coming generation will, on the -whole, seem more evil than the present one--for in good as in evil it -will be more straightforward. It is even possible, if its soul were -ever able to speak out in full and unembarrassed tones, that it might -convulse and terrify us, as though the voice of some hitherto -concealed and evil spirit had suddenly cried out in our midst. Or how -do the following propositions strike our ears?--That passion is better -than stoicism or hypocrisy; that straightforwardness, even in evil, is -better than losing oneself in trying to observe traditional morality; -that the free man is just as able to be good as evil, but that the -unemancipated man is a disgrace to nature, and has no share in -heavenly or earthly bliss; finally, that all who wish to be free must -become so through themselves, and that freedom falls to nobody's lot -as a gift from Heaven. However harsh and strange these propositions -may sound, they are nevertheless reverberations from that future -world, which _is verily in need of art_, and which expects genuine -pleasure from its presence; they are the language of nature--_reinstated_ -even in mankind; they stand for what I have already termed correct -feeling as opposed to the incorrect feeling that reigns to-day. - -But real relief or salvation exists only for nature not for that which -is contrary to nature or which arises out of incorrect feeling. When -all that is unnatural becomes self-conscious, it desires but one -thing--nonentity; the natural thing, on the other hand, yearns to be -transfigured through love: the former would fain _not_ be, the latter -would fain be _otherwise_. Let him who has understood this recall, in -the stillness of his soul, the simple themes of Wagner's art, in order -to be able to ask himself whether it were nature or nature's opposite -which sought by means of them to achieve the aims just described. - -The desperate vagabond finds deliverance from his distress in the -compassionate love of a woman who would rather die than be unfaithful -to him: the theme of the Flying Dutchman. The sweet-heart, renouncing -all personal happiness, owing to a divine transformation of Love into -Charity, becomes a saint, and saves the soul of her loved one: the -theme of Tannhauser. The sublimest and highest thing descends a -suppliant among men, and will not be questioned whence it came; when, -however, the fatal question is put, it sorrowfully returns to its -higher life: the theme of Lohengrin. The loving soul of a wife, and -the people besides, joyfully welcome the new benevolent genius, -although the retainers of tradition and custom reject and revile him: -the theme of the Meistersingers. Of two lovers, that do not know they -are loved, who believe rather that they are deeply wounded and -contemned, each demands of the other that he or she should drink a cup -of deadly poison, to all intents and purposes as an expiation of the -insult; in reality, however, as the result of an impulse which neither -of them understands: through death they wish to escape all possibility -of separation or deceit. The supposed approach of death loosens their -fettered souls and allows them a short moment of thrilling happiness, -just as though they had actually escaped from the present, from -illusions and from life: the theme of Tristan and Isolde. - -In the Ring of the Nibelung the tragic hero is a god whose heart -yearns for power, and who, since he travels along all roads in search -of it, finally binds himself to too many undertakings, loses his -freedom, and is ultimately cursed by the curse inseparable from power. -He becomes aware of his loss of freedom owing to the fact that he no -longer has the means to take possession of the golden Ring--that -symbol of all earthly power, and also of the greatest dangers to -himself as long as it lies in the hands of his enemies. The fear of -the end and the twilight of all gods overcomes him, as also the -despair at being able only to await the end without opposing it. He is -in need of the free and fearless man who, without his advice or -assistance--even in a struggle against gods--can accomplish -single-handed what is denied to the powers of a god. He fails to see -him, and just as a new hope finds shape within him, he must obey the -conditions to which he is bound: with his own hand he must murder the -thing he most loves, and purest pity must be punished by his sorrow. -Then he begins to loathe power, which bears evil and bondage in its -lap; his will is broken, and he himself begins to hanker for the end -that threatens him from afar off. At this juncture something happens -which had long been the subject of his most ardent desire: the free -and fearless man appears, he rises in opposition to everything -accepted and established, his parents atone for having been united by -a tie which was antagonistic to the order of nature and usage; they -perish, but Siegfried survives. And at the sight of his magnificent -development and bloom, the loathing leaves Wotan's soul, and he follows -the hero's history with the eye of fatherly love and anxiety. How he -forges his sword, kills the dragon, gets possession of the ring, -escapes the craftiest ruse, awakens Brunhilda; how the curse abiding -in the ring gradually overtakes him; how, faithful in faithfulness, he -wounds the thing he most loves, out of love; becomes enveloped in the -shadow and cloud of guilt, and, rising out of it more brilliantly than -the sun, ultimately goes down, firing the whole heavens with his -burning glow and purging the world of the curse,--all this is seen by -the god whose sovereign spear was broken in the contest with the -freest man, and who lost his power through him, rejoicing greatly over -his own defeat: full of sympathy for the triumph and pain of his -victor, his eye burning with aching joy looks back upon the last -events; he has become free through love, free from himself. - -And now ask yourselves, ye generation of to-day, Was all this composed -_for you_? Have ye the courage to point up to the stars of the whole of -this heavenly dome of beauty and goodness and to say, This is our -life, that Wagner has transferred to a place beneath the stars? - -Where are the men among you who are able to interpret the divine image -of Wotan in the light of their own lives, and who can become ever -greater while, like him, ye retreat? Who among you would renounce -power, knowing and having learned that power is evil? Where are they -who like Brunhilda abandon their knowledge to love, and finally rob -their lives of the highest wisdom, "afflicted love, deepest sorrow, -opened my eyes"? and where are the free and fearless, developing and -blossoming in innocent egoism? and where are the Siegfrieds, among -you? - -He who questions thus and does so in vain, will find himself compelled -to look around him for signs of the future; and should his eye, on -reaching an unknown distance, espy just that "people" which his own -generation can read out of the signs contained in Wagnerian art, he -will then also understand _what Wagner will mean to this -people_--something that he cannot be to all of us, namely, not the -prophet of the future, as perhaps he would fain appear to us, but the -interpreter and clarifier of the past. - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Thoughts out of Season, Part I, by -Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 51710 *** diff --git a/old/51710-h/51710-h.htm b/old/51710-h/51710-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 92a9261..0000000 --- a/old/51710-h/51710-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5917 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Thoughts Out of Season, Volume 1, by Friedrich Nietzsche. - </title> - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} -.p4 {margin-top: 4em;} -.p6 {margin-top: 6em;} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; - clear: both; -} - -hr.tb {width: 45%;} -hr.chap {width: 65%} -hr.full {width: 95%;} - -hr.r5 {width: 5%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;} -hr.r65 {width: 65%; margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 3em;} - -.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - /* visibility: hidden; */ - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - color: #CCCCCC; -} /* page numbers */ - -.blockquot { - margin-left: 5%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - -a:link {color: #800000; text-decoration: none; } - -v:link {color: #800000; text-decoration: none; } - -center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.caption {font-weight: bold;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -.figleft { - float: left; - clear: left; - margin-left: 0; - margin-bottom: 1em; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-right: 1em; - padding: 0; - text-align: center; -} - -.figright { - float: right; - clear: right; - margin-left: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-right: 0; - padding: 0; - text-align: center; -} - -/* Footnotes */ -.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} - -.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} - -.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} - -.fnanchor { - vertical-align: super; - font-size: .8em; - text-decoration: - none; -} - -/* Transcriber's notes */ -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:smaller; - padding:0.5em; - margin-bottom:5em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; } - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 51710 ***</div> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="550" alt="" /> -</div> - -<h2>THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON</h2> - -<h3>PART ONE</h3> - -<h3>DAVID STRAUSS, THE CONFESSOR<br /> -AND THE WRITER</h3> - -<h3>RICHARD WAGNER IN BAYREUTH</h3> - -<h3>By</h3> - -<h2>FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE</h2> - -<h4>TRANSLATED BY</h4> - -<h4>ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI</h4> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;"> -<img src="images/ludovici.png" width="150" alt="" /> -</div> - -<h4>The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche</h4> - -<h5>The First Complete and Authorised English Translation</h5> - -<h4>Edited by Dr Oscar Levy</h4> - -<h4>Volume Four</h4> - -<h5>T.N. FOULIS</h5> - -<h5>13 & 15 FREDERICK STREET</h5> - -<h5>EDINBURGH: AND LONDON</h5> - -<h5>1910</h5> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em;"> -<span class="caption">CONTENTS.</span><br /> -<a href="#Page_vii">EDITORIAL NOTE</a><br /> -<a href="#NIETZSCHE_IN_ENGLAND">NIETZSCHE IN ENGLAND (BY THE EDITOR)</a><br /> -<a href="#TRANSLATORS_PREFACE">TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE TO DAVID STRAUSS<br /> - <span style="margin-left: 1em;">AND RICHARD WAGNER IN BAYREUTH</a></span><br /> -<a href="#DAVID_STRAUSS">DAVID STRAUSS, THE CONFESSOR AND THE WRITER</a><br /> -<a href="#RICHARD_WAGNER_IN_BAYREUTH">RICHARD WAGNER IN BAYREUTH</a><br /> -</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p> -<h4>EDITORIAL NOTE.</h4> - - -<p>The Editor begs to call attention to some of the difficulties he had -to encounter in preparing this edition of the complete works of -Friedrich Nietzsche. Not being English himself, he had to rely upon -the help of collaborators, who were somewhat slow in coming forward. -They were also few in number; for, in addition to an exact knowledge -of the German language, there was also required sympathy and a certain -enthusiasm for the startling ideas of the original, as well as a -considerable feeling for poetry, and that highest form of it, -religious poetry.</p> - -<p>Such a combination—a biblical mind, yet one open to new thoughts—was -not easily found. And yet it was necessary to find translators with -such a mind, and not be satisfied, as the French are and must be, with -a free though elegant version of Nietzsche. What is impossible and -unnecessary in French—a faithful and powerful rendering of the -psalmistic grandeur of Nietzsche—is possible and necessary in -English, which is a rougher tongue of the Teutonic stamp, and -moreover, like German, a tongue influenced and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span>formed by an excellent -version of the Bible. The English would never be satisfied, as -Bible-ignorant France is, with a Nietzsche <i>à l'Eau de Cologne</i>—they -would require the natural, strong, real Teacher, and would prefer his -outspoken words to the finely-chiselled sentences of the <i>raconteur</i>. It -may indeed be safely predicted that once the English people have -recovered from the first shock of Nietzsche's thoughts, their biblical -training will enable them, more than any other nation, to appreciate -the deep piety underlying Nietzsche's Cause.</p> - -<p>As this Cause is a somewhat holy one to the Editor himself, he is -ready to listen to any suggestions as to improvements of style or -sense coming from qualified sources. The Editor, during a recent visit -to Mrs. Foerster-Nietzsche at Weimar, acquired the rights of -translation by pointing out to her that in this way her brother's -works would not fall into the hands of an ordinary publisher and his -staff of translators: he has not, therefore, entered into any -engagement with publishers, not even with the present one, which could -hinder his task, bind him down to any text found faulty, or make him -consent to omissions or the falsification or "sugaring" of the -original text to further the sale of the books. He is therefore in a -position to give every attention to a work which he considers as of no -less importance for the country of his residence than for the country -of his birth, as well as for the rest of Europe.</p> - -<p>It is the consciousness of the importance of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span>this work which makes the -Editor anxious to point out several difficulties to the younger -student of Nietzsche. The first is, of course, not to begin reading -Nietzsche at too early an age. While fully admitting that others may -be more gifted than himself, the Editor begs to state that he began to -study Nietzsche at the age of twenty-six, and would not have been able -to endure the weight of such teaching before that time. Secondly, the -Editor wishes to dissuade the student from beginning the study of -Nietzsche by reading first of all his most complicated works. Not -having been properly prepared for them, he will find the <i>Zarathustra</i> -abstruse, the <i>Ecce Homo</i> conceited, and the <i>Antichrist</i> violent. He -should rather begin with the little pamphlet on Education, the -<i>Thoughts out of Season, Beyond Good and Evil</i>, or the <i>Genealogy of -Morals</i>. Thirdly, the Editor wishes to remind students of Nietzsche's -own advice to them, namely: to read him slowly, to think over what -they have read, and not to accept too readily a teaching which they -have only half understood. By a too ready acceptance of Nietzsche it -has come to pass that his enemies are, as a rule, a far superior body -of men to those who call themselves his eager and enthusiastic -followers. Surely it is not every one who is chosen to combat a -religion or a morality of two thousand years' standing, first within -and then without himself; and whoever feels inclined to do so ought at -least to allow his attention to be drawn to the magnitude of his task.</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span></p> -<h4><a id="NIETZSCHE_IN_ENGLAND"></a>NIETZSCHE IN ENGLAND:</h4> - - -<h5>AN INTRODUCTORY ESSAY BY THE EDITOR.</h5> - - -<p><span style="font-size: 0.8em;">DEAR ENGLISHMEN</span>,—In one of my former writings I have made the remark -that the world would have seen neither the great Jewish prophets nor -the great German thinkers, if the people from among whom these eminent -men sprang had not been on the whole such a misguided, and, in their -misguidedness, such a tough and stubborn race. The arrow that is to -fly far must be discharged from a well distended bow: if, therefore, -anything is necessary for greatness, it is a fierce and tenacious -opposition, an opposition either of open contempt, or of malicious -irony, or of sly silence, or of gross stupidity, an opposition -regardless of the wounds it inflicts and of the precious lives it -sacrifices, an opposition that nobody would dare to attack who was not -prepared, like the Spartan of old, to return either with his shield or -on it.</p> - -<p>An opposition so devoid of pity is not as a rule found amongst you, -dear and fair-minded Englishmen, which may account for the fact that -you have neither produced the greatest prophets nor the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span>greatest -thinkers in this world. You would never have crucified Christ, as did -the Jews, or driven Nietzsche into madness, as did the Germans—you -would have made Nietzsche, on account of his literary faculties, -Minister of State in a Whig Ministry, you would have invited Jesus -Christ to your country houses, where he would have been worshipped by -all the ladies on account of his long hair and interesting looks, and -tolerated by all men as an amusing, if somewhat romantic, foreigner. I -know that the current opinion is to the contrary, and that your -country is constantly accused, even by yourselves, of its insularity; -but I, for my part, have found an almost feminine receptivity amongst -you in my endeavour to bring you into contact with some ideas of my -native country—a receptivity which, however, has also this in common -with that of the female mind, that evidently nothing sticks deeply, -but is quickly wiped out by what any other lecturer, or writer, or -politician has to tell you. I was prepared for indifference—I was not -prepared for receptivity and that benign lady's smile, behind which -ladies, like all people who are only clever, usually hide their inward -contempt for the foolishness of mere men! I was prepared for abuse, -and even a good fight—I was not prepared for an extremely -faint-hearted criticism; I did not expect that some of my opponents -would be so utterly inexperienced in that most necessary work of -literary execution. No, no: give me the Germans or the Jews for -executioners: they can do the hanging properly, while the English -hangman is like the Russian, to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[Pg xiii]</a></span>whom, when the rope broke, the -half-hanged revolutionary said: "What a country, where they cannot -hang a man properly!" What a country, where they do not hang -philosophers properly—which would be the proper thing to do to -them—but smile at them, drink tea with them, discuss with them, and -ask them to contribute to their newspapers!</p> - -<p>To get to the root of the matter: in spite of many encouraging signs, -remarks and criticisms, adverse or benevolent, I do not think I have -been very successful in my crusade for that European thought which -began with Goethe and has found so fine a development in Nietzsche. -True, I have made many a convert, but amongst them are very -undesirable ones, as, for instance, some enterprising publishers, who -used to be the toughest disbelievers in England, but who have now come -to understand the "value" of the new gospel—but as neither this -gospel is exactly Christian, nor I, the importer of it, I am not -allowed to count my success by the conversion of publishers and -sinners, but have to judge it by the more spiritual standard of the -quality of the converted. In this respect, I am sorry to say, my -success has been a very poor one.</p> - -<p>As an eager missionary, I have naturally asked myself the reason of my -failure. Why is there no male audience in England willing to listen to -a manly and daring philosophy? Why are there no eyes to see, no ears -to hear, no hearts to feel, no brains to understand? Why is my -trumpet, which after all I know how to blow pretty well, unable to -shatter the walls of English prejudice against a teacher whose school -cannot possibly be <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[Pg xiv]</a></span>avoided by any European with a higher purpose in -his breast?... There is plenty of time for thought nowadays for a man -who does not allow himself to be drawn into that aimless bustle of -pleasure business or politics, which is called modern life because -outside that life there is—just as outside those noisy Oriental -cities-a desert, a calmness, a true and almost majestic leisure, a -leisure unprecedented in any age, a leisure in which one may arrive at -several conclusions concerning English indifference towards the new -thought.</p> - -<p>First of all, of course, there stands in the way the terrible abuse -which Nietzsche has poured upon the heads of the innocent Britishers. -While France and the Latin countries, while the Orient and India, are -within the range of his sympathies, this most outspoken of all -philosophers, this prophet and poet-philosopher, cannot find words -enough to express his disgust at the illogical, plebeian, shallow, -utilitarian Englishman. It must certainly be disagreeable to be -treated like this, especially when one has a fairly good opinion of -one's self; but why do you take it so very, very seriously? Did -Nietzsche, perchance, spare the Germans? And aren't you accustomed to -criticism on the part of German philosophers? Is it not the ancient -and time-honoured privilege of the whole range of them from Leibnitz -to Hegel—even of German poets, like Goethe and Heine—to call you -bad names and to use unkind language towards you? Has there not always -been among the few thinking heads in Germany a silent consent and an -open contempt for you <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[Pg xv]</a></span>and your ways; the sort of contempt you -yourselves have for the even more Anglo-Saxon culture of the -Americans? I candidly confess that in my more German moments I have -felt and still feel as the German philosophers do; but I have also my -European turns and moods, and then I try to understand you and even -excuse you, and take your part against earnest and thinking Germany. -Then I feel like telling the German philosophers that if you, poor -fellows, had practised everything they preached, they would have had -to renounce the pleasure of abusing you long ago, for there would now -be no more Englishmen left to abuse! As it is, you have suffered -enough on account of the wild German ideals you luckily only partly -believed in: for what the German thinker wrote on patient paper in his -study, you always had to write the whole world over on tender human -skins, black and yellow skins, enveloping ungrateful beings who -sometimes had no very high esteem for the depth and beauty of German -philosophy. And you have never taken revenge upon the inspired masters -of the European thinking-shop, you have never reabused them, you have -never complained of their want of worldly wisdom: you have invariably -suffered in silence and agony, just as brave and staunch Sancho Panza -used to do. For this is what you are, dear Englishmen, and however -well you brave, practical, materialistic John Bulls and Sancho Panzas -may know this world, however much better you may be able to perceive, -to count, to judge, and to weigh things than your ideal <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvi" id="Page_xvi">[Pg xvi]</a></span>German Knight: -there is an eternal law in this world that the Sancho Panzas have to -follow the Don Quixotes; for matter has to follow the spirit, even the -poor spirit of a German philosopher! So it has been in the past, so it -is at present, and so it will be in the future; and you had better -prepare yourselves in time for the eventuality. For if Nietzsche were -nothing else but this customary type of German philosopher, you would -again have to pay the bill largely; and it would be very wise on your -part to study him: Sancho Panza may escape a good many sad experiences -by knowing his master's weaknesses. But as Nietzsche no longer belongs -to the Quixotic class, as Germany seems to emerge with him from her -youthful and cranky nebulosity, you will not even have the pleasure of -being thrashed in the company of your Master: no, you will be thrashed -all alone, which is an abominable thing for any right-minded human -being. "Solamen miseris socios habuisse malorum."<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - -<p>The second reason for the neglect of Nietzsche in this country is that -you do not need him yet. And you do not need him yet because you have -always possessed the British virtue of not carrying things to -extremes, which, according to the German version, is an euphemism for -the British want of logic and critical capacity. You have, for -instance, never let your religion have any great influence upon your -politics, which is something quite abhorrent to the moral German, and -makes <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvii" id="Page_xvii">[Pg xvii]</a></span>him so angry about you. For the German sees you acting as a -moral and law-abiding Christian at home, and as an unscrupulous and -Machiavellian conqueror abroad; and if he refrains from the reproach -of hypocrisy, with which the more stupid continentals invariably -charge you, he will certainly call you a "British muddlehead." Well, I -myself do not take things so seriously as that, for I know that men of -action have seldom time to think. It is probably for this reason also -that liberty of thought and speech has been granted to you, the -law-giver knowing very well all the time that you would be much too -busy to use and abuse such extraordinary freedom. Anyhow, it might now -be time to abuse it just a little bit, and to consider what an -extraordinary amalgamation is a Christian Power with imperialistic -ideas. True, there has once before been another Christian conquering -and colonising empire like yours, that of Venice—but these Venetians -were thinkers compared with you, and smuggled their gospel into the -paw of their lion.... Why don't you follow their example, in order not -to be unnecessarily embarrassed by it in your enterprises abroad? In -this manner you could also reconcile the proper Germans, who -invariably act up to their theories, their Christianity, their -democratic principles, although, on the other hand, in so doing you -would, I quite agree, be most unfaithful to your own traditions, which -are of a more democratic character than those of any other European -nation.</p> - -<p>For Democracy, as every schoolboy knows, was <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xviii" id="Page_xviii">[Pg xviii]</a></span>born in an English -cradle: individual liberty, parliamentary institutions, the sovereign -rights of the people, are ideas of British origin, and have been -propagated from this island over the whole of Europe. But as the -prophet and his words are very often not honoured in his own country, -those ideas have been embraced with much more fervour by other nations -than by that in which they originated. The Continent of Europe has -taken the desire for liberty and equality much more seriously than -their levelling but also level-headed inventors, and the fervent -imagination of France has tried to put into practice all that was -quite hidden to the more sober English eye. Every one nowadays knows -the good and the evil consequences of the French Revolution, which -swept over the whole of Europe, throwing it into a state of unrest, -shattering thrones and empires, and everywhere undermining authority -and traditional institutions. While this was going on in Europe, the -originator of the merry game was quietly sitting upon his island -smiling broadly at the excitable foreigners across the Channel, -fishing as much as he could out of the water he himself had so -cleverly disturbed, and thus in every way reaping the benefit from the -mighty fight for the apple of Eros which he himself had thrown amongst -them. As I have endeavoured above to draw a parallel between the -Germans and the Jews, I may now be allowed to follow this up with one -between the Jews and the English. It is a striking parallel, which -will specially appeal to those religious souls amongst you who -consider themselves the lost <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xix" id="Page_xix">[Pg xix]</a></span>tribes of our race (and who are perhaps -even more lost than they think),—and it is this: Just as the Jews -have brought Christianity into the world, but never accepted it -themselves, just as they, in spite of their democratic offspring, have -always remained the most conservative, exclusive, aristocratic, and -religious people, so have the English never allowed themselves to be -intoxicated by the strong drink of the natural equality of men, which -they once kindly offered to all Europe to quaff; but have, on the -contrary, remained the most sober, the most exclusive, the most -feudal, the most conservative people of our continent.</p> - -<p>But because the ravages of Democracy have been less felt here than -abroad, because there is a good deal of the mediæval building left -standing over here, because things have never been carried to that -excess which invariably brings a reaction with it—this reaction has -not set in in this country, and no strong desire for the necessity of -it, no craving for the counterbalancing influence of a Nietzsche, has -arisen yet in the British mind. I cannot help pointing out the grave -consequences of this backwardness of England, which has arisen from -the fact that you have never taken any ideas or theories, not even -your own, seriously. Democracy, dear Englishmen, is like a stream, -which all the peoples of Europe will have to cross: they will come out -of it cleaner, healthier, and stronger, but while the others are -already in the water, plunging, puffing, paddling, losing their -ground, trying to swim, and even half-drowned, you are still standing -on the other side of it, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xx" id="Page_xx">[Pg xx]</a></span>roaring unmercifully about the poor swimmers, -screamers, and fighters below,—but one day you will have to cross -this same river too, and when you enter it the others will just be out -of it, and will laugh at the poor English straggler in their turn!</p> - -<p>The third and last reason for the icy silence which has greeted -Nietzsche in this country is due to the fact that he has—as far as I -know—no literary ancestor over here whose teachings could have -prepared you for him. Germany has had her Goethe to do this; France -her Stendhal; in Russia we find that fearless curiosity for all -problems, which is the sign of a youthful, perhaps too youthful -nation; while in Spain, on the other hand, we have an old and -experienced people, with a long training away from Christianity under -the dominion of the Semitic Arabs, who undoubtedly left some of their -blood behind,—but I find great difficulty in pointing out any man -over here who could serve as a useful guide to the heights of the -Nietzschean thought, except one, who was not a Britisher. I am -alluding to a man whose politics you used to consider and whose -writings you even now consider as fantastic, but who, like another -fantast of his race, may possess the wonderful gift of resurrection, -and come again to life amongst you—to Benjamin Disraeli.</p> - -<p>The Disraelian Novels are in my opinion the best and only preparation -for those amongst you who wish gradually to become acquainted with the -Nietzschean spirit. There, and nowhere else, will you find the true -heroes of coming times, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxi" id="Page_xxi">[Pg xxi]</a></span>men of moral courage, men whose failures and -successes are alike admirable, men whose noble passions have -altogether superseded the ordinary vulgarities and moralities of lower -beings, men endowed with an extraordinary imagination, which, however, -is balanced by an equal power of reason, men already anointed with a -drop of that sacred and noble oil, without which the High -Priest-Philosopher of Modern Germany would not have crowned his Royal -Race of the Future.</p> - -<p>Both Disraeli and Nietzsche you perceive starting from the same -pessimistic diagnosis of the wild anarchy, the growing melancholy, the -threatening Nihilism of Modern Europe, for both recognised the danger -of the age behind its loud and forced "shipwreck gaiety," behind its -big-mouthed talk about progress and evolution, behind that veil of -business-bustle, which hides its fear and utter despair—but for all -that black outlook they are not weaklings enough to mourn and let -things go, nor do they belong to that cheap class of society doctors -who mistake the present wretchedness of Humanity for sinfulness, and -wish to make their patient less sinful and still more wretched. Both -Nietzsche and Disraeli have clearly recognised that this patient of -theirs is suffering from weakness and not from sinfulness, for which -latter some kind of strength may still be required; both are therefore -entirely opposed to a further dieting him down to complete moral -emaciation, but are, on the contrary, prescribing a tonic, a -roborating, a natural regime for him—advice for which both doctors -have been <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxii" id="Page_xxii">[Pg xxii]</a></span>reproached with Immorality by their contemporaries as well -as by posterity. But the younger doctor has turned the tables upon -their accusers, and has openly reproached his Nazarene colleagues with -the Immorality of endangering life itself, he has clearly demonstrated -to the world that their trustful and believing patient was shrinking -beneath their very fingers, he has candidly foretold these Christian -quacks that one day they would be in the position of the quack -skin-specialist at the fair, who, as a proof of his medical skill, -used to show to the peasants around him the skin of a completely cured -patient of his. Both Nietzsche and Disraeli know the way to health, -for they have had the disease of the age themselves, but they -have—the one partly, the other entirely—cured themselves of it, -they have resisted the spirit of their time, they have escaped the -fate of their contemporaries; they therefore, and they alone, know -their danger. This is the reason why they both speak so violently, why -they both attack with such bitter fervour the utilitarian and -materialistic attitude of English Science, why they both so ironically -brush aside the airy and fantastic ideals of German Philosophy—this -is why they both loudly declare (to use Disraeli's words) "that we are -the slaves of false knowledge; that our memories are filled with ideas -that have no origin in truth; that we believe what our fathers -credited, who were convinced without a cause; that we study human -nature in a charnel house, and, like the nations of the East, pay -divine honours to the maniac and the fool." But if these <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxiii" id="Page_xxiii">[Pg xxiii]</a></span>two great men -cannot refrain from such outspoken vituperation—they also lead the -way: they both teach the divinity of ideas and the vileness of action -without principle; they both exalt the value of personality and -character; they both deprecate the influence of society and -socialisation; they both intensely praise and love life, but they both -pour contempt and irony upon the shallow optimist, who thinks it -delightful, and the quietist, who wishes it to be calm, sweet, and -peaceful. They thus both preach a life of danger, in opposition to -that of pleasure, of comfort, of happiness, and they do not only -preach this noble life, they also act it: for both have with equal -determination staked even their lives on the fulfilment of their -ideal.</p> - -<p>It is astonishing—but only astonishing to your superficial student of -the Jewish character—that in Disraeli also we find an almost -Nietzschean appreciation of that eternal foe of the Jewish race, the -Hellenist, which makes Disraeli, just like Nietzsche, confess that the -Greek and the Hebrew are both amongst the highest types of the human -kind. It is not less astonishing—but likewise easily intelligible for -one who knows something of the great Jews of the Middle Ages—that in -Disraeli we discover that furious enmity against the doctrine of the -natural equality of men which Nietzsche combated all his life. It was -certainly the great Maimonides himself, that spiritual father of -Spinoza, who guided the pen of his Sephardic descendant, when he thus -wrote in his <i>Tancred</i>: "It is to be noted, although the Omnipotent -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxiv" id="Page_xxiv">[Pg xxiv]</a></span>Creator might have formed, had it pleased him, in the humblest of his -creations, an efficient agent for his purpose that Divine Majesty has -never thought fit to communicate except with human beings of the very -highest order."</p> - -<p>But what about Christianity, to which Disraeli was sincerely attached, -and whose creation he always considered as one of the eternal glories -of his race? Did not the Divine Majesty think it fit then to -communicate with the most humble of its creatures, with the fishermen -of Galilee, with the rabble of Corinth, with the slaves, the women, -the criminals of the Roman Empire? As I wish to be honest about -Disraeli, I must point out here, that his genius, although the most -prominent in England during his lifetime, and although violently -opposed to its current superstitions, still partly belongs to his -age—and for this very pardonable reason, that in his Jewish pride he -overrated and even misunderstood Christianity. He all but overlooked -the narrow connection between Christianity and Democracy. He did not -see that in fighting Liberalism and Nonconformity all his life, he was -really fighting Christianity, the Protestant Form of which is at the -root of British Liberalism and Individualism to this very day. And -when later in his life Disraeli complained that the disturbance in the -mind of nations has been occasioned by "the powerful assault on the -Divinity of the Semitic Literature by the Germans," he overlooked -likewise the connection of this German movement with the same -Protestantism, from the narrow and vulgar <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxv" id="Page_xxv">[Pg xxv]</a></span>middle-class of which have -sprung all those rationalising, unimaginative, and merely clever -professors, who have so successfully undermined the ancient and -venerable lore. And thirdly, and worst of all, Disraeli never -suspected that the French Revolution, which in the same breath he once -contemptuously denounced as "the Celtic Rebellion against Semitic -laws," was, in spite of its professed attack against religion, really -a profoundly Christian, because a democratic and revolutionary -movement. What a pity he did not know all this! What a shower of -splendid additional sarcasms he would have poured over those -flat-nosed Franks, had he known what I know now, that it is the -eternal way of the Christian to be a rebel, and that just as he has -once rebelled against us, he has never ceased pestering and rebelling -against any one else either of his own or any other creed.</p> - -<p>But it is so easy for me to be carried away by that favourite sport of -mine, of which I am the first inventor among the Jews—Christian -baiting. You must forgive this, however, in a Jew, who, while he has -been baited for two thousand years by you, likes to turn round now -that the opportunity has come, and tries to indulge on his part also -in a little bit of that genial pastime. I candidly confess it is -delightful, and I now quite understand your ancestors hunting mine as -much as they could—had I been a Christian, I would, probably, have -done the same; perhaps have done it even better, for no one would now -be left to write any such impudent truisms against me—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxvi" id="Page_xxvi">[Pg xxvi]</a></span>rest assured -of that! But as I am a Jew, and have had too much experience of the -other side of the question, I must try to control myself in the midst -of victory; I must judge things calmly; I must state fact honestly; I -must not allow myself to be unjust towards you. First of all, then, -this rebelling faculty of yours is a Jewish inheritance, an -inheritance, however, of which you have made a more than generous, a -truly Christian use, because you did not keep it niggardly for -yourselves, but have distributed it all over the earth, from Nazareth -to Nishni-Novgorod, from Jerusalem to Jamaica, from Palestine to -Pimlico, so that every one is a rebel and an anarchist nowadays. But, -secondly, I must not forget that in every Anarchist, and therefore in -every Christian, there is also, or may be, an aristocrat—a man who, -just like the anarchist, but with a perfectly holy right, wishes to -obey no laws but those of his own conscience; a man who thinks too -highly of his own faith and persuasion, to convert other people to it; -a man who, therefore, would never carry it to Caffres and Coolis; a -man, in short, with whom even the noblest and exclusive Hebrew could -shake hands. In Friedrich Nietzsche this aristocratic element which -may be hidden in a Christian has been brought to light, in him the -Christian's eternal claim for freedom of conscience, for his own -priesthood, for justification by his own faith, is no longer used for -purposes of destruction and rebellion, but for those of command and -creation; in him—and this is the key to the character of this -extraordinary man, who both on his father's <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxvii" id="Page_xxvii">[Pg xxvii]</a></span>and mother's side was the -descendant of a long line of Protestant Parsons—the Christian and -Protestant spirit of anarchy became so strong that he rebelled even -against his own fellow-Anarchists, and told them that Anarchy was a -low and contemptible thing, and that Revolution was an occupation fit -only for superior slaves. But with this event the circle of -Christianity has become closed, and the exclusive House of Israel is -now under the delightful obligation to make its peace with its once -lost and now reforming son.</p> - -<p>The venerable Owner of this old house is still standing on its -threshold: his face is pale, his expression careworn, his eyes -apparently scanning something far in the distance. The wind—for there -is a terrible wind blowing just now—is playing havoc with his long -white Jew-beard, but this white Jew-beard of his is growing black -again at the end, and even the sad eyes are still capable of quite -youthful flashes, as may be noticed at this very moment. For the eyes -of the old Jew, apparently so dreamy and so far away, have suddenly -become fixed upon something in the distance yonder. The old Jew looks -and looks—and then he rubs his eyes—and then he eagerly looks -again. And now he is sure of himself. His old and haggard face is -lighting up, his stooped figure suddenly becomes more erect, and a -tear of joy is seen running over his pale cheek into that long beard -of his. For the old Jew has recognised some one coming from afar—some -one whom he had missed, but never mentioned, for his Law forbade him -to do this—some one, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxviii" id="Page_xxviii">[Pg xxviii]</a></span>however, for whom he had secretly always -mourned, as only the race of the psalmists and the prophets can -mourn—and he rushes toward him, and he falls on his neck and he -kisses him, and he says to his servants: "Bring forth the best robe -and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand and shoes on his feet. -And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it and let us eat and be -merry!" <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">AMEN</span>.</p> - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em; margin-left: 70%;">OSCAR LEVY.</p> - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em;">LONDON,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;"><i>January</i> 1909.</span><br /> -</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> It is a comfort to the afflicted to have companions in -their distress.</p></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxix" id="Page_xxix">[Pg xxix]</a></p> -<h4><a id="TRANSLATORS_PREFACE"></a>TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.</h4> - - -<p>To the reader who knows Nietzsche, who has studied his <i>Zarathustra</i> and -understood it, and who, in addition, has digested the works entitled -<i>Beyond Good and Evil, The Genealogy of Morals, The Twilight of the -Idols</i>, and <i>The Antichrist</i>,—to such a reader everything in this -volume will be perfectly clear and comprehensible. In the attack on -Strauss he will immediately detect the germ of the whole of -Nietzsche's subsequent attitude towards too hasty contentment and the -foolish beatitude of the "easily pleased"; in the paper on Wagner he -will recognise Nietzsche the indefatigable borer, miner and -underminer, seeking to define his ideals, striving after -self-knowledge above all, and availing himself of any contemporary -approximation to his ideal man, in order to press it forward as the -incarnation of his thoughts. Wagner the reformer of mankind! Wagner -the dithyrambic dramatist!—The reader who knows Nietzsche will not be -misled by these expressions.</p> - -<p>To the uninitiated reader, however, some words of explanation are due, -not only in regard to the two papers before us, but in regard to -Nietzsche himself. So much in our time is learnt from hearsay -concerning prominent figures in science, art, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxx" id="Page_xxx">[Pg xxx]</a></span>religion, or philosophy, -that it is hardly possible for anybody to-day, however badly informed -he may be, to begin the study of any great writer or scientist with a -perfectly open mind. It were well, therefore, to begin the study of -Nietzsche with some definite idea as to his unaltered purpose, if he -ever possessed such a thing; as to his lifelong ideal, if he ever kept -one so long; and as to the one direction in which he always travelled, -despite apparent deviations and windings. Had he such a purpose, such -an ideal, such a direction? We have no wish to open a controversy -here, neither do we think that in replying to this question in the -affirmative we shall give rise to one; for every careful student of -Nietzsche, we know, will uphold us in our view. Nietzsche had one very -definite and unaltered purpose, ideal and direction, and this was "the -elevation of the type man." He tells us in <i>The Will to Power</i>: "All is -truth to me that tends to elevate man!" To this principle he was -already pledged as a student at Leipzig; we owe every line that he -ever wrote to his devotion to it, and it is the key to all his -complexities, blasphemies, prolixities, and terrible earnestness. All -was good to Nietzsche that tended to elevate man; all was bad that -kept man stationary or sent him backwards. Hence he wrote <i>David -Strauss, the Confessor and Writer</i> (1873).</p> - -<p>The Franco-German War had only just come to an end, and the keynote of -this polemical pamphlet is, "Beware of the intoxication of success." -When the whole of Germany was delirious with joy over her victory, at -a time when the unquestioned <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxi" id="Page_xxxi">[Pg xxxi]</a></span>triumph of her arms tended rather to -reflect unearned glory upon every department of her social -organisation, it required both courage and discernment to raise the -warning voice and to apply the wet blanket. But Nietzsche did both, -and with spirit, because his worst fears were aroused. Smug content -(<i>erbärmliches Behagen</i>) was threatening to thwart his one purpose—the -elevation of man; smug content personified in the German scholar was -giving itself airs of omniscience, omnipotence, and ubiquity, and all -the while it was a mere cover for hidden rottenness and jejune -pedantry.</p> - -<p>Nietzsche's attack on Hegelian optimism alone (pp. <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>-<a href="#Page_54">54</a>), in the -first paper, fully reveals the fundamental idea underlying this essay; -and if the personal attack on Strauss seems sometimes to throw the -main theme into the background, we must remember the author's own -attitude towards this aspect of the case. Nietzsche, as a matter of -fact, had neither the spite nor the meanness requisite for the purely -personal attack. In his <i>Ecce Homo</i>, he tells us most emphatically: "I -have no desire to attack particular persons—I do but use a -personality as a magnifying glass; I place it over the subject to -which I wish to call attention, merely that the appeal may be -stronger." David Strauss, in a letter to a friend, soon after the -publication of the first <i>Thought out of Season</i>, expresses his utter -astonishment that a total stranger should have made such a dead set at -him. The same problem may possibly face the reader on every page of -this essay: if, however, we realise Nietzsche's purpose, if we -understand his struggle to be one against <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxii" id="Page_xxxii">[Pg xxxii]</a></span>"Culture-Philistinism" in -general, as a stemming, stultifying and therefore degenerate factor, -and regard David Strauss—as the author himself did, that is to say, -simply as a glass, focusing the whole light of our understanding upon -the main theme—then the Strauss paper is seen to be one of such -enormous power, and its aim appears to us so lofty, that, whatever our -views may be concerning the nature of the person assailed, we are -forced to conclude that, to Nietzsche at least, he was but the -incarnation and concrete example of the evil and danger then -threatening to overtake his country, which it was the object of this -essay to expose.</p> - -<p>When we read that at the time of Strauss's death (February 7th, 1874) -Nietzsche was greatly tormented by the fear that the old scholar might -have been hastened to his end by the use that had been made of his -personality in the first <i>Unzeitgemässe Betrachtung</i>; when we remember -that in the midst of this torment he ejaculated, "I was indeed not -made to hate and have enemies!"—we are then in a better position to -judge of the motives which, throughout his life, led him to engage -such formidable opponents and to undertake such relentless attacks. It -was merely his ruling principle that, all is true and good that tends -to elevate man; everything is bad and false that keeps man stationary -or sends him backwards.</p> - -<p>Those who may think that his attacks were often unwarrantable and -ill-judged will do well, therefore, to bear this in mind, that -whatever his value or merits may have been as an iconoclast, at least -the aim he had was sufficiently lofty and honourable, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxiii" id="Page_xxxiii">[Pg xxxiii]</a></span>and that he -never shirked the duties which he rightly or wrongly imagined would -help him to.</p> - -<p>In the Wagner paper (1875-1876) we are faced by a somewhat different problem. -Most readers who will have heard of Nietzsche's subsequent -denunciation of Wagner's music will probably stand aghast before this -panegyric of him; those who, like Professor Saintsbury, will fail to -discover the internal evidence in this essay which points so -infallibly to Nietzsche's <i>real</i> but still subconscious opinion of his -hero, may even be content to regard his later attitude as the result -of a complete volte-face, and at any rate a flat contradiction of the -one revealed in this paper. Let us, however, examine the internal -evidence we speak of, and let us also discuss the purpose and spirit -of the essay.</p> - -<p>We have said that Nietzsche was a man with a very fixed and powerful -ideal, and we have heard what this ideal was. Can we picture him, -then,—a young and enthusiastic scholar with a cultured love of music, -and particularly of Wagner's music, eagerly scanning all his circle, -the whole city and country in which he lived—yea, even the whole -continent on which he lived—for something or some one that would set -his doubts at rest concerning the feasibility of his ideal? Can we now -picture this young man coming face to face with probably one of the -greatest geniuses of his age—with a man whose very presence must have -been electric, whose every word or movement must have imparted some -power to his surroundings—with Richard Wagner?</p> - -<p>If we can conceive of what the mere attention, even, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxiv" id="Page_xxxiv">[Pg xxxiv]</a></span>of a man like -Wagner must have meant to Nietzsche in his twenties, if we can form -any idea of the intoxicating effect produced upon him when this -attention developed into friendship, we almost refuse to believe that -Nietzsche could have been critical at all at first. In Wagner, as was -but natural, he soon began to see the ideal, or at least the means to -the ideal, which was his one obsession. All his hope for the future of -Germany and Europe cleaved, as it were, to this highest manifestation -of their people's life, and gradually he began to invest his already -great friend with all the extra greatness which he himself drew from -the depths of his own soul.</p> - -<p>The friendship which grew between them was of that rare order in which -neither can tell who influences the other more. Wagner would often -declare that the beautiful music in the third act of Siegfried was to -be ascribed to Nietzsche's influence over him; he also adopted the -young man's terminology in art matters, and the concepts implied by -the words "Dionysian" and "Apollonian" were borrowed by him from his -friend's discourses. How much Nietzsche owed to Wagner may perhaps -never be definitely known; to those who are sufficiently interested to -undertake the investigation of this matter, we would recommend Hans -Belart's book, <i>Nietzsche's Ethik</i>; in it references will be found which -give some clue as to the probable sources from which the necessary -information may be derived. In any case, however, the reciprocal -effects of their conversations will never be exactly known; and -although it would be ridiculous to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxv" id="Page_xxxv">[Pg xxxv]</a></span>assume that Nietzsche was -essentially the same when he left as when he met him, what the real -nature of the change was it is now difficult to say.</p> - -<p>For some years their friendship continued firm, and grew ever more and -more intimate. <i>The Birth Of Tragedy</i> was one of the first public -declarations of it, and after its publication many were led to -consider that Wagner's art was a sort of resurrection of the Dionysian -Grecian art. Enemies of Nietzsche began to whisper that he was merely -Wagner's "literary lackey"; many friends frowned upon the promising -young philologist, and questioned the exaggerated importance he was -beginning to ascribe to the art of music and to art in general, in -their influence upon the world; and all the while Nietzsche's one -thought and one aim was to help the cause and further the prospects of -the man who he earnestly believed was destined to be the salvation of -European culture.</p> - -<p>Every great ideal coined in his own brain he imagined to be the ideal -of his hero; all his sublimest hopes for society were presented -gratis, in his writings, to Wagner, as though products of the latter's -own mind; and just as the prophet of old never possessed the requisite -assurance to suppose that his noblest ideas were his own, but -attributed them to some higher and supernatural power, whom he thereby -learnt to worship for its fancied nobility of sentiment, so Nietzsche, -still doubting his own powers, created a fetich out of his most -distinguished friend, and was ultimately wounded and well-nigh wrecked -with disappointment when he found that the Wagner of the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxvi" id="Page_xxxvi">[Pg xxxvi]</a></span>Götterdämmerung and Parsifal was not the Wagner of his own mind.</p> - -<p>While writing <i>Ecce Homo</i>, he was so well aware of the extent to which -he had gone in idealising his friend, that he even felt able to say: -"<i>Wagner in Bayreuth</i> is a vision of my own future.... Now that I can -look back upon this work, I would not like to deny that, at bottom, it -speaks only of myself" (p. 74). And on another page of the same book -we read: "... What I heard, as a young man, in Wagnerian music, had -absolutely nothing to do with Wagner: when I described Dionysian -music, I only described what I had heard, and I thus translated and -transfigured all that I bore in my own soul into the spirit of the new -art. The strongest proof of this is my essay, <i>Wagner in Bayreuth</i>: in -all decidedly psychological passages of this book the reader may -simply read my name, or the name 'Zarathustra,' wherever the text -contains the name 'Wagner'" (p. 68).</p> - -<p>As we have already hinted, there are evidences of his having -subconsciously discerned the <i>real</i> Wagner, even in the heyday of their -friendship, behind the ideal he had formed of him; for his eyes were -too intelligent to be deceived, even though his understanding refused -at first to heed the messages they sent it: both the <i>Birth of Tragedy</i> -and <i>Wagner in Bayreuth</i> are with us to prove this, and not merely when -we read these works between the lines, but when we take such passages -as those found on pp. <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a> of this book -quite literally.</p> - -<p>Nietzsche's infatuation we have explained; the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxvii" id="Page_xxxvii">[Pg xxxvii]</a></span>consequent idealisation -of the object of his infatuation he himself has confessed; we have -also pointed certain passages which we believe show beyond a doubt -that almost everything to be found in <i>The Case of Wagner</i> and <i>Nietzsche -contra Wagner</i> was already subconscious in our author, long before he -had begun to feel even a coolness towards his hero: let those who -think our interpretation of the said passages is either strained or -unjustified turn to the literature to which we have referred and judge -for themselves. It seems to us that those distinguished critics who -complain of Nietzsche's complete <i>volte-face</i> and his uncontrollable -recantations and revulsions of feeling have completely overlooked this -aspect of the question.</p> - -<p>It were well for us to bear in mind that we are not altogether free to -dispose of Nietzsche's attitude to Wagner, at any given period in -their relationship, with a single sentence of praise or of blame. -After all, we are faced by a problem which no objectivity or -dispassionate detachment on our parts can solve. Nietzsche endowed -both Schopenhauer and Wagner with qualities and aspirations so utterly -foreign to them both, that neither of them would have recognised -himself in the images he painted of them. His love for them was -unusual; perhaps it can only be fully understood emotionally by us: -like all men who are capable of very great love, Nietzsche lent the -objects of his affection anything they might happen to lack in the way -of greatness, and when at last his eyes were opened, genuine pain, not -malice, was the motive of even the most bitter of his diatribes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxviii" id="Page_xxxviii">[Pg xxxviii]</a></span>Finally, we should just like to give one more passage from <i>Ecce Homo</i> -bearing upon the subject under discussion. It is particularly -interesting from an autobiographical standpoint, and will perhaps -afford the best possible conclusion to this preface.</p> - -<p>Nietzsche is writing about Wagner's music, and he says: "The world -must indeed be empty for him who has never been unhealthy enough for -this 'infernal voluptuousness'; it is allowable and yet almost -forbidden to use a mystical expression in this behalf. I suppose I -know better than any one the prodigies Wagner was capable of, the -fifty worlds of strange raptures to which no one save him could soar; -and as I stand to-day—strong enough to convert even the most -suspicious and dangerous phenomenon to my own use and be the stronger -for it—I declare Wagner to be the great benefactor of my life. -Something will always keep our names associated in the minds of men, -and that is, that we are two who have suffered more -excruciatingly—even at each other's hands—than most men are able to -suffer nowadays. And just as Wagner is merely a misunderstanding among -Germans, so am I and ever will be. You lack two centuries of -psychological and artistic discipline, my dear countrymen!... But it -will be impossible for you ever to recover the time now lost" (p. <a href="#Page_43">43</a>).</p> - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em; margin-left: 65%;">ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI.</p> - - -<p class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a><br /> -<a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h3><a name="DAVID_STRAUSS" id="DAVID_STRAUSS">DAVID STRAUSS,</a></h3> - -<h4>THE CONFESSOR AND THE WRITER.</h4> - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> - - -<h4>I.</h4> - - -<p>Public opinion in Germany seems strictly to forbid any allusion to the -evil and dangerous consequences of a war, more particularly when the -war in question has been a victorious one. Those writers, therefore, -command a more ready attention who, regarding this public opinion as -final, proceed to vie with each other in their jubilant praise of the -war, and of the powerful influences it has brought to bear upon -morality, culture, and art. Yet it must be confessed that a great -victory is a great danger. Human nature bears a triumph less easily -than a defeat; indeed, it might even be urged that it is simpler to -gain a victory of this sort than to turn it to such account that it -may not ultimately prove a serious rout.</p> - -<p>But of all evil results due to the last contest with France, the most -deplorable, perhaps, is that widespread and even universal error of -public opinion and of all who think publicly, that German culture was -also victorious in the struggle, and that it should now, therefore, be -decked with garlands, as a fit recognition of such <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>extraordinary -events and successes. This error is in the highest degree pernicious: -not because it is an error,—for there are illusions which are both -salutary and blessed,—but because it threatens to convert our victory -into a signal defeat. A defeat?—I should say rather, into the -uprooting of the "German Mind" for the benefit of the "German Empire."</p> - -<p>Even supposing that the fight had been between the two cultures, the -standard for the value of the victor would still be a very relative -one, and, in any case, would certainly not justify such exaggerated -triumph or self-glorification. For, in the first place, it would be -necessary to ascertain the worth of the conquered culture. This might -be very little; in which case, even if the victory had involved the -most glorious display of arms, it would still offer no warrant for -inordinate rapture.</p> - -<p>Even so, however, there can be no question, in our case, of the -victory of German culture; and for the simple reason, that French -culture remains as heretofore, and that we depend upon it as -heretofore. It did not even help towards the success of our arms. -Severe military discipline, natural bravery and sustaining power, the -superior generalship, unity and obedience in the rank and file—in -short, factors which have nothing to do with culture, were -instrumental in making us conquer an opponent in whom the most -essential of these factors were absent. The only wonder is, that -precisely what is now called "culture" in Germany did not prove an -obstacle to the military operations which seemed vitally necessary to -a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>great victory. Perhaps, though, this was only owing to the fact that -this "thing" which dubs itself "culture" saw its advantage, for once, -in keeping in the background.</p> - -<p>If however, it be permitted to grow and to spread, if it be spoilt by -the flattering and nonsensical assurance that <i>it</i> has been -victorious,—then, as I have said, it will have the power to extirpate -German mind, and, when that is done, who knows whether there will -still be anything to be made out of the surviving German body!</p> - -<p>Provided it were possible to direct that calm and tenacious bravery -which the German opposed to the pathetic and spontaneous fury of the -Frenchman, against the inward enemy, against the highly suspicious -and, at all events, unnative "cultivation" which, owing to a dangerous -misunderstanding, is called "culture" in Germany, then all hope of a -really genuine German "culture"—the reverse of that -"cultivation"—would not be entirely lost. For the Germans have never -known any lack of clear-sighted and heroic leaders, though these, -often enough, probably, have lacked Germans. But whether it be -possible to turn German bravery into a new direction seems to me to -become ever more and more doubtful; for I realise how fully convinced -every one is that such a struggle and such bravery are no longer -requisite; on the contrary, that most things are regulated as -satisfactorily as they possibly can be—or, at all events, that -everything of moment has long ago been discovered and accomplished: in -a word, that the seed of culture is already sown everywhere, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>and is -now either shooting up its fresh green blades, or, here and there, -even bursting forth into luxuriant blossom. In this sphere, not only -happiness but ecstasy reigns supreme. I am conscious of this ecstasy -and happiness, in the ineffable, truculent assurance of German -journalists and manufacturers of novels, tragedies, poems, and -histories (for it must be clear that these people belong to one -category), who seem to have conspired to improve the leisure and -ruminative hours—that is to say, "the intellectual lapses"—of the -modern man, by bewildering him with their printed paper. Since the -war, all is gladness, dignity, and self-consciousness in this merry -throng. After the startling successes of German culture, it regards -itself, not only as approved and sanctioned, but almost as sanctified. -It therefore speaks with gravity, affects to apostrophise the German -People, and issues complete works, after the manner of the classics; -nor does it shrink from proclaiming in those journals which are open -to it some few of its adherents as new German classical writers and -model authors. It might be supposed that the dangers of such <i>an abuse -of success</i> would be recognised by the more thoughtful and enlightened -among cultivated Germans; or, at least, that these would feel how -painful is the comedy that is being enacted around them: for what in -truth could more readily inspire pity than the sight of a cripple -strutting like a cock before a mirror, and exchanging complacent -glances with his reflection! But the "scholar" caste willingly allow -things to remain as they are, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>and are too much concerned with their own -affairs to busy themselves with the care of the German mind. Moreover, -the units of this caste are too thoroughly convinced that their own -scholarship is the ripest and most perfect fruit of the age—in fact, -of all ages—to see any necessity for a care of German culture in -general; since, in so far as they and the legion of their brethren are -concerned, preoccupations of this order have everywhere been, so to -speak, surpassed. The more conscientious observer, more particularly -if he be a foreigner, cannot help noticing withal that no great -disparity exists between that which the German scholar regards as his -culture and that other triumphant culture of the new German classics, -save in respect of the quantum of knowledge. Everywhere, where -knowledge and not ability, where information and not art, hold the -first rank,—everywhere, therefore, where life bears testimony to the -kind of culture extant, there is now only one specific German -culture—and this is the culture that is supposed to have conquered -France?</p> - -<p>The contention appears to be altogether too preposterous. It was -solely to the more extensive knowledge of German officers, to the -superior training of their soldiers, and to their more scientific -military strategy, that all impartial Judges, and even the French -nation, in the end, ascribed the victory. Hence, if it be intended to -regard German erudition as a thing apart, in what sense can German -culture be said to have conquered? In none whatsoever; for the moral -qualities of severe discipline, of more placid obedience, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>have nothing -in common with culture: these were characteristic of the Macedonian -army, for instance, despite the fact that the Greek soldiers were -infinitely more cultivated. To speak of German scholarship and culture -as having conquered, therefore, can only be the outcome of a -misapprehension, probably resulting from the circumstance that every -precise notion of culture has now vanished from Germany.</p> - -<p>Culture is, before all things, the unity of artistic style, in every -expression of the life of a people. Abundant knowledge and learning, -however, are not essential to it, nor are they a sign of its -existence; and, at a pinch, they might coexist much more harmoniously -with the very opposite of culture—with barbarity: that is to say, -with a complete lack of style, or with a riotous jumble of all styles. -But it is precisely amid this riotous jumble that the German of to-day -subsists; and the serious problem to be solved is: how, with all his -learning, he can possibly avoid noticing it; how, into the bargain, he -can rejoice with all his heart in his present "culture"? For -everything conduces to open his eyes for him—every glance he casts at -his clothes, his room, his house; every walk he takes through the -streets of his town; every visit he pays to his art-dealers and to his -trader in the articles of fashion. In his social intercourse he ought -to realise the origin of his manners and movements; in the heart of -our art-institutions, the pleasures of our concerts, theatres, and -museums, he ought to become apprised of the super- and juxta-position -of all imaginable styles. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>The German heaps up around him the forms, -colours, products, and curiosities of all ages and zones, and thereby -succeeds in producing that garish newness, as of a country fair, which -his scholars then proceed to contemplate and to define as "Modernism -<i>per se</i>"; and there he remains, squatting peacefully, in the midst of -this conflict of styles. But with this kind of culture, which is, at -bottom, nothing more nor less than a phlegmatic insensibility to real -culture, men cannot vanquish an enemy, least of all an enemy like the -French, who, whatever their worth may be, do actually possess a -genuine and productive culture, and whom, up to the present, we have -systematically copied, though in the majority of cases without skill.</p> - -<p>Even supposing we had really ceased copying them, it would still not -mean that we had overcome them, but merely that we had lifted their -yoke from our necks. Not before we have succeeded in forcing an -original German culture upon them can there be any question of the -triumph of German culture. Meanwhile, let us not forget that in all -matters of form we are, and must be, just as dependent upon Paris now -as we were before the war; for up to the present there has been no -such thing as a original German culture.</p> - -<p>We all ought to have become aware of this, of our own accord. Besides, -one of the few who had he right to speak to Germans in terms of -reproach Publicly drew attention to the fact. "We Germans are of -yesterday," Goethe once said to Eckermann. "True, for the last hundred -years we have diligently <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>cultivated ourselves, but a few centuries may -yet have to run their course before our fellow-countrymen become -permeated with sufficient intellectuality and higher culture to have -it said of them, <i>it is a long time since they were barbarians</i>."</p> - - - -<h4>II.</h4> - - -<p>If, however, our public and private life is so manifestly devoid of -all signs of a productive and characteristic culture; if, moreover, -our great artists, with that earnest vehemence and honesty which is -peculiar to greatness admit, and have admitted, this monstrous -fact—so very humiliating to a gifted nation; how can it still be -possible for contentment to reign to such an astonishing extent among -German scholars? And since the last war this complacent spirit has -seemed ever more and more ready to break forth into exultant cries and -demonstrations of triumph. At all events, the belief seems to be rife -that we are in possession of a genuine culture, and the enormous -incongruity of this triumphant satisfaction in the face of the -inferiority which should be patent to all, seems only to be noticed by -the few and the select. For all those who think with the public mind -have blindfolded their eyes and closed their ears. The incongruity is -not even acknowledged to exist. How is this possible? What power is -sufficiently influential to deny this existence? What species of men -must have attained to supremacy in Germany that feelings which are so -strong and simple should <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>be denied or prevented from obtaining -expression? This power, this species of men, I will name—they are the -<i>Philistines of Culture</i>.</p> - -<p>As every one knows, the word "Philistine" is borrowed from the -vernacular of student-life, and, in its widest and most popular sense, -it signifies the reverse of a son of the Muses, of an artist, and of -the genuine man of culture. The Philistine of culture, however, the -study of whose type and the hearing of whose confessions (when he -makes them) have now become tiresome duties, distinguishes himself -from the general notion of the order "Philistine" by means of a -superstition: he fancies that he is himself a son of the Muses and a -man of culture. This incomprehensible error clearly shows that he does -not even know the difference between a Philistine and his opposite. We -must not be surprised, therefore, if we find him, for the most part, -solemnly protesting that he is no Philistine. Owing to this lack of -self-knowledge, he is convinced that his "culture" is the consummate -manifestation of real German culture; and, since he everywhere meets -with scholars of his own type, since all public institutions, whether -schools, universities, or academies, are so organised as to be in -complete harmony with his education and needs, wherever he goes he -bears with him the triumphant feeling that he is the worthy champion -of prevailing German culture, and he frames his pretensions and claims -accordingly.</p> - -<p>If, however, real culture takes unity of style for granted (and even -an inferior and degenerate culture cannot be imagined in which a -certain <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>coalescence of the profusion of forms has not taken place), it -is just possible that the confusion underlying the -Culture-Philistine's error may arise from the fact that, since he -comes into contact everywhere with creatures cast in the same mould as -himself, he concludes that this uniformity among all "scholars" must -point to a certain uniformity in German education—hence to culture. -All round him, he sees only needs and views similar to his own; -wherever he goes, he finds himself embraced by a ring of tacit -conventions concerning almost everything, but more especially matters -of religion and art. This imposing sameness, this <i>tutti unisono</i> which, -though it responds to no word of command, is yet ever ready to burst -forth, cozens him into the belief that here a culture must be -established and flourishing. But Philistinism, despite its systematic -organisation and power, does not constitute a culture by virtue of its -system alone; it does not even constitute an inferior culture, but -invariably the reverse—namely, firmly established barbarity. For the -uniformity of character which is so apparent in the German scholars of -to-day is only the result of a conscious or unconscious exclusion and -negation of all the artistically productive forms and requirements of -a genuine style. The mind of the cultured Philistine must have become -sadly unhinged; for precisely what culture repudiates he regards as -culture itself; and, since he proceeds logically, he succeeds in -creating a connected group of these repudiations—a system of -non-culture, to which one might at a pinch grant a certain "unity of -style," provided of course it were <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>not nonsense to attribute style to -barbarity. If he have to choose between a stylish act and its -opposite, he will invariably adopt the latter, and, since this rule -holds good throughout, every one of his acts bears the same negative -stamp. Now, it is by means of this stamp that he is able to identify -the character of the "German culture," which is his own patent; and -all things that do not bear it are so many enemies and obstacles drawn -up against him. In the presence of these arrayed forces the -Culture-Philistine either does no more than ward off the blows, or -else he denies, holds his tongue, stops his ears, and refuses to face -facts. He is a negative creature—even in his hatred and animosity. -Nobody, however, is more disliked by him than the man who regards him -as a Philistine, and tells him what he is—namely, the barrier in the -way of all powerful men and creators, the labyrinth for all who doubt -and go astray, the swamp for all the weak and the weary, the fetters -of those who would run towards lofty goals, the poisonous mist that -chokes all germinating hopes, the scorching sand to all those German -thinkers who seek for, and thirst after, a new life. For the mind of -Germany is seeking; and ye hate it because it is seeking, and because -it will not accept your word, when ye declare that ye have found what -it is seeking. How could it have been possible for a type like that of -the Culture-Philistine to develop? and even granting its development, -how was it able to rise to the powerful position of supreme judge -concerning all questions of German culture? How could this have been -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>possible, seeing that a whole procession of grand and heroic figures -has already filed past us, whose every movement, the expression of -whose every feature, whose questioning voice and burning eye betrayed -the one fact, <i>that they were seekers</i>, and that they sought that which -the Culture-Philistine had long fancied he had found—to wit, a -genuine original German culture? Is there a soil—thus they seemed to -ask—a soil that is pure enough, unhandselled enough, of sufficient -virgin sanctity, to allow the mind of Germany to build its house upon -it? Questioning thus, they wandered through the wilderness, and the -woods of wretched ages and narrow conditions, and as seekers they -disappeared from our vision; one of them, at an advanced age, was even -able to say, in the name of all: "For half a century my life has been -hard and bitter enough; I have allowed myself no rest, but have ever -striven, sought and done, to the best and to the utmost of my -ability."</p> - -<p>What does our Culture-Philistinism say of these seekers? It regards -them simply as discoverers, and seems to forget that they themselves -only claimed to be seekers. We have our culture, say her sons; for -have we not our "classics"? Not only is the foundation there, but the -building already stands upon it—we ourselves constitute that -building. And, so saying, the Philistine raises his hand to his brow.</p> - -<p>But, in order to be able thus to misjudge, and thus to grant -left-handed veneration to our classics, people must have ceased to -know them. This, generally speaking, is precisely what has happened. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>For, otherwise, one ought to know that there is only one way of -honouring them, and that is to continue seeking with the same spirit -and with the same courage, and not to weary of the search. But to -foist the doubtful title of "classics" upon them, and to "edify" -oneself from time to time by reading their works, means to yield to -those feeble and selfish emotions which all the paying public may -purchase at concert-halls and theatres. Even the raising of monuments -to their memory, and the christening of feasts and societies with -their names—all these things are but so many ringing cash payments by -means of which the Culture-Philistine discharges his indebtedness to -them, so that in all other respects he may be rid of them, and, above -all, not bound to follow in their wake and prosecute his search -further. For henceforth inquiry is to cease: that is the Philistine -watchword.</p> - -<p>This watchword once had some meaning. In Germany, during the first -decade of the nineteenth century, for instance, when the heyday and -confusion of seeking, experimenting, destroying, promising, surmising, -and hoping was sweeping in currents and cross-currents over the land, -the thinking middle-classes were right in their concern for their own -security. It was then quite right of them to dismiss from their minds -with a shrug of their shoulders the <i>omnium gatherum</i> of fantastic and -language-maiming philosophies, and of rabid special-pleading -historical studies, the carnival of all gods and myths, and the -poetical affectations and fooleries which a drunken spirit may be -responsible for. In this respect they were quite <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>right; for the -Philistine has not even the privilege of licence. With the cunning -proper to base natures, however, he availed himself of the -opportunity, in order to throw suspicion even upon the seeking spirit, -and to invite people to join in the more comfortable pastime of -finding. His eye opened to the joy of Philistinism; he saved himself -from wild experimenting by clinging to the idyllic, and opposed the -restless creative spirit that animates the artist, by means of a -certain smug ease—the ease of self-conscious narrowness, -tranquillity, and self-sufficiency. His tapering finger pointed, -without any affectation of modesty, to all the hidden and intimate -incidents of his life, to the many touching and ingenuous joys which -sprang into existence in the wretched depths of his uncultivated -existence, and which modestly blossomed forth on the bog-land of -Philistinism.</p> - -<p>There were, naturally, a few gifted narrators who, with a nice touch, -drew vivid pictures of the happiness, the prosaic simplicity, the -bucolic robustness, and all the well-being which floods the quarters -of children, scholars, and peasants. With picture-books of this class -in their hands, these smug ones now once and for all sought to escape -from the yoke of these dubious classics and the command which they -contained—to seek further and to find. They only started the notion -of an epigone-age in order to secure peace for themselves, and to be -able to reject all the efforts of disturbing innovators summarily as -the work of epigones. With the view of ensuring their own -tranquillity, these smug ones even appropriated history, and sought to -transform <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>all sciences that threatened to disturb their wretched ease -into branches of history—more particularly philosophy and classical -philology. Through historical consciousness, they saved themselves -from enthusiasm; for, in opposition to Goethe, it was maintained that -history would no longer kindle enthusiasm. No, in their desire to -acquire an historical grasp of everything, stultification became the -sole aim of these philosophical admirers of "<i>nil admirari</i>." While -professing to hate every form of fanaticism and intolerance, what they -really hated, at bottom, was the dominating genius and the tyranny of -the real claims of culture. They therefore concentrated and utilised -all their forces in those quarters where a fresh and vigorous movement -was to be expected, and then paralysed, stupefied, and tore it to -shreds. In this way, a philosophy which veiled the Philistine -confessions of its founder beneath neat twists and flourishes of -language proceeded further to discover a formula for the canonisation -of the commonplace. It expatiated upon the rationalism of all reality, -and thus ingratiated itself with the Culture-Philistine, who also -loves neat twists and flourishes, and who, above all, considers -himself real, and regards his reality as the standard of reason for -the world. From this time forward he began to allow every one, and -even himself, to reflect, to investigate, to æstheticise, and, more -particularly, to make poetry, music, and even pictures—not to -mention systems philosophy; provided, of course, that everything were -done according to the old pattern, and that no assault were made upon -the "reasonable" and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>the "real"—that is to say, upon the Philistine. -The latter really does not at all mind giving himself up, from time to -time, to the delightful and daring transgressions of art or of -sceptical historical studies, and he does not underestimate the charm -of such recreations and entertainments; but he strictly separates "the -earnestness of life" (under which term he understands his calling, his -business, and his wife and child) from such trivialities, and among -the latter he includes all things which have any relation to culture. -Therefore, woe to the art that takes itself seriously, that has a -notion of what it may exact, and that dares to endanger his income, -his business, and his habits! Upon such an art he turns his back, as -though it were something dissolute; and, affecting the attitude of a -guardian of chastity, he cautions every unprotected virtue on no -account to look.</p> - -<p>Being such an adept at cautioning people, he is always grateful to any -artist who heeds him and listens to caution. He then assures his -protégé that things are to be made more easy for him; that, as a -kindred spirit, he will no longer be expected to make sublime -masterpieces, but that his work must be one of two kinds—either the -imitation of reality to the point of simian mimicry, in idylls or -gentle and humorous satires, or the free copying of the best-known and -most famous classical works, albeit with shamefast concessions to the -taste of the age. For, although he may only be able to appreciate -slavish copying or accurate portraiture of the present, still he knows -that the latter will but glorify him, and increase <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>the well-being of -"reality"; while the former, far from doing him any harm, rather helps -to establish his reputation as a classical judge of taste, and is not -otherwise troublesome; for he has, once and for all, come to terms -with the classics. Finally, he discovers the general and effective -formula "Health" for his habits, methods of observation, judgments, -and the objects of his patronage; while he dismisses the importunate -disturber of the peace with the epithets "hysterical" and "morbid." It -is thus that David Strauss—a genuine example of the <i>satisfait</i> in -regard to our scholastic institutions, and a typical Philistine—it is -thus that he speaks of "the philosophy of Schopenhauer" as being -"thoroughly intellectual, yet often unhealthy and unprofitable." It is -indeed a deplorable fact that intellect should show such a decided -preference for the "unhealthy" and the "unprofitable"; and even the -Philistine, if he be true to himself, will admit that, in regard to -the philosophies which men of his stamp produce, he is conscious of a -frequent lack of intellectuality, although of course they are always -thoroughly healthy and profitable.</p> - -<p>Now and again, the Philistines, provided they are by themselves, -indulge in a bottle of wine, and then they grow reminiscent, and speak -of the great deeds of the war, honestly and ingenuously. On such -occasions it often happens that a great deal comes to light which -would otherwise have been most stead-fastly concealed, and one of them -may even be heard to blurt out the most precious secrets of the whole -brotherhood. Indeed, a lapse of this sort occurred but a short while -ago, to a well-known <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>æsthete of the Hegelian school of reasoning. It -must, however, be admitted that the provocation thereto was of an -unusual character. A company of Philistines were feasting together, in -celebration of the memory of a genuine anti-Philistine—one who, -moreover, had been, in the strictest sense of the words, wrecked by -Philistinism. This man was Hölderlin, and the aforementioned æsthete -was therefore justified, under the circumstances, in speaking of the -tragic souls who had foundered on "reality"—reality being understood, -here, to mean Philistine reason. But the "reality" is now different, -and it might well be asked whether Hölderlin would be able to find his -way at all in the present great age. "I doubt," says Dr. Vischer, -"whether his delicate soul could have borne all the roughness which is -inseparable from war, and whether it had survived the amount of -perversity which, since the war, we now see flourishing in every -quarter. Perhaps he would have succumbed to despair. His was one of -the unarmed souls; he was the Werther of Greece, a hopeless lover; his -life was full of softness and yearning, but there was strength and -substance in his will, and in his style, greatness, riches and life; -here and there it is even reminiscent of Æschylus. His spirit, -however, lacked hardness. He lacked the weapon humour; he could not -grant that one may be a Philistine and still be no barbarian." Not the -sugary condolence of the post-prandial speaker, but this last sentence -concerns us. Yes, it is admitted that one is a Philistine; but, a -barbarian?—No, not at any price! Unfortunately, poor Hölderlin could -not make such <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>fine distinctions. If one reads the reverse of -civilisation, or perhaps sea-pirating, or cannibalism, into the word -"barbarian," then the distinction is justifiable enough. But what the -æsthete obviously wishes to prove to us is, that we may be -Philistines and at the same time men of culture. Therein lies the -humour which poor Hölderlin lacked and the need of which ultimately -wrecked him.<a name="FNanchor_1_2" id="FNanchor_1_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p> - -<p>On this occasion a second admission was made by the speaker: "It is -not always strength of will, but weakness, which makes us superior to -those tragic souls which are so passionately responsive to the -attractions of beauty," or words to this effect. And this was said in -the name of the assembled "We"; that is to say, the "superiors," the -"superiors through weakness." Let us content ourselves with these -admissions. We are now in possession of information concerning two -matters from one of the initiated: first, that these "We" stand beyond -the passion for beauty; secondly, that their position was reached by -means of weakness. In less confidential moments, however, it was just -this weakness which masqueraded in the guise of a much more beautiful -name: it was the famous "healthiness" of the Culture-Philistine. In -view of this very recent restatement of the case, however, it would be -as well not to speak of them any longer as the "healthy ones," but as -the "weakly," or, still better, as the "feeble." Oh, if <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>only these -feeble ones were not in power! How is it that they concern themselves -at all about what we call them! They are the rulers, and he is a poor -ruler who cannot endure to be called by a nickname. Yes, if one only -have power, one soon learns to poke fun—even at oneself. It cannot -matter so very much, therefore, even if one do give oneself away; for -what could not the purple mantle of triumph conceal? The strength of -the Culture-Philistine steps into the broad light of day when he -acknowledges his weakness; and the more he acknowledges it—the more -cynically he acknowledges it—the more completely he betrays his -consciousness of his own importance and superiority. We are living in -a period of cynical Philistine confessions. Just as Friedrich Vischer -gave us his in a word, so has David Strauss handed us his in a book; -and both that word and that book are cynical.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_2" id="Footnote_1_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Nietzsche's allusion to Hölderlin here is full of tragic -significance; for, like Hölderlin, he too was ultimately wrecked and -driven insane by the Philistinism of his age.—Translator's note.</p></div> - - -<h4>III.</h4> - - -<p>Concerning Culture-Philistinism, David Strauss makes a double -confession, by word and by deed; that is to say, by the word of the -confessor, and the act of the writer. His book entitled <i>The Old Faith -and the New</i> is, first in regard to its contents, and secondly in -regard to its being a book and a literary production, an uninterrupted -confession; while, in the very fact that he allows himself to write -confessions at all about his faith, there already lies a confession. -Presumably, every one seems to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>have the right to compile an -autobiography after his fortieth year; for the humblest amongst us may -have experienced things, and may have seen them at such close -quarters, that the recording of them may prove of use and value to the -thinker. But to write a confession of one's faith cannot but be -regarded as a thousand times more pretentious, since it takes for -granted that the writer attaches worth, not only to the experiences -and investigations of his life, but also to his beliefs. Now, what the -nice thinker will require to know, above all else, is the kind of -faith which happens to be compatible with natures of the Straussian -order, and what it is they have "half dreamily conjured up" (p. 10) -concerning matters of which those alone have the right to speak who -are acquainted with them at first hand. Whoever would have desired to -possess the confessions, say, of a Ranke or a Mommsen? And these men -were scholars and historians of a very different stamp from David -Strauss. If, however, they had ever ventured to interest us in their -faith instead of in their scientific investigations, we should have -felt that they were overstepping their limits in a most irritating -fashion. Yet Strauss does this when he discusses his faith. Nobody -wants to know anything about it, save, perhaps, a few bigoted -opponents of the Straussian doctrines, who, suspecting, as they do, a -substratum of satanic principles beneath these doctrines, hope that he -may compromise his learned utterances by revealing the nature of those -principles. These clumsy creatures may, perhaps, have found what they -sought in the last book; but we, who had no <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>occasion to suspect a -satanic substratum, discovered nothing of the sort, and would have -felt rather pleased than not had we been able to discern even a dash -of the diabolical in any part of the volume. But surely no evil spirit -could speak as Strauss speaks of his new faith. In fact, spirit in -general seems to be altogether foreign to the book—more particularly -the spirit of genius. Only those whom Strauss designates as his "We," -speak as he does, and then, when they expatiate upon their faith to -us, they bore us even more than when they relate their dreams; be they -"scholars, artists, military men, civil employés, merchants, or landed -proprietors; come they in their thousands, and not the worst people in -the land either!" If they do not wish to remain the peaceful ones in -town or county, but threaten to wax noisy, then let not the din of -their <i>unisono</i> deceive us concerning the poverty and vulgarity of the -melody they sing. How can it dispose us more favourably towards a -profession of faith to hear that it is approved by a crowd, when it is -of such an order that if any individual of that crowd attempted to -make it known to us, we should not only fail to hear him out, but -should interrupt him with a yawn? If thou sharest such a belief, we -should say unto him, in Heaven's name, keep it to thyself! Maybe, in -the past, some few harmless types looked for the thinker in David -Strauss; now they have discovered the "believer" in him, and are -disappointed. Had he kept silent, he would have remained, for these, -at least, the philosopher; whereas, now, no one regards him as such. -He no longer craved <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>the honours of the thinker, however; all he wanted -to be was a new believer, and he is proud of his new belief. In making -a written declaration of it, he fancied he was writing the catechism -of "modern thought," and building the "broad highway of the world's -future." Indeed, our Philistines have ceased to be faint-hearted and -bashful, and have acquired almost cynical assurance. There was a time, -long, long ago, when the Philistine was only tolerated as something -that did not speak, and about which no one spoke; then a period ensued -during which his roughness was smoothed, during which he was found -amusing, and people talked about him. Under this treatment he -gradually became a prig, rejoiced with all his heart over his rough -places and his wrongheaded and candid singularities, and began to -talk, on his own account, after the style of Riehl's music for the -home.</p> - -<p>"But what do I see? Is it a shadow? Is it reality? How long and broad -my poodle grows!"</p> - -<p>For now he is already rolling like a hippopotamus along "the broad -highway of the world's future," and his growling and barking have -become transformed into the proud incantations of a religious founder. -And is it your own sweet wish, Great Master, to found the religion of -the future? "The times seem to us not yet ripe (p. 7). It does not -occur to us to wish to destroy a church." But why not, Great Master? -One but needs the ability. Besides, to speak quite openly in the -latter, you yourself are convinced that you Possess this ability. Look -at the last page of your book. There you actually state, forsooth, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>that your new way "alone is the future highway of the world, which now -only requires partial completion, and especially general use, in order -also to become easy and pleasant."</p> - -<p>Make no further denials, then. The religious founder is unmasked, the -convenient and agreeable highway leading to the Straussian Paradise is -built. It is only the coach in which you wish to convey us that does -not altogether satisfy you, unpretentious man that you are! You tell -us in your concluding remarks: "Nor will I pretend that the coach to -which my esteemed readers have been obliged to trust themselves with -me fulfils every requirement,... all through one is much jolted" (p. -438). Ah! you are casting about for a compliment, you gallant old -religious founder! But let us be straightforward with you. If your -reader so regulates the perusal of the 368 pages of your religious -catechism as to read only one page a day—that is to say, if he take -it in the smallest possible doses-then, perhaps, we should be able to -believe that he might suffer some evil effect from the book—if only -as the outcome of his vexation when the results he expected fail to -make themselves felt. Gulped down more heartily, however, and as much -as possible being taken at each draught, according to the prescription -to be recommended in the case of all modern books, the drink can work -no mischief; and, after taking it, the reader will not necessarily be -either out of sorts or out of temper, but rather merry and -well-disposed, as though nothing had happened; as though no religion -had been assailed, no world's <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>highway been built, and no profession of -faith been made. And I do indeed call this a result! The doctor, the -drug, and the disease—everything forgotten! And the joyous laughter! -The continual provocation to hilarity! You are to be envied, Sir; for -you have founded the most attractive of all religions—one whose -followers do honour to its founder by laughing at him.</p> - - - -<h4>IV.</h4> - - -<p>The Philistine as founder of the religion of the future—that is the -new belief in its most emphatic form of expression. The Philistine -becomes a dreamer—that is the unheard-of occurrence which -distinguishes the German nation of to-day. But for the present, in any -case, let us maintain an attitude of caution towards this fantastic -exaltation. For does not David Strauss himself advise us to exercise -such caution, in the following profound passage, the general tone of -which leads us to think of the Founder of Christianity rather than of -our particular author? (p. 92): "We know there have been noble -enthusiasts—enthusiasts of genius; the influence of an enthusiast can -rouse, exalt, and produce prolonged historic effects; but we do not -wish to choose him as the guide of our life. He will be sure to -mislead us, if we do not subject his influence to the control of -reason." But we know something more: we know that there are -enthusiasts who are not intellectual, who do not rouse or exalt, and -who, nevertheless, not only expect to be the guides of our lives, but, -as such, to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>exercise a very lasting historical influence into the -bargain, and to rule the future;—all the more reason why we should -place their influence under the control of reason. Lichtenberg even -said: "There are enthusiasts quite devoid of ability, and these are -really dangerous people." In the first place, as regards the -above-mentioned control of reason, we should like to have candid -answers to the three following questions: First, how does the new -believer picture his heaven? Secondly, how far does the courage lent -him by the new faith extend? And, thirdly, how does he write his -books? Strauss the Confessor must answer the first and second -questions; Strauss the Writer must answer the third.</p> - -<p>The heaven of the new believer must, perforce, be a heaven upon earth; -for the Christian "prospect of an immortal life in heaven," together -with the other consolations, "must irretrievably vanish" for him who -has but "one foot" on the Straussian platform. The way in which a -religion represents its heaven is significant, and if it be true that -Christianity knows no other heavenly occupations than singing and -making music, the prospect of the Philistine, <i>à la</i> Strauss, is truly -not a very comforting one. In the book of confessions, however, there -is a page which treats of Paradise (p. 342). Happiest of Philistines, -unroll this parchment scroll before anything else, and the whole of -heaven will seem to clamber down to thee! "We would but indicate how -we act, how we have acted these many years. Besides our -profession—for we are members of the most various professions, and by -no means exclusively consist of scholars or artists, but of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>military -men and civil employés, of merchants and landed proprietors;... and -again, as I have said already, there are not a few of us, but many -thousands, and not the worst people in the country;—besides our -profession, then, I say, we are eagerly accessible to all the higher -interests of humanity; we have taken a vivid interest, during late -years, and each after his manner has participated in the great -national war, and the reconstruction of the German State; and we have -been profoundly exalted by the turn events have taken, as unexpected -as glorious, for our much tried nation. To the end of forming just -conclusions in these things, we study history, which has now been made -easy, even to the unlearned, by a series of attractively and popularly -written works; at the same time, we endeavour to enlarge our knowledge -of the natural sciences, where also there is no lack of sources of -information; and lastly, in the writings of our great poets, in the -performances of our great musicians, we find a stimulus for the -intellect and heart, for wit and imagination, which leaves nothing to -be desired. Thus we live, and hold on our way in joy."</p> - -<p>"Here is our man!" cries the Philistine exultingly, who reads this: -"for this is exactly how we live; it is indeed our daily life."<a name="FNanchor_2_3" id="FNanchor_2_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> -And how perfectly he understands the euphemism! When, for example, he -refers to the historical studies by means of which we help ourselves -in forming just conclusions regarding the political situation, what -can he be thinking of, if it be not our newspaper-reading? <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>When he -speaks of the active part we take in the reconstruction of the German -State, he surely has only our daily visits to the beer-garden in his -mind; and is not a walk in the Zoological Gardens implied by 'the -sources of information through which we endeavour to enlarge our -knowledge of the natural sciences'? Finally, the theatres and -concert-halls are referred to as places from which we take home 'a -stimulus for wit and imagination which leaves nothing to be -desired.'—With what dignity and wit he describes even the most -suspicious of our doings! Here indeed is our man; for his heaven is -our heaven!"</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_3" id="Footnote_2_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_3"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> This alludes to a German student-song.</p></div> - -<p>Thus cries the Philistine; and if we are not quite so satisfied as he, -it is merely owing to the fact that we wanted to know more. Scaliger -used to say: "What does it matter to us whether Montaigne drank red or -white wine?" But, in this more important case, how greatly ought we to -value definite particulars of this sort! If we could but learn how -many pipes the Philistine smokes daily, according to the prescriptions -of the new faith, and whether it is the <i>Spener</i> or the <i>National Gazette</i> -that appeals to him over his coffee! But our curiosity is not -satisfied. With regard to one point only do we receive more exhaustive -information, and fortunately this point relates to the heaven in -heaven—the private little art-rooms which will be consecrated to the -use of great poets and musicians, and to which the Philistine will go -to edify himself; in which, moreover, according to his own showing, he -will even get "all his stains removed and wiped away" (p. 433); so -that we are led to regard these <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>private little art-rooms as a kind of -bath-rooms. "But this is only effected for some fleeting moments; it -happens and counts only in the realms of phantasy; as soon as we -return to rude reality, and the cramping confines of actual life, we -are again on all sides assailed by the old cares,"—thus our Master -sighs. Let us, however, avail ourselves of the fleeting moments during -which we remain in those little rooms; there is just sufficient time -to get a glimpse of the apotheosis of the Philistine—that is to say, -the Philistine whose stains have been removed and wiped away, and who -is now an absolutely pure sample of his type. In truth, the -opportunity we have here may prove instructive: let no one who happens -to have fallen a victim to the confession-book lay it aside before -having read the two appendices, "Of our Great Poets" and "Of our Great -Musicians." Here the rainbow of the new brotherhood is set, and he who -can find no pleasure in it "for such an one there is no help," as -Strauss says on another occasion; and, as he might well say here, "he -is not yet ripe for our point of view." For are we not in the heaven -of heavens? The enthusiastic explorer undertakes to lead us about, and -begs us to excuse him if, in the excess of his joy at all the beauties -to be seen, he should by any chance be tempted to talk too much. "If I -should, perhaps, become more garrulous than may seem warranted in this -place, let the reader be indulgent to me; for out of the abundance of -the heart the mouth speaketh. Let him only be assured that what he is -now about to read does not consist of older materials, which I <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>take -the opportunity of inserting here, but that these remarks have been -written for their present place and purpose" (pp. 345-46). This -confession surprises us somewhat for the moment. What can it matter to -us whether or not the little chapters were freshly written? As if it -were a matter of writing! Between ourselves, I should have been glad -if they had been written a quarter of a century earlier; then, at -least, I should have understood why the thoughts seem to be so -bleached, and why they are so redolent of resuscitated antiquities. -But that a thing should have been written in 1872 and already smell of -decay in 1872 strikes me as suspicious. Let us imagine some one's -falling asleep while reading these chapters—what would he most -probably dream about? A friend answered this question for me, because -he happened to have had the experience himself. He dreamt of a -wax-work show. The classical writers stood there, elegantly -represented in wax and beads. Their arms and eyes moved, and a screw -inside them creaked an accompaniment to their movements. He saw -something gruesome among them—a misshapen figure, decked with tapes -and jaundiced paper, out of whose mouth a ticket hung, on which -"Lessing" was written. My friend went close up to it and learned the -worst: it was the Homeric Chimera; in front it was Strauss, behind it -was Gervinus, and in the middle Chimera. The <i>tout-ensemble</i> was -Lessing. This discovery caused him to shriek with terror: he waked, -and read no more. In sooth, Great Master, why have you written such -fusty little chapters?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>We do, indeed, learn something new from them; for instance, that -Gervinus made it known to the world how and why Goethe was no dramatic -genius; that, in the second part of Faust, he had only produced a -world of phantoms and of symbols; that Wallenstein is a Macbeth as -well as a Hamlet; that the Straussian reader extracts the short -stories out of the <i>Wanderjahre</i> "much as naughty children pick the -raisins and almonds out of a tough plum-cake"; that no complete effect -can be produced on the stage without the forcible element, and that -Schiller emerged from Kant as from a cold-water cure. All this is -certainly new and striking; but, even so, it does not strike us with -wonder, and so sure as it is new, it will never grow old, for it never -was young; it was senile at birth. What extraordinary ideas seem to -occur to these Blessed Ones, after the New Style, in their æsthetic -heaven! And why can they not manage to forget a few of them, more -particularly when they are of that unæsthetic, earthly, and ephemeral -order to which the scholarly thoughts of Gervinus belong, and when -they so obviously bear the stamp of puerility? But it almost seems as -though the modest greatness of a Strauss and the vain insignificance -of a Gervinus were only too well able to harmonise: then long live all -those Blessed Ones! may we, the rejected, also live long, if this -unchallenged judge of art continues any longer to teach his borrowed -enthusiasm, and the gallop of that hired steed of which the honest -Grillparzer speaks with such delightful clearness, until the whole of -heaven rings beneath the hoof of that galumphing enthusiasm. Then, at -least, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>things will be livelier and noisier than they are at the -present moment, in which the carpet-slippered rapture of our heavenly -leader and the lukewarm eloquence of his lips only succeed in the end -in making us sick and tired. I should like to know how a Hallelujah -sung by Strauss would sound: I believe one would have to listen very -carefully, lest it should seem no more than a courteous apology or a -lisped compliment. Apropos of this, I might adduce an instructive and -somewhat forbidding example. Strauss strongly resented the action of -one of his opponents who happened to refer to his reverence for -Lessing. The unfortunate man had misunderstood;—true, Strauss did -declare that one must be of a very obtuse mind not to recognise that -the simple words of paragraph 86 come from the writer's heart. Now, I -do not question this warmth in the very least; on the contrary, the -fact that Strauss fosters these feelings towards Lessing has always -excited my suspicion; I find the same warmth for Lessing raised almost -to heat in Gervinus—yea, on the whole, no great German writer is so -popular among little German writers as Lessing is; but for all that, -they deserve no thanks for their predilection; for what is it, in -sooth, that they praise in Lessing? At one moment it is his -catholicity—the fact that he was critic and poet, archæologist and -philosopher, dramatist and theologian. Anon, "it is the unity in him -of the writer and the man, of the head and the heart." The last -quality, as a rule, is just as characteristic of the great writer as -of the little one; as a rule, a narrow head agrees only too <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>fatally -with a narrow heart. And as to the catholicity; this is no -distinction, more especially when, as in Lessing's case, it was a dire -necessity. What astonishes one in regard to Lessing-enthusiasts is -rather that they have no conception of the devouring necessity which -drove him on through life and to this catholicity; no feeling for the -fact that such a man is too prone to consume himself rapidly, like a -flame; nor any indignation at the thought that the vulgar narrowness -and pusillanimity of his whole environment, especially of his learned -contemporaries, so saddened, tormented, and stifled the tender and -ardent creature that he was, that the very universality for which he -is praised should give rise to feelings of the deepest compassion. -"Have pity on the exceptional man!" Goethe cries to us; "for it was -his lot to live in such a wretched age that his life was one long -polemical effort." How can ye, my worthy Philistines, think of Lessing -without shame? He who was ruined precisely on account of your -stupidity, while struggling with your ludicrous fetiches and idols, -with the defects of your theatres, scholars, and theologists, without -once daring to attempt that eternal flight for which he had been born. -And what are your feelings when ye think of Winckelman, who, in order -to turn his eyes from your grotesque puerilities, went begging to the -Jesuits for help, and whose ignominious conversion dishonours not him, -but you? Dare ye mention Schiller's name without blushing? Look at his -portrait. See the flashing eyes that glance contemptuously over your -heads, the deadly red <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>cheek—do these things mean nothing to you? In -him ye had such a magnificent and divine toy that ye shattered it. -Suppose, for a moment, it had been possible to deprive this harassed -and hunted life of Goethe's friendship, ye would then have been -responsible for its still earlier end. Ye have had no finger in any one -of the life-works of your great geniuses, and yet ye would make a -dogma to the effect that no one is to be helped in the future. But for -every one of them, ye were "the resistance of the obtuse world," which -Goethe calls by its name in his epilogue to the Bell; for all of them -ye were the grumbling imbeciles, or the envious bigots, or the -malicious egoists: in spite of you each of them created his works, -against you each directed his attacks, and thanks to you each -prematurely sank, while his work was still unfinished, broken and -bewildered by the stress of the battle. And now ye presume that ye are -going to be permitted, <i>tamquam re bene gesta</i>, to praise such men! and -with words which leave no one in any doubt as to whom ye have in your -minds when ye utter your encomiums, which therefore "spring forth with -such hearty warmth" that one must be blind not to see to whom ye are -really bowing. Even Goethe in his day had to cry: "Upon my honour, we -are in need of a Lessing, and woe unto all vain masters and to the -whole æsthetic kingdom of heaven, when the young tiger, whose -restless strength will be visible in his every distended muscle and -his every glance, shall sally forth to seek his prey!"</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p> -<h4>V.</h4> - - -<p>How clever it was of my friend to read no further, once he had been -enlightened (thanks to that chimerical vision) concerning the -Straussian Lessing and Strauss himself. We, however, read on further, -and even craved admission of the Doorkeeper of the New Faith to the -sanctum of music. The Master threw the door open for us, accompanied -us, and began quoting certain names, until, at last, overcome with -mistrust, we stood still and looked at him. Was it possible that we -were the victims of the same hallucination as that to which our friend -had been subjected in his dream? The musicians to whom Strauss -referred seemed to us to be wrongly designated as long as he spoke -about them, and we began to think that the talk must certainly be -about somebody else, even admitting that it did not relate to -incongruous phantoms. When, for instance, he mentioned Haydn with that -same warmth which made us so suspicious when he praised Lessing, and -when he posed as the epopt and priest of a mysterious Haydn cult; -when, in a discussion upon quartette-music, if you please, he even -likened Haydn to a "good unpretending soup" and Beethoven to -"sweetmeats" (p. 432); then, to our minds, one thing, and one thing -alone, became certain—namely, that his Sweetmeat-Beethoven is not our -Beethoven, and his Soup-Haydn is not our Haydn. The Master was -moreover of the opinion that our orchestra is too good to perform -Haydn, and that <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>only the most unpretentious amateurs can do justice to -that music—a further proof that he was referring to some other artist -and some other work, possibly to Riehl's music for the home.</p> - -<p>But whoever can this Sweetmeat-Beethoven of Strauss's be? He is said -to have composed nine symphonies, of which the <i>Pastoral</i> is "the least -remarkable"; we are told that "each time in composing the third, he -seemed impelled to exceed his bounds, and depart on an adventurous -quest," from which we might infer that we are here concerned with a -sort of double monster, half horse and half cavalier. With regard to a -certain <i>Eroica</i>, this Centaur is very hard pressed, because he did not -succeed in making it clear "whether it is a question of a conflict on -the open field or in the deep heart of man." In the Pastoral there is -said to be "a furiously raging storm," for which it is "almost too -insignificant" to interrupt a dance of country-folk, and which, owing -to "its arbitrary connection with a trivial motive," as Strauss so -adroitly and correctly puts it, renders this symphony "the least -remarkable." A more drastic expression appears to have occurred to the -Master; but he prefers to speak here, as he says, "with becoming -modesty." But no, for once our Master is wrong; in this case he is -really a little too modest. Who, indeed, will enlighten us concerning -this Sweetmeat-Beethoven, if not Strauss himself—the only person who -seems to know anything about him? But, immediately below, a strong -judgment is uttered with becoming non-modesty, and precisely in regard -to the Ninth Symphony. It is said, for instance, that this <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>symphony -"is naturally the favourite of a prevalent taste, which in art, and -music especially, mistakes the grotesque for the genial, and the -formless for the sublime" (p. 428). It is true that a critic as severe -as Gervinus was gave this work a hearty welcome, because it happened -to confirm one of his doctrines; but Strauss is "far from going to -these problematic productions" in search of the merits of his -Beethoven. "It is a pity," cries our Master, with a convulsive sigh, -"that one is compelled, by such reservations, to mar one's enjoyment -of Beethoven, as well as the admiration gladly accorded to him." For -our Master is a favourite of the Graces, and these have informed him -that they only accompanied Beethoven part of the way, and that he then -lost sight of them. "This is a defect," he cries, "but can you believe -that it may also appear as an advantage?" "He who is painfully and -breathlessly rolling the musical idea along will seem to be moving the -weightier one, and thus appear to be the stronger" (pp. 423-24). This -is a confession, and not necessarily one concerning Beethoven alone, -but concerning "the classical prose-writer" himself. He, the -celebrated author, is not abandoned by the Graces. From the play of -airy jests—that is to say, Straussian jests—to the heights of -solemn earnestness—that is to say, Straussian earnestness—they -remain stolidly at his elbow. He, the classical prose-writer, slides -his burden along playfully and with a light heart, whereas Beethoven -rolls his painfully and breathlessly. He seems merely to dandle his -load; this is indeed an advantage. But would anybody believe that it -might equally be a sign of something wanting? <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>In any case, only those -could believe this who mistake the grotesque for the genial, and the -formless for the sublime—is not that so, you dandling favourite of -the Graces? We envy no one the edifying moments he may have, either in -the stillness of his little private room or in a new heaven specially -fitted out for him; but of all possible pleasures of this order, that -of Strauss's is surely one of the most wonderful, for he is even -edified by a little holocaust. He calmly throws the sublimest works of -the German nation into the flames, in order to cense his idols with -their smoke. Suppose, for a moment, that by some accident, the Eroica, -the Pastoral, and the Ninth Symphony had fallen into the hands of our -priest of the Graces, and that it had been in his power to suppress -such problematic productions, in order to keep the image of the Master -pure, who doubts but what he would have burned them? And it is -precisely in this way that the Strausses of our time demean -themselves: they only wish to know so much of an artist as is -compatible with the service of their rooms; they know only the -extremes—censing or burning. To all this they are heartily welcome; -the one surprising feature of the whole case is that public opinion, -in matters artistic, should be so feeble, vacillating, and corruptible -as contentedly to allow these exhibitions of indigent Philistinism to -go by without raising an objection; yea, that it does not even possess -sufficient sense of humour to feel tickled at the sight of an -unæsthetic little master's sitting in judgment upon Beethoven. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>As to -Mozart, what Aristotle says of Plato ought really to be applied here: -"Insignificant people ought not to be permitted even to praise him." -In this respect, however, all shame has vanished—from the public as -well as from the Master's mind: he is allowed, not merely to cross -himself before the greatest and purest creations of German genius, as -though he had perceived something godless and immoral in them, but -people actually rejoice over his candid confessions and admission of -sins—more particularly as he makes no mention of his own, but only of -those which great men are said to have committed. Oh, if only our -Master be in the right! his readers sometimes think, when attacked by -a paroxysm of doubt; he himself, however, stands there, smiling and -convinced, perorating, condemning, blessing, raising his hat to -himself, and is at any minute capable of saying what the Duchesse -Delaforte said to Madame de Staël, to wit: "My dear, I must confess -that I find no one but myself invariably right."</p> - - - -<h4>VI.</h4> - - -<p>A corpse is a pleasant thought for a worm, and a worm is a dreadful -thought for every living creature. Worms fancy their kingdom of heaven -in a fat body; professors of philosophy seek theirs in rummaging among -Schopenhauer's entrails, and as long as rodents exist, there will -exist a heaven for rodents. In this, we have the answer to our first -question: How does the believer in the new faith picture his heaven? -The Straussian Philistine <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>harbours in the works of our great poets and -musicians like a parasitic worm whose life is destruction, whose -admiration is devouring, and whose worship is digesting.</p> - -<p>Now, however, our second question must be answered: How far does the -courage lent to its adherents by this new faith extend? Even this -question would already have been answered, if courage and -pretentiousness had been one; for then Strauss would not be lacking -even in the just and veritable courage of a Mameluke. At all events, -the "becoming modesty" of which Strauss speaks in the above-mentioned -passage, where he is referring to Beethoven, can only be a stylistic -and not a moral manner of speech. Strauss has his full share of the -temerity to which every successful hero assumes the right: all flowers -grow only for him—the conqueror; and he praises the sun because it -shines in at his window just at the right time. He does not even spare -the venerable old universe in his eulogies—as though it were only now -and henceforward sufficiently sanctified by praise to revolve around -the central monad David Strauss. The universe, he is happy to inform -us, is, it is true, a machine with jagged iron wheels, stamping and -hammering ponderously, but: "We do not only find the revolution of -pitiless wheels in our world-machine, but also the shedding of -soothing oil" (p. 435). The universe, provided it submit to Strauss's -encomiums, is not likely to overflow with gratitude towards this -master of weird metaphors, who was unable to discover better similes -in its praise. But what is the oil <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>called which trickles down upon the -hammers and stampers? And how would it console a workman who chanced -to get one of his limbs caught in the mechanism to know that this oil -was trickling over him? Passing over this simile as bad, let us turn -our attention to another of Strauss's artifices, whereby he tries to -ascertain how he feels disposed towards the universe; this question of -Marguerite's, "He loves me—loves me not—loves me?" hanging on his -lips the while. Now, although Strauss is not telling flower-petals or -the buttons on his waistcoat, still what he does is not less harmless, -despite the fact that it needs perhaps a little more courage. Strauss -wishes to make certain whether his feeling for the "All" is either -paralysed or withered, and he pricks himself; for he knows that one -can prick a limb that is either paralysed or withered without causing -any pain. As a matter of fact, he does not really prick himself, but -selects another more violent method, which he describes thus: "We open -Schopenhauer, who takes every occasion of slapping our idea in the -face" (p. 167). Now, as an idea—even that of Strauss's concerning the -universe—has no face, if there be any face in the question at all it -must be that of the idealist, and the procedure may be subdivided into -the following separate actions:—Strauss, in any case, throws -Schopenhauer open, whereupon the latter slaps Strauss in the face. -Strauss then reacts religiously; that is to say, he again begins to -belabour Schopenhauer, to abuse him, to speak of absurdities, -blasphemies, dissipations, and even to allege that Schopenhauer could -not have been in his right <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>senses. Result of the dispute: "We demand -the same piety for our Cosmos that the devout of old demanded for his -God"; or, briefly, "He loves me." Our favourite of the Graces makes -his life a hard one, but he is as brave as a Mameluke, and fears -neither the Devil nor Schopenhauer. How much "soothing oil" must he -use if such incidents are of frequent occurrence!</p> - -<p>On the other hand, we readily understand Strauss's gratitude to this -tickling, pricking, and slapping Schopenhauer; hence we are not so -very much surprised when we find him expressing himself in the -following kind way about him: "We need only turn over the leaves of -Arthur Schopenhauer's works (although we shall on many other accounts -do well not only to glance over but to study them), etc." (p. 166). -Now, to whom does this captain of Philistines address these words? To -him who has clearly never even studied Schopenhauer, the latter might -well have retorted, "This is an author who does not even deserve to be -scanned, much less to be studied." Obviously, he gulped Schopenhauer -down "the wrong way," and this hoarse coughing is merely his attempt -to clear his throat. But, in order to fill the measure of his -ingenuous encomiums, Strauss even arrogates to himself the right of -commending old Kant: he speaks of the latter's <i>General History of the -Heavens of the Year 1755</i> as of "a work which has always appeared to me -not less important than his later <i>Critique of Pure Reason</i>. If in the -latter we admire the depth of insight, the breadth of observation -strikes us in the former. If in the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>latter we can trace the old man's -anxiety to secure even a limited possession of knowledge—so it be but -on a firm basis—in the former we encounter the mature man, full of -the daring of the discoverer and conqueror in the realm of thought." -This judgment of Strauss's concerning Kant did not strike me as being -more modest than the one concerning Schopenhauer. In the one case, we -have the little captain, who is above all anxious to express even the -most insignificant opinion with certainty, and in the other we have -the famous prose-writer, who, with all the courage of ignorance, -exudes his eulogistic secretions over Kant. It is almost incredible -that Strauss availed himself of nothing in Kant's <i>Critique of Pure -Reason</i> while compiling his Testament of modern ideas, and that he knew -only how to appeal to the coarsest realistic taste must also be -numbered among the more striking characteristics of this new gospel, -the which professes to be but the result of the laborious and -continuous study of history and science, and therefore tacitly -repudiates all connection with philosophy. For the Philistine captain -and his "We," Kantian philosophy does not exist. He does not dream of -the fundamental antinomy of idealism and of the highly relative sense -of all science and reason. And it is precisely reason that ought to -tell him how little it is possible to know of things in themselves. It -is true, however, that people of a certain age cannot possibly -understand Kant, especially when, in their youth, they understood or -fancied they understood that "gigantic mind," Hegel, as Strauss did; -and had <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>moreover concerned themselves with Schleiermacher, who, -according to Strauss, "was gifted with perhaps too much acumen." It -will sound odd to our author when I tell him that, even now, he stands -absolutely dependent upon Hegel and Schleiermacher, and that his -teaching of the Cosmos, his way of regarding things <i>sub specie -biennii</i>, his salaams to the state of affairs now existing in Germany, -and, above all, his shameless Philistine optimism, can only be -explained by an appeal to certain impressions of youth, early habits, -and disorders; for he who has once sickened on Hegel and -Schleiermacher never completely recovers.</p> - -<p>There is one passage in the confession-book where the incurable -optimism referred to above bursts forth with the full joyousness of -holiday spirits (pp. 166-67). "If the universe is a thing which had -better not have existed," says Strauss, "then surely the speculation -of the philosopher, as forming part of this universe, is a speculation -which had better not have speculated. The pessimist philosopher fails -to perceive that he, above all, declares his own thought, which -declares the world to be bad, as bad also; but if the thought which -declares the world to be bad is a bad thought, then it follows -naturally that the world is good. As a rule, optimism may take things -too easily. Schopenhauer's references to the colossal part which -sorrow and evil play in the world are quite in their right place as a -counterpoise; but every true philosophy is necessarily optimistic, as -otherwise she hews down the branch on which she herself is sitting." -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>If this refutation of Schopenhauer is not the same as that to which -Strauss refers somewhere else as "the refutation loudly and jubilantly -acclaimed in higher spheres," then I quite fail to understand the -dramatic phraseology used by him elsewhere to strike an opponent. Here -optimism has for once intentionally simplified her task. But the -master-stroke lay in thus pretending that the refutation of -Schopenhauer was not such a very difficult task after all, and in -playfully wielding the burden in such a manner that the three Graces -attendant on the dandling optimist might constantly be delighted by -his methods. The whole purpose of the deed was to demonstrate this one -truth, that it is quite unnecessary to take a pessimist seriously; the -most vapid sophisms become justified, provided they show that, in -regard to a philosophy as "unhealthy and unprofitable" as -Schopenhauer's, not proofs but quips and sallies alone are suitable. -While perusing such passages, the reader will grasp the full meaning -of Schopenhauer's solemn utterance to the effect that, where optimism -is not merely the idle prattle of those beneath whose flat brows words -and only words are stored, it seemed to him not merely an absurd <i>but a -vicious attitude of mind</i>, and one full of scornful irony towards the -indescribable sufferings of humanity. When a philosopher like Strauss -is able to frame it into a system, it becomes more than a vicious -attitude of mind—it is then an imbecile gospel of comfort for the "I" -or for the "We," and can only provoke indignation.</p> - -<p>Who could read the following psychological <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>avowal, for instance, -without indignation, seeing that it is obviously but an offshoot from -this vicious gospel of comfort?—"Beethoven remarked that he could -never have composed a text like Figaro or Don Juan. <i>Life had not been -so profuse of its snubs to him that he could treat it so gaily, or -deal so lightly with the foibles of men</i>" (p. 430). In order, however, -to adduce the most striking instance of this dissolute vulgarity of -sentiment, let it suffice, here, to observe that Strauss knows no -other means of accounting for the terribly serious negative instinct -and the movement of ascetic sanctification which characterised the -first century of the Christian era, than by supposing the existence of -a previous period of surfeit in the matter of all kinds of sexual -indulgence, which of itself brought about a state of revulsion and -disgust.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"The Persians call it <i>bidamag buden</i>,<br /> -The Germans say '<i>Katzenjammer</i>.'"<a name="FNanchor_3_4" id="FNanchor_3_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p>Strauss quotes this himself, and is not ashamed. As for us, we turn -aside for a moment, that we may overcome our loathing.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_4" id="Footnote_3_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_4"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Remorse for the previous night's excesses.—Translator's -note.</p></div> - - - -<h4>VII.</h4> - - -<p>As a matter of fact, our Philistine captain is brave, even audacious, -in words; particularly when <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>he hopes by such bravery to delight his -noble colleagues—the "We," as he calls them. So the asceticism and -self-denial of the ancient anchorite and saint was merely a form of -<i>Katzenjammer</i>? Jesus may be described as an enthusiast who nowadays -would scarcely have escaped the madhouse, and the story of the -Resurrection may be termed a "world-wide deception." For once we will -allow these views to pass without raising any objection, seeing that -they may help us to gauge the amount of courage which our "classical -Philistine" Strauss is capable of. Let us first hear his confession: -"It is certainly an unpleasant and a thankless task to tell the world -those truths which it is least desirous of hearing. It prefers, in -fact, to manage its affairs on a profuse scale, receiving and spending -after the magnificent fashion of the great, as long as there is -anything left; should any person, however, add up the various items of -its liabilities, and anxiously call its attention to the sum-total, he -is certain to be regarded as an importunate meddler. And yet this has -always been the bent of my moral and intellectual nature." A moral and -intellectual nature of this sort might possibly be regarded as -courageous; but what still remains to be proved is, whether this -courage is natural and inborn, or whether it is not rather acquired -and artificial. Perhaps Strauss only accustomed himself by degrees to -the rôle of an importunate meddler, until he gradually acquired the -courage of his calling. Innate cowardice, which is the Philistine's -birthright, would not be incompatible with this mode of development, -and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>it is precisely this cowardice which is perceptible in the want of -logic of those sentences of Strauss's which it needed courage to -pronounce. They sound like thunder, but they do not clear the air. No -aggressive action is performed: aggressive words alone are used, and -these he selects from among the most insulting he can find. He -moreover exhausts all his accumulated strength and energy in coarse -and noisy expression, and when once his utterances have died away he -is more of a coward even than he who has always held his tongue. The -very shadow of his deeds—his morality—shows us that he is a -word-hero, and that he avoids everything which might induce him to -transfer his energies from mere verbosity to really serious things. -With admirable frankness, he announces that he is no longer a -Christian, but disclaims all idea of wishing to disturb the -contentment of any one: he seems to recognise a contradiction in the -notion of abolishing one society by instituting another—whereas there -is nothing contradictory in it at all. With a certain rude -self-satisfaction, he swathes himself in the hirsute garment of our -Simian genealogists, and extols Darwin as one of mankind's greatest -benefactors; but our perplexity is great when we find him constructing -his ethics quite independently of the question, "What is our -conception of the universe?" In this department he had an opportunity -of exhibiting native pluck; for he ought to have turned his back on -his "We," and have established a moral code for life out of <i>bellum -omnium contra omnes</i> and the privileges of the strong. But it is to be -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>feared that such a code could only have emanated from a bold spirit -like that of Hobbes', and must have taken its root in a love of truth -quite different from that which was only able to vent itself in -explosive outbursts against parsons, miracles, and the "world-wide -humbug" of the Resurrection. For, whereas the Philistine remained on -Strauss's side in regard to these explosive outbursts, he would have -been against him had he been confronted with a genuine and seriously -constructed ethical system, based upon Darwin's teaching.</p> - -<p>Says Strauss: "I should say that all moral action arises from the -individual's acting in consonance with the idea of kind" (p. 274). Put -quite clearly and comprehensively, this means: "Live as a man, and not -as an ape or a seal." Unfortunately, this imperative is both useless -and feeble; for in the class <i>Man</i> what a multitude of different types -are included—to mention only the Patagonian and the Master, Strauss; -and no one would ever dare to say with any right, "Live like a -Patagonian," and "Live like the Master Strauss"! Should any one, -however, make it his rule to live like a genius—that is to say, like -the ideal type of the genus Man—and should he perchance at the same -time be either a Patagonian or Strauss himself, what should we then -not have to suffer from the importunities of genius-mad eccentrics -(concerning whose mushroom growth in Germany even Lichtenberg had -already spoken), who with savage cries would compel us to listen to -the confession of their most recent belief! Strauss has not yet -learned that no "idea" can ever make man better <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>or more moral, and -that the preaching of a morality is as easy as the establishment of it -is difficult. His business ought rather to have been, to take the -phenomena of human goodness, such—for instance—as pity, love, and -self-abnegation, which are already to hand, and seriously to explain -them and show their relation to his Darwinian first principle. But no; -he preferred to soar into the imperative, and thus escape the task of -explaining. But even in his flight he was irresponsible enough to soar -beyond the very first principles of which we speak.</p> - -<p>"Ever remember," says Strauss, "that thou art human, not merely a -natural production; ever remember that all others are human also, and, -with all individual differences, the same as thou, having the same -needs and claims as thyself: this is the sum and the substance of -morality" (p. 277). But where does this imperative hail from? How can -it be intuitive in man, seeing that, according to Darwin, man is -indeed a creature of nature, and that his ascent to his present stage -of development has been conditioned by quite different laws—by the -very fact that he was continually forgetting that others were -constituted like him and shared the same rights with him; by the very -fact that he regarded himself as the stronger, and thus brought about -the gradual suppression of weaker types. Though Strauss is bound to -admit that no two creatures have ever been quite alike, and that the -ascent of man from the lowest species of animals to the exalted height -of the Culture-Philistine depended upon the law of individual -distinctness, he still sees <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>no difficulty in declaring exactly the -reverse in his law: "Behave thyself as though there were no such -things as individual distinctions." Where is the Strauss-Darwin -morality here? Whither, above all, has the courage gone?</p> - -<p>In the very next paragraph we find further evidence tending to show us -the point at which this courage veers round to its opposite; for -Strauss continues: "Ever remember that thou, and all that thou -beholdest within and around thee, all that befalls thee and others, is -no disjointed fragment, no wild chaos of atoms or casualties, but -that, following eternal law, it springs from the one primal source of -all life, all reason, and all good: this is the essence of religion" -(pp. 277-78). Out of that "one primal source," however, all ruin and -irrationality, all evil flows as well, and its name, according to -Strauss, is Cosmos.</p> - -<p>Now, how can this Cosmos, with all the contradictions and the -self-annihilating characteristics which Strauss gives it, be worthy of -religious veneration and be addressed by the name "God," as Strauss -addresses it?—"Our God does not, indeed, take us into His arms from -the outside (here one expects, as an antithesis, a somewhat miraculous -process of being "taken into His arms from the inside"), but He -unseals the well-springs of consolation within our own bosoms. He -shows us that although Chance would be an unreasonable ruler, yet -necessity, or the enchainment of causes in the world, is Reason -itself." (A misapprehension of which only the "We" can fail to -perceive the folly; because they were brought up in the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>Hegelian -worship of Reality as the Reasonable—that is to say, in the -canonisation of success.) "He teaches us to perceive that to demand an -exception in the accomplishment of a single natural law would be to -demand the destruction of the universe" (pp. 435-36). On the contrary, -Great Master: an honest natural scientist believes in the -unconditional rule of natural laws in the world, without, however, -taking up any position in regard to the ethical or intellectual value -of these laws. Wherever neutrality is abandoned in this respect, it is -owing to an anthropomorphic attitude of mind which allows reason to -exceed its proper bounds. But it is just at the point where the -natural scientist resigns that Strauss, to put it in his own words, -"reacts religiously," and leaves the scientific and scholarly -standpoint in order to proceed along less honest lines of his own. -Without any further warrant, he assumes that all that has happened -possesses the highest intellectual value; that it was therefore -absolutely reasonably and intentionally so arranged, and that it even -contained a revelation of eternal goodness. He therefore has to appeal -to a complete cosmodicy, and finds himself at a disadvantage in regard -to him who is contented with a theodicy, and who, for instance, -regards the whole of man's existence as a punishment for sin or a -process of purification. At this stage, and in this embarrassing -position, Strauss even suggests a metaphysical hypothesis—the driest -and most palsied ever conceived—and, in reality, but an unconscious -parody of one of Lessing's sayings. We read on page 255: "And that -other <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>saying of Lessing's—'If God, holding truth in His right hand, -and in His left only the ever-living desire for it, although on -condition of perpetual error, left him the choice of the two, he -would, considering that truth belongs to God alone, humbly seize His -left hand, and beg its contents for Himself'—this saying of -Lessing's has always been accounted one of the most magnificent which -he has left us. It has been found to contain the general expression of -his restless love of inquiry and activity. The saying has always made -a special impression upon me; because, behind its subjective meaning, -I still seemed to hear the faint ring of an objective one of infinite -import. For does it not contain the best possible answer to the rude -speech of Schopenhauer, respecting the ill-advised God who had nothing -better to do than to transform Himself into this miserable world? if, -for example, the Creator Himself had shared Lessing's conviction of -the superiority of struggle to tranquil possession?" What!—a God who -would choose <i>perpetual error</i>, together with a striving after truth, -and who would, perhaps, fall humbly at Strauss's feet and cry to -him,"Take thou all Truth, it is thine!"? If ever a God and a man were -ill-advised, they are this Straussian God, whose hobby is to err and -to fail, and this Straussian man, who must atone for this erring and -failing. Here, indeed, one hears "a faint ring of infinite import"; -here flows Strauss's cosmic soothing oil; here one has a notion of the -<i>rationale</i> of all becoming and all natural laws. Really? Is not our -universe rather the work of an inferior <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>being, as Lichtenberg -suggests?—of an inferior being who did not quite understand his -business; therefore an experiment, an attempt, upon which work is -still proceeding? Strauss himself, then, would be compelled to admit -that our universe is by no means the theatre of reason, but of error, -and that no conformity to law can contain anything consoling, since -all laws have been promulgated by an erratic God who even finds -pleasure in blundering. It really is a most amusing spectacle to watch -Strauss as a metaphysical architect, building castles in the air. But -for whose benefit is this entertainment given? For the smug and noble -"We," that they may not lose conceit with themselves: they may -possibly have taken sudden fright, in the midst of the inflexible and -pitiless wheel-works of the world-machine, and are tremulously -imploring their leader to come to their aid. That is why Strauss pours -forth the "soothing oil," that is why he leads forth on a leash a God -whose passion it is to err; it is for the same reason, too, that he -assumes for once the utterly unsuitable rôle of a metaphysical -architect. He does all this, because the noble souls already referred -to are frightened, and because he is too. And it is here that we reach -the limit of his courage, even in the presence of his "We." He does -not dare to be honest, and to tell them, for instance: "I have -liberated you from a helping and pitiful God: the Cosmos is no more -than an inflexible machine; beware of its wheels, that they do not -crush you." He dare not do this. Consequently, he must enlist the help -of a witch, and he turns to metaphysics. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>To the Philistine, however, -even Strauss's metaphysics is preferable to Christianity's, and the -notion of an erratic God more congenial than that of one who works -miracles. For the Philistine himself errs, but has never yet performed -a miracle. Hence his hatred of the genius; for the latter is justly -famous for the working of miracles. It is therefore highly instructive -to ascertain why Strauss, in one passage alone, suddenly takes up the -cudgels for genius and the aristocracy of intellect in general. -Whatever does he do it for? He does it out of fear—fear of the social -democrat. He refers to Bismarck and Moltke, "whose greatness is the -less open to controversy as it manifests itself in the domain of -tangible external facts. No help for it, therefore; even the most -stiff-necked and obdurate of these fellows must condescend to look up -a little, if only to get a sight, be it no farther than the knees, of -those august figures" (p. 327). Do you, Master Metaphysician, perhaps -intend to instruct the social democrats in the art of getting kicks? -The willingness to bestow them may be met with everywhere, and you are -perfectly justified in promising to those who happen to be kicked a -sight of those sublime beings as far as the knee. "Also in the domain -of art and science," Strauss continues, "there will never be a dearth -of kings whose architectural undertakings will find employment for a -multitude of carters." Granted; but what if the carters should begin -building? It does happen at times, Great Master, as you know, and then -the kings must grin and bear it.</p> - -<p>As a matter of fact, this union of impudence and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>weakness, of daring -words and cowardly concessions, this cautious deliberation as to which -sentences will or will not impress the Philistine or smooth him down -the right way, this lack of character and power masquerading as -character and power, this meagre wisdom in the guise of -omniscience,—these are the features in this book which I detest. If I -could conceive of young men having patience to read it and to value -it, I should sorrowfully renounce all hope for their future. And is -this confession of wretched, hopeless, and really despicable -Philistinism supposed to be the expression of the thousands -constituting the "We" of whom Strauss speaks, and who are to be the -fathers of the coming generation? Unto him who would fain help this -coming generation to acquire what the present one does not yet -possess, namely, a genuine German culture, the prospect is a horrible -one. To such a man, the ground seems strewn with ashes, and all stars -are obscured; while every withered tree and field laid waste seems to -cry to him: Barren! Forsaken! Springtime is no longer possible here! -He must feel as young Goethe felt when he first peered into the -melancholy atheistic twilight of the <i>Système de la Nature</i>; to him this -book seemed so grey, so Cimmerian and deadly, that he could only -endure its presence with difficulty, and shuddered at it as one -shudders at a spectre.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> -<h4>VIII.</h4> - - -<p>We ought now to be sufficiently informed concerning the heaven and the -courage of our new believer to be able to turn to the last question: -How does he write his books? and of what order are his religious -documents?</p> - -<p>He who can answer this question uprightly and without prejudice will -be confronted by yet another serious problem, and that is: How this -Straussian pocket-oracle of the German Philistine was able to pass -through six editions? And he will grow more than ever suspicious when -he hears that it was actually welcomed as a pocket-oracle, not only in -scholastic circles, but even in German universities as well. Students -are said to have greeted it as a canon for strong intellects, and, -from all accounts, the professors raised no objections to this view; -while here and there people have declared it to be <i>a religious book -for scholars</i>. Strauss himself gave out that he did not intend his -profession of faith to be merely a reference-book for learned and -cultured people; but here let us abide by the fact that it was first -and foremost a work appealing to his colleagues, and was ostensibly a -mirror in which they were to see their own way of living faithfully -reflected. For therein lay the feat. The Master feigned to have -presented us with a new ideal conception of the universe, and now -adulation is being paid him out of every mouth; because each is in a -position to suppose that he too regards the universe and life in the -same way. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>Thus Strauss has seen fulfilled in each of his readers what -he only demanded of the future. In this way, the extraordinary success -of his book is partly explained: "Thus we live and hold on our way in -joy," the scholar cries in his book, and delights to see others -rejoicing over the announcement. If the reader happen to think -differently from the Master in regard to Darwin or to capital -punishment, it is of very little consequence; for he is too conscious -throughout of breathing an atmosphere that is familiar to him, and of -hearing but the echoes of his own voice and wants. However painfully -this unanimity may strike the true friend of German culture, it is his -duty to be unrelenting in his explanation of it as a phenomenon, and -not to shrink from making this explanation public.</p> - -<p>We all know the peculiar methods adopted in our own time of -cultivating the sciences: we all know them, because they form a part -of our lives. And, for this very reason, scarcely anybody seems to ask -himself what the result of such a cultivation of the sciences will -mean to culture in general, even supposing that everywhere the highest -abilities and the most earnest will be available for the promotion of -culture. In the heart of the average scientific type (quite -irrespective of the examples thereof with which we meet to-day) there -lies a pure paradox: he behaves like the veriest idler of independent -means, to whom life is not a dreadful and serious business, but a -sound piece of property, settled upon him for all eternity; and it -seems to him justifiable to spend his whole life in answering -questions which, after all is said and done, can <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>only be of interest -to that person who believes in eternal life as an absolute certainty. -The heir of but a few hours, he sees himself encompassed by yawning -abysses, terrible to behold; and every step he takes should recall the -questions, Wherefore? Whither? and Whence? to his mind. But his soul -rather warms to his work, and, be this the counting of a floweret's -petals or the breaking of stones by the roadside, he spends his whole -fund of interest, pleasure, strength, and aspirations upon it. This -paradox—the scientific man—has lately dashed ahead at such a frantic -speed in Germany, that one would almost think the scientific world -were a factory, in which every minute wasted meant a fine. To-day the -man of science works as arduously as the fourth or slave caste: his -study has ceased to be an occupation, it is a necessity; he looks -neither to the right nor to the left, but rushes through all -things—even through the serious matters which life bears in its -train—with that semi-listlessness and repulsive need of rest so -characteristic of the exhausted labourer. <i>This is also his attitude -towards culture</i>. He behaves as if life to him were not only <i>otium</i> but -<i>sine dignitate</i>: even in his sleep he does not throw off the yoke, but -like an emancipated slave still dreams of his misery, his forced haste -and his floggings. Our scholars can scarcely be distinguished—and, -even then, not to their advantage—from agricultural labourers, who in -order to increase a small patrimony, assiduously strive, day and -night, to cultivate their fields, drive their ploughs, and urge on -their oxen. Now, Pascal suggests that men only <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>endeavour to work hard -at their business and sciences with the view of escaping those -questions of greatest import which every moment of loneliness or -leisure presses upon them—the questions relating to the <i>wherefore</i>, -the <i>whence</i>, and the <i>whither</i> of life. Curiously enough, our scholars -never think of the most vital question of all—the wherefore of their -work, their haste, and their painful ecstasies. Surely their object is -not the earning of bread or the acquiring of posts of honour? No, -certainly not. But ye take as much pains as the famishing and -breadless; and, with that eagerness and lack of discernment which -characterises the starving, ye even snatch the dishes from the -sideboard of science. If, however, as scientific men, ye proceed with -science as the labourers with the tasks which the exigencies of life -impose upon them, what will become of a culture which must await the -hour of its birth and its salvation in the very midst of all this -agitated and breathless running to and fro—this sprawling -scientifically?</p> - -<p>For <i>it</i> no one has time—and yet for what shall science have time if -not for culture? Answer us here, then, at least: whence, whither, -wherefore all science, if it do not lead to culture? Belike to -barbarity? And in this direction we already see the scholar caste -ominously advanced, if we are to believe that such superficial books -as this one of Strauss's meet the demand of their present degree of -culture. For precisely in him do we find that repulsive need of rest -and that incidental semi-listless attention to, and coming to terms -with, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>philosophy, culture, and every serious thing on earth. It will -be remembered that, at the meetings held by scholars, as soon as each -individual has had his say in his own particular department of -knowledge, signs of fatigue, of a desire for distraction at any price, -of waning memory, and of incoherent experiences of life, begin to be -noticeable. While listening to Strauss discussing any worldly -question, be it marriage, the war, or capital punishment, we are -startled by his complete lack of anything like first-hand experience, -or of any original thought on human nature. All his judgments are so -redolent of books, yea even of newspapers. Literary reminiscences do -duty for genuine ideas and views, and the assumption of a moderate and -grandfatherly tone take the place of wisdom and mature thought. How -perfectly in keeping all this is with the fulsome spirit animating the -holders of the highest places in German science in large cities! How -thoroughly this spirit must appeal to that other! for it is precisely -in those quarters that culture is in the saddest plight; it is -precisely there that its fresh growth is made impossible—so -boisterous are the preparations made by science, so sheepishly are -favourite subjects of knowledge allowed to oust questions of much -greater import. What kind of lantern would be needed here, in order to -find men capable of a complete surrender to genius, and of an intimate -knowledge of its depths—men possessed of sufficient courage and -strength to exorcise the demons that have forsaken our age? Viewed -from the outside, such quarters certainly do appear to possess the -whole pomp of culture; with their <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>imposing apparatus they resemble -great arsenals fitted with huge guns and other machinery of war; we -see preparations in progress and the most strenuous activity, as -though the heavens themselves were to be stormed, and truth were to be -drawn out of the deepest of all wells; and yet, in war, the largest -machines are the most unwieldy. Genuine culture therefore leaves such -places as these religiously alone, for its best instincts warn it that -in their midst it has nothing to hope for, and very much to fear. For -the only kind of culture with which the inflamed eye and obtuse brain -of the scholar working-classes concern themselves is of that -Philistine order of which Strauss has announced the gospel. If we -consider for a moment the fundamental causes underlying the sympathy -which binds the learned working-classes to Culture-Philistinism, we -shall discover the road leading to Strauss the Writer, who has been -acknowledged classical, and thence to our last and principal theme.</p> - -<p>To begin with, that culture has contentment written in its every -feature, and will allow of no important changes being introduced into -the present state of German education. It is above all convinced of -the originality of all German educational institutions, more -particularly the public schools and universities; it does not cease -recommending these to foreigners, and never doubts that if the Germans -have become the most cultivated and discriminating people on earth, it -is owing to such institutions. Culture-Philistinism believes in -itself, consequently it also believes in the methods and means at its -disposal. Secondly, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>however, it leaves the highest judgment concerning -all questions of taste and culture to the scholar, and even regards -itself as the ever-increasing compendium of scholarly opinions -regarding art, literature, and philosophy. Its first care is to urge -the scholar to express his opinions; these it proceeds to mix, dilute, -and systematise, and then it administers them to the German people in -the form of a bottle of medicine. What comes to life outside this -circle is either not heard or attended at all, or if heard, is heeded -half-heartedly; until, at last, a voice (it does not matter whose, -provided it belong to some one who is strictly typical of the scholar -tribe) is heard to issue from the temple in which traditional -infallibility of taste is said to reside; and from that time forward -public opinion has one conviction more, which it echoes and re-echoes -hundreds and hundreds of times. As a matter of fact, though, the -æsthetic infallibility of any utterance emanating from the temple is -the more doubtful, seeing that the lack of taste, thought, and -artistic feeling in any scholar can be taken for granted, unless it -has previously been proved that, in his particular case, the reverse -is true. And only a few can prove this. For how many who have had a -share in the breathless and unending scurry of modern science have -preserved that quiet and courageous gaze of the struggling man of -culture—if they ever possessed it—that gaze which condemns even the -scurry we speak of as a barbarous state of affairs? That is why these -few are forced to live in an almost perpetual contradiction. What -could they do against the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>uniform belief of the thousands who have -enlisted public opinion in their cause, and who mutually defend each -other in this belief? What purpose can it serve when one individual -openly declares war against Strauss, seeing that a crowd have decided -in his favour, and that the masses led by this crowd have learned to -ask six consecutive times for the Master's Philistine -sleeping-mixture?</p> - -<p>If, without further ado, we here assumed that the Straussian -confession-book had triumphed over public opinion and had been -acclaimed and welcomed as conqueror, its author might call our -attention to the fact that the multitudinous criticisms of his work in -the various public organs are not of an altogether unanimous or even -favourable character, and that he therefore felt it incumbent upon him -to defend himself against some of the more malicious, impudent, and -provoking of these newspaper pugilists by means of a postscript. How -can there be a public opinion concerning my book, he cries to us, if -every journalist is to regard me as an outlaw, and to mishandle me as -much as he likes? This contradiction is easily explained, as soon as -one considers the two aspects of the Straussian book—the theological -and the literary, and it is only the latter that has anything to do -with German culture. Thanks to its theological colouring, it stands -beyond the pale of our German culture, and provokes the animosity of -the various theological groups—yea, even of every individual German, -in so far as he is a theological sectarian from birth, and only -invents his own peculiar private belief in order to be able to dissent -from <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>every other form of belief. But when the question arises of -talking about Strauss <i>the writer</i>, pray listen to what the theological -sectarians have to say about him. As soon as his literary side comes -under notice, all theological objections immediately subside, and the -dictum comes plain and clear, as if from the lips of one congregation: -<i>In spite of it all, he is still a classical writer!</i></p> - -<p>Everybody—even the most bigoted, orthodox Churchman—pays the writer -the most gratifying compliments, while there is always a word or two -thrown in as a tribute to his almost Lessingesque language, his -delicacy of touch, or the beauty and accuracy of his æsthetic views. -As a book, therefore, the Straussian performance appears to meet all -the demands of an ideal example of its kind. The theological -opponents, despite the fact that their voices were the loudest of all, -nevertheless constitute but an infinitesimal portion of the great -public; and even with regard to them, Strauss still maintains that he -is right when he says: "Compared with my thousands of readers, a few -dozen public cavillers form but an insignificant minority, and they -can hardly prove that they are their faithful interpreters. It was -obviously in the nature of things that opposition should be clamorous -and assent tacit." Thus, apart from the angry bitterness which -Strauss's profession of faith may have provoked here and there, even -the most fanatical of his opponents, to whom his voice seems to rise -out of an abyss, like the voice of a beast, are agreed as to his -merits as a writer; and that is why the treatment which Strauss has -received at <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>the hands of the literary lackeys of the theological -groups proves nothing against our contention that Culture-Philistinism -celebrated its triumph in this book. It must be admitted that the -average educated Philistine is a degree less honest than Strauss, or -is at least more reserved in his public utterances. But this fact only -tends to increase his admiration for honesty in another. At home, or -in the company of his equals, he may applaud with wild enthusiasm, but -takes care not to put on paper how entirely Strauss's words are in -harmony with his own innermost feelings. For, as we have already -maintained, our Culture-Philistine is somewhat of a coward, even in -his strongest sympathies; hence Strauss, who can boast of a trifle -more courage than he, becomes his leader, notwithstanding the fact -that even Straussian pluck has its very definite limits. If he -overstepped these limits, as Schopenhauer does in almost every -sentence, he would then forfeit his position at the head of the -Philistines, and everybody would flee from him as precipitately as -they are now following in his wake. He who would regard this artful if -not sagacious moderation and this mediocre valour as an Aristotelian -virtue, would certainly be wrong; for the valour in question is not -the golden mean between two faults, but between a virtue and a -fault—and in this mean, between virtue and fault, all Philistine -qualities are to be found.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></p> -<h4>IX.</h4> - - -<p>"In spite of it all, he is still a classical writer." Well, let us -see! Perhaps we may now be allowed to discuss Strauss the stylist and -master of language; but in the first place let us inquire whether, as -a literary man, he is equal to the task of building his house, and -whether he really understands the architecture of a book. From this -inquiry we shall be able to conclude whether he is a respectable, -thoughtful, and experienced author; and even should we be forced to -answer "No" to these questions, he may still, as a last shift, take -refuge in his fame as a classical prose-writer. This last-mentioned -talent alone, it is true, would not suffice to class him with the -classical authors, but at most with the classical improvisers and -virtuosos of style, who, however, in regard to power of expression and -the whole planning and framing of the work, reveal the awkward hand -and the embarrassed eye of the bungler. We therefore put the question, -whether Strauss really possesses the artistic strength necessary for -the purpose of presenting us with a thing that is a whole, <i>totum -ponere</i>?</p> - -<p>As a rule, it ought to be possible to tell from the first rough sketch -of a work whether the author conceived the thing as a whole, and -whether, in view of this original conception, he has discovered the -correct way of proceeding with his task and of fixing its proportions. -Should this most important Part of the problem be solved, and should -the framework of the building have been given its most <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span>favourable -proportions, even then there remains enough to be done: how many -smaller faults have to be corrected, how many gaps require filling in! -Here and there a temporary partition or floor was found to answer the -requirements; everywhere dust and fragments litter the ground, and no -matter where we look, we see the signs of work done and work still to -be done. The house, as a whole, is still uninhabitable and gloomy, its -walls are bare, and the wind blows in through the open windows. Now, -whether this remaining, necessary, and very irksome work has been -satisfactorily accomplished by Strauss does not concern us at present; -our question is, whether the building itself has been conceived as a -whole, and whether its proportions are good? The reverse of this, of -course, would be a compilation of fragments—a method generally -adopted by scholars. They rely upon it that these fragments are -related among themselves, and thus confound the logical and the -artistic relation between them. Now, the relation between the four -questions which provide the chapter-headings of Strauss's book cannot -be called a logical one. Are we still Christians? Have we still a -religion? What is our conception of the universe? What is our rule of -life? And it is by no means contended that the relation is illogical -simply because the third question has nothing to do with the second, -nor the fourth with the third, nor all three with the first. The -natural scientist who puts the third question, for instance, shows his -unsullied love of truth by the simple fact that he tacitly passes over -the second. And with regard <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>to the subject of the fourth -chapter—marriage, republicanism, and capital punishment—Strauss -himself seems to have been aware that they could only have been -muddled and obscured by being associated with the Darwinian theory -expounded in the third chapter; for he carefully avoids all reference -to this theory when discussing them. But the question, "Are we still -Christians?" destroys the freedom of the philosophical standpoint at -one stroke, by lending it an unpleasant theological colouring. -Moreover, in this matter, he quite forgot that the majority of men -to-day are not Christians at all, but Buddhists. Why should one, -without further ceremony, immediately think of Christianity at the -sound of the words "old faith"? Is this a sign that Strauss has never -ceased to be a Christian theologian, and that he has therefore never -learned to be a philosopher? For we find still greater cause for -surprise in the fact that he quite fails to distinguish between belief -and knowledge, and continually mentions his "new belief" and the still -newer science in one breath. Or is "new belief" merely an ironical -concession to ordinary parlance? This almost seems to be the case; for -here and there he actually allows "new belief" and "newer science" to -be interchangeable terms, as for instance on page II, where he asks on -which side, whether on that of the ancient orthodoxy or of modern -science, "exist more of the obscurities and insufficiencies -unavoidable in human speculation."</p> - -<p>Moreover, according to the scheme laid down in the Introduction, his -desire is to disclose those <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>proofs upon which the modern view of life -is based; but he derives all these proofs from science, and in this -respect assumes far more the attitude of a scientist than of a -believer.</p> - -<p>At bottom, therefore, the religion is not a new belief, but, being of -a piece with modern science, it has nothing to do with religion at -all. If Strauss, however, persists in his claims to be religious, the -grounds for these claims must be beyond the pale of recent science. -Only the smallest portion of the Straussian book—that is to say, but -a few isolated pages—refer to what Strauss in all justice might call -a belief, namely, that feeling for the "All" for which he demands the -piety that the old believer demanded for his God. On the pages in -question, however, he cannot claim to be altogether scientific; but if -only he could lay claim to being a little stronger, more natural, more -outspoken, more pious, we should be content. Indeed, what perhaps -strikes us most forcibly about him is the multitude of artificial -procedures of which he avails himself before he ultimately gets the -feeling that he still possesses a belief and a religion; he reaches it -by means of stings and blows, as we have already seen. How indigently -and feebly this emergency-belief presents itself to us! We shiver at -the sight of it.</p> - -<p>Although Strauss, in the plan laid down in his Introduction, promises -to compare the two faiths, the old and the new, and to show that the -latter will answer the same purpose as the former, even <i>he</i> begins to -feel, in the end, that he has promised too much. For the question -whether the new <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>belief answers the same purpose as the old, or is -better or worse, is disposed of incidentally, so to speak, and with -uncomfortable haste, in two or three pages (p. 436 <i>et seq.</i>), and is -actually bolstered up by the following subterfuge: "He who cannot help -himself in this matter is beyond help, is not yet ripe for our -standpoint" (p. 436). How differently, and with what intensity of -conviction, did the ancient Stoic believe in the All and the -rationality of the All! And, viewed in this light, how does Strauss's -claim to originality appear? But, as we have already observed, it -would be a matter of indifference to us whether it were new, old, -original, or imitated, so that it were only more powerful, more -healthy, and more natural. Even Strauss himself leaves this -double-distilled emergency-belief to take care of itself as often as -he can do so, in order to protect himself and us from danger, and to -present his recently acquired biological knowledge to his "We" with a -clear conscience. The more embarrassed he may happen to be when he -speaks of faith, the rounder and fuller his mouth becomes when he -quotes the greatest benefactor to modern men—Darwin. Then he not only -exacts belief for the new Messiah, but also for himself—the new -apostle. For instance, while discussing one of the most intricate -questions in natural history, he declares with true ancient pride: "I -shall be told that I am here speaking of things about which I -understand nothing. Very well; but others will come who will -understand them, and who will also have understood me" (p. 241).</p> - -<p>According to this, it would almost seem as <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>though the famous "We" were -not only in duty bound to believe in the "All," but also in the -naturalist Strauss; in this case we can only hope that in order to -acquire the feeling for this last belief, other processes are -requisite than the painful and cruel ones demanded by the first -belief. Or is it perhaps sufficient in this case that the subject of -belief himself be tormented and stabbed with the view of bringing the -believers to that "religious reaction" which is the distinguishing -sign of the "new faith." What merit should we then discover in the -piety of those whom Strauss calls "We"?</p> - -<p>Otherwise, it is almost to be feared that modern men will pass on in -pursuit of their business without troubling themselves overmuch -concerning the new furniture of faith offered them by the apostle: -just as they have done heretofore, without the doctrine of the -rationality of the All. The whole of modern biological and historical -research has nothing to do with the Straussian belief in the All, and -the fact that the modern Philistine does not require the belief is -proved by the description of his life given by Strauss in the -chapter,"What is our Rule of Life?" He is therefore quite right in -doubting whether the coach to which his esteemed readers have been -obliged to trust themselves "with him, fulfils every requirement." It -certainly does not; for the modern man makes more rapid progress when -he does not take his place in the Straussian coach, or rather, he got -ahead much more quickly long before the Straussian coach ever existed. -Now, if it be true that the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>famous "minority" which is "not to be -overlooked," and of which, and in whose name, Strauss speaks, -"attaches great importance to consistency," it must be just as -dissatisfied with Strauss the Coachbuilder as we are with Strauss the -Logician.</p> - -<p>Let us, however, drop the question of the logician. Perhaps, from the -artistic point of view, the book really is an example of a -well-conceived plan, and does, after all, answer to the requirements -of the laws of beauty, despite the fact that it fails to meet with the -demands of a well-conducted argument. And now, having shown that he is -neither a scientist nor a strictly correct and systematic scholar, for -the first time we approach the question: Is Strauss a capable writer? -Perhaps the task he set himself was not so much to scare people away -from the old faith as to captivate them by a picturesque and graceful -description of what life would be with the new. If he regarded -scholars and educated men as his most probable audience, experience -ought certainly to have told him that whereas one can shoot such men -down with the heavy guns of scientific proof, but cannot make them -surrender, they may be got to capitulate all the more quickly before -"lightly equipped" measures of seduction. "Lightly equipped," and -"intentionally so," thus Strauss himself speaks of his own book. Nor -do his public eulogisers refrain from using the same expression in -reference to the work, as the following passage, quoted from one of -the least remarkable among them, and in which the same expression is -merely paraphrased, will go to prove:—</p> - -<p>"The discourse flows on with delightful harmony: <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>wherever it directs -its criticism against old ideas it wields the art of demonstration, -almost playfully; and it is with some spirit that it prepares the new -ideas it brings so enticingly, and presents them to the simple as well -as to the fastidious taste. The arrangement of such diverse and -conflicting material is well thought out for every portion of it -required to be touched upon, without being made too prominent; at -times the transitions leading from one subject to another are -artistically managed, and one hardly knows what to admire most—the -skill with which unpleasant questions are shelved, or the discretion -with which they are hushed up."</p> - -<p>The spirit of such eulogies, as the above clearly shows, is not quite -so subtle in regard to judging of what an author is able to do as in -regard to what he wishes. What Strauss wishes, however, is best -revealed by his own emphatic and not quite harmless commendation of -Voltaire's charms, in whose service he might have learned precisely -those "lightly equipped" arts of which his admirer speaks—granting, -of course, that virtue may be acquired and a pedagogue can ever be a -dancer.</p> - -<p>Who could help having a suspicion or two, when reading the following -passage, for instance, in which Strauss says of Voltaire, "As a -philosopher [he] is certainly not original, but in the main a mere -exponent of English investigations: in this respect, however, he shows -himself to be completely master of his subject, which he presents with -incomparable skill, in all possible lights and from all possible -sides, and is able withal to meet the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>demands of thoroughness, -without, however, being over-severe in his method"? Now, all the -negative traits mentioned in this passage might be applied to Strauss. -No one would contend, I suppose, that Strauss is original, or that he -is over-severe in his method; but the question is whether we can -regard him as "master of his subject," and grant him "incomparable -skill"? The confession to the effect that the treatise was -intentionally "lightly equipped" leads us to think that it at least -aimed at incomparable skill.</p> - -<p>It was not the dream of our architect to build a temple, nor yet a -house, but a sort of summer-pavilion, surrounded by everything that -the art of gardening can provide. Yea, it even seems as if that -mysterious feeling for the All were only calculated to produce an -æsthetic effect, to be, so to speak, a view of an irrational element, -such as the sea, looked at from the most charming and rational of -terraces. The walk through the first chapters—that is to say, -through the theological catacombs with all their gloominess and their -involved and baroque embellishments—was also no more than an -æsthetic expedient in order to throw into greater relief the purity, -clearness, and common sense of the chapter "What is our Conception of -the Universe?" For, immediately after that walk in the gloaming and -that peep into the wilderness of Irrationalism, we step into a hall -with a skylight to it. Soberly and limpidly it welcomes us: its mural -decorations consist of astronomical charts and mathematical figures; -it is filled with scientific apparatus, and its cupboards contain -skeletons, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>stuffed apes, and anatomical specimens. But now, really -rejoicing for the first time, we direct our steps into the innermost -chamber of bliss belonging to our pavilion-dwellers; there we find -them with their wives, children, and newspapers, occupied in the -commonplace discussion of politics; we listen for a moment to their -conversation on marriage, universal suffrage, capital punishment, and -workmen's strikes, and we can scarcely believe it to be possible that -the rosary of public opinions can be told off so quickly. At length an -attempt is made to convince us of the classical taste of the inmates. -A moment's halt in the library, and the music-room suffices to show us -what we had expected all along, namely, that the best books lay on the -shelves, and that the most famous musical compositions were in the -music-cabinets. Some one actually played something to us, and even if -it were Haydn's music, Haydn could not be blamed because it sounded -like Riehl's music for the home. Meanwhile the host had found occasion -to announce to us his complete agreement with Lessing and Goethe, -although with the latter only up to the second part of Faust. At last -our pavilion-owner began to praise himself, and assured us that he who -could not be happy under his roof was beyond help and could not be -ripe for his standpoint, whereupon he offered us his coach, but with -the polite reservation that he could not assert that it would fulfil -every requirement, and that, owing to the stones on his road having -been newly laid down, we were not to mind if we were very much jolted. -Our Epicurean garden-god then took <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>leave of us with the incomparable -skill which he praised in Voltaire.</p> - -<p>Who could now persist in doubting the existence of this incomparable -skill? The complete master of his subject is revealed; the lightly -equipped artist-gardener is exposed, and still we hear the voice of -the classical author saying, "As a writer I shall for once cease to be -a Philistine: I will not be one; I refuse to be one! But a -Voltaire—the German Voltaire—or at least the French Lessing."</p> - -<p>With this we have betrayed a secret. Our Master does not always know -which he prefers to be—Voltaire or Lessing; but on no account will he -be a Philistine. At a pinch he would not object to being both Lessing -and Voltaire—that the word might be fulfilled that is written, "He -had no character, but when he wished to appear as if he had, he -assumed one."</p> - - - -<h4>X.</h4> - - -<p>If we have understood Strauss the Confessor correctly, he must be a -genuine Philistine, with a narrow, parched soul and scholarly and -common-place needs; albeit no one would be more indignant at the title -than David Strauss the Writer. He would be quite happy to be regarded -as mischievous, bold, malicious, daring; but his ideal of bliss would -consist in finding himself compared with either Lessing or -Voltaire—because these men were undoubtedly anything but Philistines. -In striving after this state of bliss, he often seems to waver <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>between -two alternatives—either to mimic the brave and dialectical petulance -of Lessing, or to affect the manner of the faun-like and free-spirited -man of antiquity that Voltaire was. When taking up his pen to write, -he seems to be continually posing for his portrait; and whereas at -times his features are drawn to look like Lessing's, anon they are -made to assume the Voltairean mould. While reading his praise of -Voltaire's manner, we almost seem to see him abjuring the consciences -of his contemporaries for not having learned long ago what the modern -Voltaire had to offer them. "Even his excellences are wonderfully -uniform," he says: "simple naturalness, transparent clearness, -vivacious mobility, seductive charm. Warmth and emphasis are also not -wanting where they are needed, and Voltaire's innermost nature always -revolted against stiltedness and affectation; while, on the other -hand, if at times wantonness or passion descend to an unpleasantly low -level, the fault does not rest so much with the stylist as with the -man." According to this, Strauss seems only too well aware of the -importance of <i>simplicity in style</i>; it is ever the sign of genius, -which alone has the privilege to express itself naturally and -guilelessly. When, therefore, an author selects a simple mode of -expression, this is no sign whatever of vulgar ambition; for although -many are aware of what such an author would fain be taken for, they -are yet kind enough to take him precisely for that. The genial writer, -however, not only reveals his true nature in the plain and -unmistakable form of his utterance, but his <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>super-abundant strength -actually dallies with the material he treats, even when it is -dangerous and difficult. Nobody treads stiffly along unknown paths, -especially when these are broken throughout their course by thousands -of crevices and furrows; but the genius speeds nimbly over them, and, -leaping with grace and daring, scorns the wistful and timorous step of -caution.</p> - -<p>Even Strauss knows that the problems he prances over are dreadfully -serious, and have ever been regarded as such by the philosophers who -have grappled with them; yet he calls his book <i>lightly equipped</i>! But -of this dreadfulness and of the usual dark nature of our meditations -when considering such questions as the worth of existence and the -duties of man, we entirely cease to be conscious when the genial -Master plays his antics before us, "lightly equipped, and -intentionally so." Yes, even more lightly equipped than his Rousseau, -of whom he tells us it was said that he stripped himself below and -adorned himself on top, whereas Goethe did precisely the reverse. -Perfectly guileless geniuses do not, it appears, adorn themselves at -all; possibly the words "lightly equipped" may simply be a euphemism -for "naked." The few who happen to have seen the Goddess of Truth -declare that she is naked, and perhaps, in the minds of those who have -never seen her, but who implicitly believe those few, nakedness or -light equipment is actually a proof, or at least a feature, of truth. -Even this vulgar superstition turns to the advantage of the author's -ambition. Some one sees something naked, and he exclaims: "What if -this <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>were the truth!" Whereupon he grows more solemn than is his wont. -By this means, however, the author scores a tremendous advantage; for -he compels his reader to approach him with greater solemnity than -another and perhaps more heavily equipped writer. This is -unquestionably the best way to become a classical author; hence -Strauss himself is able to tell us: "I even enjoy the unsought honour -of being, in the opinion of many, a classical writer of prose. "He has -therefore achieved his aim. Strauss the Genius goes gadding about the -streets in the garb of lightly equipped goddesses as a classic, while -Strauss the Philistine, to use an original expression of this -genius's, must, at all costs, be "declared to be on the decline," or -"irrevocably dismissed."</p> - -<p>But, alas! in spite of all declarations of decline and dismissal, the -Philistine still returns, and all too frequently. Those features, -contorted to resemble Lessing and Voltaire, must relax from time to -time to resume their old and original shape. The mask of genius falls -from them too often, and the Master's expression is never more sour -and his movements never stiffer than when he has just attempted to -take the leap, or to glance with the fiery eye, of a genius. Precisely -owing to the fact that he is too lightly equipped for our zone, he -runs the risk of catching cold more often and more severely than -another. It may seem a terrible hardship to him that every one should -notice this; but if he wishes to be cured, the following diagnosis of -his case ought to be publicly presented to him:—Once upon a time -there lived a Strauss, a brave, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>severe, and stoutly equipped scholar, -with whom we sympathised as wholly as with all those in Germany who -seek to serve truth with earnestness and energy, and to rule within -the limits of their powers. He, however, who is now publicly famous as -David Strauss, is another person. The theologians may be to blame for -this metamorphosis; but, at any rate, his present toying with the mask -of genius inspires us with as much hatred and scorn as his former -earnestness commanded respect and sympathy. When, for instance, he -tells us, "it would also argue ingratitude towards <i>my genius</i> if I were -not to rejoice that to the faculty of an incisive, analytical -criticism was added the innocent pleasure in artistic production," it -may astonish him to hear that, in spite of this self-praise, there are -still men who maintain exactly the reverse, and who say, not only that -he has never possessed the gift of artistic production, but that the -"innocent" pleasure he mentions is of all things the least innocent, -seeing that it succeeded in gradually undermining and ultimately -destroying a nature as strongly and deeply scholarly and critical as -Strauss's—in fact, <i>the real Straussian Genius</i>. In a moment of -unlimited frankness, Strauss himself indeed adds: "Merck was always in -my thoughts, calling out, 'Don't produce such child's play again; -others can do that too!'" That was the voice of the real Straussian -genius, which also asked him what the worth of his newest, innocent, -and lightly equipped modern Philistine's testament was. Others can do -that too! And many could do it better. And even they who could have -done <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>it best, <i>i.e.</i> those thinkers who are more widely endowed than -Strauss, could still only have made nonsense of it.</p> - -<p>I take it that you are now beginning to understand the value I set on -Strauss the Writer. You are beginning to realise that I regard him as -a mummer who would parade as an artless genius and classical writer. -When Lichtenberg said, "A simple manner of writing is to be -recommended, if only in view of the fact that no honest man trims and -twists his expressions," he was very far from wishing to imply that a -simple style is a proof of literary integrity. I, for my part, only -wish that Strauss the Writer had been more upright, for then he would -have written more becomingly and have been less famous. Or, if he -would be a mummer at all costs, how much more would he not have -pleased me if he had been a better mummer—one more able to ape the -guileless genius and classical author! For it yet remains to be said -that Strauss was not only an inferior actor but a very worthless -stylist as well.</p> - - - -<h4>XI.</h4> - - -<p>Of course, the blame attaching to Strauss for being a bad writer is -greatly mitigated by the fact that it is extremely difficult in -Germany to become even a passable or moderately good writer, and that -it is more the exception than not, to be a really good one. In this -respect the natural soil is wanting, as are also artistic values and -the proper method of treating and cultivating oratory. This <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>latter -accomplishment, as the various branches of it, <i>i.e. </i>drawing-room, -ecclesiastical and Parliamentary parlance, show, has not yet reached -the level of a national style; indeed, it has not yet shown even a -tendency to attain to a style at all, and all forms of language in -Germany do not yet seem to have passed a certain experimental stage. -In view of these facts, the writer of to-day, to some extent, lacks an -authoritative standard, and he is in some measure excused if, in the -matter of language, he attempts to go ahead of his own accord. As to -the probable result which the present dilapidated condition of the -German language will bring about, Schopenhauer, perhaps, has spoken -most forcibly. "If the existing state of affairs continues," he says, -"in the year 1900 German classics will cease to be understood, for the -simple reason that no other language will be known, save the trumpery -jargon of the noble present, the chief characteristic of which is -impotence." And, in truth, if one turn to the latest periodicals, one -will find German philologists and grammarians already giving -expression to the view that our classics can no longer serve us as -examples of style, owing to the fact that they constantly use words, -modes of speech, and syntactic arrangements which are fast dropping -out of currency. Hence the need of collecting specimens of the finest -prose that has been produced by our best modern writers, and of -offering them as examples to be followed, after the style of Sander's -pocket dictionary of bad language. In this book, that repulsive -monster of style Gutzkow appears as <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>a classic, and, according to its -injunctions, we seem to be called upon to accustom ourselves to quite -a new and wondrous crowd of classical authors, among which the first, -or one of the first, is David Strauss: he whom we cannot describe more -aptly than we have already—that is to say, as a worthless stylist. -Now, the notion which the Culture-Philistine has of a classic and -standard author speaks eloquently for his pseudo-culture—he who only -shows his strength by opposing a really artistic and severe style, and -who, thanks to the persistence of his opposition, finally arrives at a -certain uniformity of expression, which again almost appears to -possess unity of genuine style. In view, therefore, of the right which -is granted to every one to experiment with the language, how is it -possible at all for individual authors to discover a generally -agreeable tone? What is so generally interesting in them? In the first -place, a negative quality—the total lack of offensiveness: but <i>every -really productive thing is offensive</i>. The greater part of a German's -daily reading matter is undoubtedly sought either in the pages of -newspapers, periodicals, or reviews. The language of these journals -gradually stamps itself on his brain, by means of its steady drip, -drip, drip of similar phrases and similar words. And, since he -generally devotes to reading those hours of the day during which his -exhausted brain is in any case not inclined to offer resistance, his -ear for his native tongue so slowly but surely accustoms itself to -this everyday German that it ultimately cannot endure its absence -without pain. But the manufacturers <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>of these newspapers are, by virtue -of their trade, most thoroughly inured to the effluvia of this -journalistic jargon; they have literally lost all taste, and their -palate is rather gratified than not by the most corrupt and arbitrary -innovations. Hence the <i>tutti unisono</i> with which, despite the general -lethargy and sickliness, every fresh solecism is greeted; it is with -such impudent corruptions of the language that her hirelings are -avenged against her for the incredible boredom she imposes ever more -and more upon them. I remember having read "an appeal to the German -nation," by Berthold Auerbach, in which every sentence was un-German, -distorted and false, and which, as a whole, resembled a soulless -mosaic of words cemented together with international syntax. As to the -disgracefully slipshod German with which Edward Devrient solemnised -the death of Mendelssohn, I do not even wish to do more than refer to -it. A grammatical error—and this is the most extraordinary feature of -the case—does not therefore seem an offence in any sense to our -Philistine, but a most delightful restorative in the barren wilderness -of everyday German. He still, however, considers all <i>really</i> productive -things to be offensive. The wholly bombastic, distorted, and -threadbare syntax of the modern standard author—yea, even his -ludicrous neologisms—are not only tolerated, but placed to his credit -as the spicy element in his works. But woe to the stylist with -character, who seeks as earnestly and perseveringly to avoid the trite -phrases of everyday parlance, as the "yester-night monster blooms of -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>modern ink-flingers," as Schopenhauer says! When platitudes, -hackneyed, feeble, and vulgar phrases are the rule, and the bad and -the corrupt become refreshing exceptions, then all that is strong, -distinguished, and beautiful perforce acquires an evil odour. From -which it follows that, in Germany, the well-known experience which -befell the normally built traveller in the land of hunchbacks is -constantly being repeated. It will be remembered that he was so -shamefully insulted there, owing to his quaint figure and lack of -dorsal convexity, that a priest at last had to harangue the people on -his behalf as follows: "My brethren, rather pity this poor stranger, -and present thank-offerings unto the gods, that ye are blessed with -such attractive gibbosities."</p> - -<p>If any one attempted to compose a positive grammar out of the -international German style of to-day, and wished to trace the -unwritten and unspoken laws followed by every one, he would get the -most extraordinary notions of style and rhetoric. He would meet with -laws which are probably nothing more than reminiscences of bygone -schooldays, vestiges of impositions for Latin prose, and results -perhaps of choice readings from French novelists, over whose -incredible crudeness every decently educated Frenchman would have the -right to laugh. But no conscientious native of Germany seems to have -given a thought to these extraordinary notions under the yoke of which -almost every German lives and writes.</p> - -<p>As an example of what I say, we may find an <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>injunction to the effect -that a metaphor or a simile must be introduced from time to time, and -that it must be new; but, since to the mind of the shallow-pated -writer newness and modernity are identical, he proceeds forthwith to -rack his brain for metaphors in the technical vocabularies of the -railway, the telegraph, the steamship, and the Stock Exchange, and is -proudly convinced that such metaphors must be new because they are -modern. In Strauss's confession-book we find liberal tribute paid to -modern metaphor. He treats us to a simile, covering a page and a half, -drawn from modern road-improvement work; a few pages farther back he -likens the world to a machine, with its wheels, stampers, hammers, and -"soothing oil" (p. 432); "A repast that begins with champagne" (p. -384); "Kant is a cold-water cure" (p. 309); "The Swiss constitution is -to that of England as a watermill is to a steam-engine, as a -waltz-tune or a song to a fugue or symphony" (p. 301); "In every -appeal, the sequence of procedure must be observed. Now the mean -tribunal between the individual and humanity is the nation" (p. 165); -"If we would know whether there be still any life in an organism which -appears dead to us, we are wont to test it by a powerful, even painful -stimulus, as for example a stab" (p. 161); "The religious domain in -the human soul resembles the domain of the Red Indian in America" (p. -160); "Virtuosos in piety, in convents"(p. 107); "And place the -sum-total of the foregoing in round numbers under the account" (p. -205); "Darwin's theory resembles a railway track that is just <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>marked -out... where the flags are fluttering joyfully in the breeze." In this -really highly modern way, Strauss has met the Philistine injunction to -the effect that a new simile must be introduced from time to time.</p> - -<p>Another rhetorical rule is also very widespread, namely, that didactic -passages should be composed in long periods, and should be drawn out -into lengthy abstractions, while all persuasive passages should -consist of short sentences followed by striking contrasts. On page 154 -in Strauss's book we find a standard example of the didactic and -scholarly style—a passage blown out after the genuine Schleiermacher -manner, and made to stumble along at a true tortoise pace: "The reason -why, in the earlier stages of religion, there appear many instead of -this single Whereon, a plurality of gods instead of the one, is -explained in this deduction of religion, from the fact that the -various forces of nature, or relations of life, which inspire man with -the sentiment of unqualified dependence, still act upon him in the -commencement with the full force of their distinctive characteristics; -that he has not as yet become conscious how, in regard to his -unmitigated dependence upon them, there is no distinction between -them, and that therefore the Whereon of this dependence, or the Being -to which it conducts in the last instance, can only be one."</p> - -<p>On pages 7 and 8 we find an example of the other kind of style, that -of the short sentences containing that affected liveliness which so -excited certain readers that they cannot mention Strauss <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>any more -without coupling his name with Lessing's. "I am well aware that what I -propose to delineate in the following pages is known to multitudes as -well as to myself, to some even much better. A few have already spoken -out on the subject. Am I therefore to keep silence? I think not. For -do we not all supply each other's deficiencies? If another is better -informed as regards some things, I may perhaps be so as regards -others; while yet others are known and viewed by me in a different -light. Out with it, then! let my colours be displayed that it may be -seen whether they are genuine or not.'"</p> - -<p>It is true that Strauss's style generally maintains a happy medium -between this sort of merry quick-march and the other funereal and -indolent pace; but between two vices one does not invariably find a -virtue; more often rather only weakness, helpless paralysis, and -impotence. As a matter of fact, I was very disappointed when I glanced -through Strauss's book in search of fine and witty passages; for, not -having found anything praiseworthy in the Confessor, I had actually -set out with the express purpose of meeting here and there with at -least some opportunities of praising Strauss the Writer. I sought and -sought, but my purpose remained unfulfilled. Meanwhile, however, -another duty seemed to press itself strongly on my mind—that of -enumerating the solecisms, the strained metaphors, the obscure -abbreviations, the instances of bad taste, and the distortions which I -encountered; and these were of such a nature that I dare do no more -than select a few examples of them from <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>among a collection which is -too bulky to be given in full. By means of these examples I may -succeed in showing what it is that inspires, in the hearts of modern -Germans, such faith in this great and seductive stylist Strauss: I -refer to his eccentricities of expression, which, in the barren waste -and dryness of his whole book, jump out at one, not perhaps as -pleasant but as painfully stimulating, surprises. When perusing such -passages, we are at least assured, to use a Straussian metaphor, that -we are not quite dead, but still respond to the test of a stab. For -the rest of the book is entirely lacking in offensiveness—that -quality which alone, as we have seen, is productive, and which our -classical author has himself reckoned among the positive virtues. When -the educated masses meet with exaggerated dulness and dryness, when -they are in the presence of really vapid commonplaces, they now seem -to believe that such things are the signs of health; and in this -respect the words of the author of the <i>dialogus de oratoribus</i> are very -much to the point: "<i>illam ipsam quam jactant sanitatem non firmitate -sed jejunio consequuntur.</i>" That is why they so unanimously hate every -firmitas, because it bears testimony to a kind of health quite -different from theirs; hence their one wish to throw suspicion upon -all austerity and terseness, upon all fiery and energetic movement, -and upon every full and delicate play of muscles. They have conspired -to twist nature and the names of things completely round, and for the -future to speak of health only there where we see <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>weakness, and to -speak of illness and excitability where for our part we see genuine -vigour. From which it follows that David Strauss is to them a -classical author.</p> - -<p>If only this dulness were of a severely logical order! but simplicity -and austerity in thought are precisely what these weaklings have lost, -and in their hands even our language has become illogically tangled. -As a proof of this, let any one try to translate Strauss's style into -Latin: in the case of Kant, be it remembered, this is possible, while -with Schopenhauer it even becomes an agreeable exercise. The reason -why this test fails with Strauss's German is not owing to the fact -that it is more Teutonic than theirs, but because his is distorted and -illogical, whereas theirs is lofty and simple. Moreover, he who knows -how the ancients exerted themselves in order to learn to write and -speak correctly, and how the moderns omit to do so, must feel, as -Schopenhauer says, a positive relief when he can turn from a German -book like the one under our notice, to dive into those other works, -those ancient works which seem to him still to be written in a new -language. "For in these books," says Schopenhauer, "I find a regular -and fixed language which, throughout, faithfully follows the laws of -grammar and orthography, so that I can give up my thoughts completely -to their matter; whereas in German I am constantly being disturbed by -the author's impudence and his continual attempts to establish his own -orthographical freaks and absurd ideas—the swaggering foolery of -which disgusts me. It is <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>really a painful sight to see a fine old -language, possessed of classical literature, being botched by asses -and ignoramuses!"</p> - -<p>Thus Schopenhauer's holy anger cries out to us, and you cannot say -that you have not been warned. He who turns a deaf ear to such -warnings, and who absolutely refuses to relinquish his faith in -Strauss the classical author, can only be given this last word of -advice—to imitate his hero. In any case, try it at your own risk; but -you will repent it, not only in your style but in your head, that it -may be fulfilled which was spoken by the Indian prophet, saying, "He -who gnaweth a cow's horn gnaweth in vain and shorteneth his life; for -he grindeth away his teeth, yet his belly is empty."</p> - - - -<h4>XII.</h4> - - -<p>By way of concluding, we shall proceed to give our classical -prose-writer the promised examples of his style which we have -collected. Schopenhauer would probably have classed the whole lot as -"new documents serving to swell the trumpery jargon of the present -day"; for David Strauss may be comforted to hear (if what follows can -be regarded as a comfort at all) that everybody now writes as he does; -some, of course, worse, and that among the blind the one-eyed is king. -Indeed, we allow him too much when we grant him one eye; but we do -this willingly, because Strauss does not write so badly as the most -infamous of all corrupters of German—the Hegelians and their <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>crippled -offspring. Strauss at least wishes to extricate himself from the mire, -and he is already partly out of it; still, he is very far from being -on dry land, and he still shows signs of having stammered Hegel's -prose in youth. In those days, possibly, something was sprained in -him, some muscle must have been overstrained. His ear, perhaps, like -that of a boy brought up amid the beating of drums, grew dull, and -became incapable of detecting those artistically subtle and yet mighty -laws of sound, under the guidance of which every writer is content to -remain who has been strictly trained in the study of good models. But -in this way, as a stylist, he has lost his most valuable possessions, -and stands condemned to remain reclining, his life long, on the -dangerous and barren shifting sand of newspaper style—that is, if he -do not wish to fall back into the Hegelian mire. Nevertheless, he has -succeeded in making himself famous for a couple of hours in our time, -and perhaps in another couple of hours people will remember that he -was once famous; then, however, night will come, and with her -oblivion; and already at this moment, while we are entering his sins -against style in the black book, the sable mantle of twilight is -falling upon his fame. For he who has sinned against the German -language has desecrated the mystery of all our Germanity. Throughout -all the confusion and the changes of races and of customs, the German -language alone, as though possessed of some supernatural charm, has -saved herself; and with her own salvation she has wrought that of the -spirit of Germany. She <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>alone holds the warrant for this spirit in -future ages, provided she be not destroyed at the sacrilegious hands -of the modern world. "But <i>Di meliora!</i> Avaunt, ye pachyderms, avaunt! -This is the German language, by means of which men express themselves, -and in which great poets have sung and great thinkers have written. -Hands off!" <a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>To put it in plain words, what we have seen have been feet of clay, -and what appeared to be of the colour of healthy flesh was only -applied paint. Of course, Culture-Philistinism in Germany will be very -angry when it hears its one living God referred to as a series of -painted idols. He, however, who dares to overthrow its idols will not -shrink, despite all indignation, from telling it to its face that it -has forgotten how to distinguish between the quick and the dead, the -genuine and the counterfeit, the original and the imitation, between a -God and a host of idols; that it has completely lost the healthy and -manly instinct for what is real and right. It alone deserves to be -destroyed; and already the manifestations of its power are sinking; -already are its purple honours falling from it; but when the purple -falls, its royal wearer soon follows.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>Here I come to the end of my confession of faith. This is the -confession of an individual; and what can such an one do against a -whole world, even supposing his voice were heard everywhere! In order -for the last time to use a precious Straussism, his judgment only -possesses "<i>that amount of subjective truth which is compatible with a -complete lack of objective demonstration</i>"—is not that so, my dear -friends? Meanwhile, be of good cheer. For the time being let the -matter rest at this "amount which is compatible with a complete lack"! -For the time being! That is to say, for as long as that is held to be -out of season which in reality is always in season, and is now more -than ever pressing; I refer to...speaking the truth.<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a></p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Translator's note.—Nietzsche here proceeds to quote -those passages he has culled from <i>The Old</i> and <i>the New Faith</i> with which -he undertakes to substantiate all he has said relative to Strauss's -style; as, however, these passages, with his comments upon them, lose -most of their point when rendered into English, it was thought best to -omit them altogether.</p></div> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> Translator's note.—All quotations from The Old Faith -and the New which appear in the above translation have either been -taken bodily out of Mathilde Blind's translation (Asher and Co., -1873), or are adaptations from that translation.</p></div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a><br /> -<a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a><br /> -<a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a><br /> -<a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></p> -<h3><a id="RICHARD_WAGNER_IN_BAYREUTH"></a>RICHARD WAGNER IN BAYREUTH.</h3> - - -<h4>I.</h4> - - -<p>For an event to be great, two things must be united—the lofty -sentiment of those who accomplish it, and the lofty sentiment of those -who witness it. No event is great in itself, even though it be the -disappearance of whole constellations, the destruction of several -nations, the establishment of vast empires, or the prosecution of wars -at the cost of enormous forces: over things of this sort the breath of -history blows as if they were flocks of wool. But it often happens, -too, that a man of might strikes a blow which falls without effect -upon a stubborn stone; a short, sharp report is heard, and all is -over. History is able to record little or nothing of such abortive -efforts. Hence the anxiety which every one must feel who, observing -the approach of an event, wonders whether those about to witness it -will be worthy of it. This reciprocity between an act and its -reception is always taken into account when anything <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>great or small is -to be accomplished; and he who would give anything away must see to it -that he find recipients who will do justice to the meaning of his -gift. This is why even the work of a great man is not necessarily -great when it is short, abortive, or fruitless; for at the moment when -he performed it he must have failed to perceive that it was really -necessary; he must have been careless in his aim, and he cannot have -chosen and fixed upon the time with sufficient caution. Chance thus -became his master; for there is a very intimate relation between -greatness and the instinct which discerns the proper moment at which -to act.</p> - -<p>We therefore leave it to those who doubt Wagner's power of discerning -the proper time for action, to be concerned and anxious as to whether -what is now taking place in Bayreuth is really opportune and -necessary. To us who are more confident, it is clear that he believes -as strongly in the greatness of his feat as in the greatness of -feeling in those who are to witness it. Be their number great or -small, therefore, all those who inspire this faith in Wagner should -feel extremely honoured; for that it was not inspired by everybody, or -by the whole age, or even by the whole German people, as they are now -constituted, he himself told us in his dedicatory address of the 22nd -of May 1872, and not one amongst us could, with any show of -conviction, assure him of the contrary. "I had only you to turn to," -he said, "when I sought those who I thought would be in sympathy with -my plans,—you who are the most personal friends of my own particular -art, my work and activity: only you <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>could I invite to help me in my -work, that it might be presented pure and whole to those who manifest -a genuine interest in my art, despite the fact that it has hitherto -made its appeal to them only in a disfigured and adulterated form."</p> - -<p>It is certain that in Bayreuth even the spectator is a spectacle worth -seeing. If the spirit of some observant sage were to return, after the -absence of a century, and were to compare the most remarkable -movements in the present world of culture, he would find much to -interest him there. Like one swimming in a lake, who encounters a -current of warm water issuing from a hot spring, in Bayreuth he would -certainly feel as though he had suddenly plunged into a more temperate -element, and would tell himself that this must rise out of a distant -and deeper source: the surrounding mass of water, which at all events -is more common in origin, does not account for it. In this way, all -those who assist at the Bayreuth festival will seem like men out of -season; their <i>raison-d'être</i> and the forces which would seem to account -for them are elsewhere, and their home is not in the present age. I -realise ever more clearly that the scholar, in so far as he is -entirely the man of his own day, can only be accessible to all that -Wagner does and thinks by means of parody,—and since everything is -parodied nowadays, he will even get the event of Bayreuth reproduced -for him, through the very un-magic lanterns of our facetious -art-critics. And one ought to be thankful if they stop at parody; for -by means of it a spirit of aloofness and animosity finds a vent which -might otherwise hit <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>upon a less desirable mode of expression. Now, the -observant sage already mentioned could not remain blind to this -unusual sharpness and tension of contrasts. They who hold by gradual -development as a kind of moral law must be somewhat shocked at the -sight of one who, in the course of a single lifetime, succeeds in -producing something absolutely new. Being dawdlers themselves, and -insisting upon slowness as a principle, they are very naturally vexed -by one who strides rapidly ahead, and they wonder how on earth he does -it. No omens, no periods of transition, and no concessions preceded -the enterprise at Bayreuth; no one except Wagner knew either the goal -or the long road that was to lead to it. In the realm of art it -signifies, so to speak, the first circumnavigation of the world, and -by this voyage not only was there discovered an apparently new art, -but Art itself. In view of this, all modern arts, as arts of luxury -which have degenerated through having been insulated, have become -almost worthless. And the same applies to the nebulous and -inconsistent reminiscences of a genuine art, which we as modern -Europeans derive from the Greeks; let them rest in peace, unless they -are now able to shine of their own accord in the light of a new -interpretation. The last hour has come for a good many things; this -new art is a clairvoyante that sees ruin approaching—not for art -alone. Her warning voice must strike the whole of our prevailing -civilisation with terror the instant the laughter which its parodies -have provoked subsides. Let it laugh and enjoy itself for yet a while -longer!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> -And as for us, the disciples of this revived art, we shall have time -and inclination for thoughtfulness, deep thoughtfulness. All the talk -and noise about art which has been made by civilisation hitherto must -seem like shameless obtrusiveness; everything makes silence a duty -with us—the quinquennial silence of the Pythagoreans. Which of us has -not soiled his hands and heart in the disgusting idolatry of modern -culture? Which of us can exist without the waters of purification? Who -does not hear the voice which cries, "Be silent and cleansed"? Be -silent and cleansed! Only the merit of being included among those who -give ear to this voice will grant even us the <i>lofty look</i> necessary to -view the event at Bayreuth; and only upon this look depends the <i>great -future</i> of the event.</p> - -<p>When on that dismal and cloudy day in May 1872, after the foundation -stone had been laid on the height of Bayreuth, amid torrents of rain, -and while Wagner was driving back to the town with a small party of -us, he was exceptionally silent, and there was that indescribable look -in his eyes as of one who has turned his gaze deeply inwards. The day -happened to be the first of his sixtieth year, and his whole past now -appeared as but a long preparation for this great moment. It is almost -a recognised fact that in times of exceptional danger, or at all -decisive and culminating points in their lives, men see the remotest -and most recent events of their career with singular vividness, and in -one rapid inward glance obtain a sort of panorama of a whole span of -years in which every event is faithfully depicted. What, for instance, -must Alexander <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>the Great have seen in that instant when he caused Asia -and Europe to be drunk out of the same goblet? But what went through -Wagner's mind on that day—how he became what he is, and what he will -be—we only can imagine who are nearest to him, and can follow him, up -to a certain point, in his self-examination; but through his eyes -alone is it possible for us to understand his grand work, and by the -help of this understanding vouch for its fruitfulness.</p> - - - -<h4>II.</h4> - - -<p>It were strange if what a man did best and most liked to do could not -be traced in the general outline of his life, and in the case of those -who are remarkably endowed there is all the more reason for supposing -that their life will present not only the counterpart of their -character, as in the case of every one else, but that it will present -above all the counterpart of their intellect and their most individual -tastes. The life of the epic poet will have a dash of the Epos in -it—as from all accounts was the case with Goethe, whom the Germans -very wrongly regarded only as a lyrist—and the life of the dramatist -will probably be dramatic.</p> - -<p>The dramatic element in Wagner's <i>development</i> cannot be ignored, from -the time when his ruling passion became self-conscious and took -possession of his whole being. From that time forward there is an end -to all groping, straying, and sprouting of offshoots, and over his -most tortuous deviations and excursions, over the often eccentric -disposition <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>of his plans, a single law and will are seen to rule, in -which we have the explanation of his actions, however strange this -explanation may sometimes appear. There was, however, an ante-dramatic -period in Wagner's life—his childhood and youth—which it is -impossible to approach without discovering innumerable problems. At -this period there seems to be no promise yet of himself, and what one -might now, in a retrospect, regard as a pledge for his future -greatness, amounts to no more than a juxta-position of traits which -inspire more dismay than hope; a restless and excitable spirit, -nervously eager to undertake a hundred things at the same time, -passionately fond of almost morbidly exalted states of mind, and ready -at any moment to veer completely round from calm and profound -meditation to a state of violence and uproar. In his case there were -no hereditary or family influences at work to constrain him to the -sedulous study of one particular art. Painting, versifying, acting, -and music were just as much within his reach as the learning and the -career of a scholar; and the superficial inquirer into this stage of -his life might even conclude that he was born to be a dilettante. The -small world within the bounds of which he grew up was not of the kind -we should choose to be the home of an artist. He ran the constant risk -of becoming infected by that dangerously dissipated attitude of mind -in which a person will taste of everything, as also by that condition -of slackness resulting from the fragmentary knowledge of all things, -which is so characteristic of University towns. His feelings were -easily roused and but <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>indifferently satisfied; wherever the boy turned -he found himself surrounded by a wonderful and would-be learned -activity, to which the garish theatres presented a ridiculous -contrast, and the entrancing strains of music a perplexing one. Now, -to the observer who sees things relatively, it must seem strange that -the modern man who happens to be gifted with exceptional talent should -as a child and a youth so seldom be blessed with the quality of -ingenuousness and of simple individuality, that he is so little able -to have these qualities at all. As a matter of fact, men of rare -talent, like Goethe and Wagner, much more often attain to -ingenuousness in manhood than during the more tender years of -childhood and youth. And this is especially so with the artist, who, -being born with a more than usual capacity for imitating, succumbs to -the morbid multiformity of modern life as to a virulent disease of -infancy. As a child he will more closely resemble an old man. The -wonderfully accurate and original picture of youth which Wagner gives -us in the Siegfried of the Nibelungen Ring could only have been -conceived by a man, and by one who had discovered his youthfulness but -late in life. Wagner's maturity, like his adolesence, was also late in -making its appearance, and he is thus, in this respect alone, the very -reverse of the precocious type.</p> - -<p>The appearance of his moral and intellectual strength was the prelude -to the drama of his soul. And how different it then became! His nature -seems to have been simplified at one terrible stroke, and divided -against itself into two instincts <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>or spheres. From its innermost -depths there gushes forth a passionate will which, like a rapid -mountain torrent, endeavours to make its way through all paths, -ravines, and crevices, in search of light and power. Only a force -completely free and pure was strong enough to guide this will to all -that is good and beneficial. Had it been combined with a narrow -intelligence, a will with such a tyrannical and boundless desire might -have become fatal; in any case, an exit into the open had to be found -for it as quickly as possible, whereby it could rush into pure air and -sunshine. Lofty aspirations, which continually meet with failure, -ultimately turn to evil. The inadequacy of means for obtaining success -may, in certain circumstances, be the result of an inexorable fate, -and not necessarily of a lack of strength; but he who under such -circumstances cannot abandon his aspirations, despite the inadequacy -of his means, will only become embittered, and consequently irritable -and intolerant. He may possibly seek the cause of his failure in other -people; he may even, in a fit of passion, hold the whole world guilty; -or he may turn defiantly down secret byways and secluded lanes, or -resort to violence. In this way, noble natures, on their road to the -most high, may turn savage. Even among those who seek but their own -personal moral purity, among monks and anchorites, men are to be found -who, undermined and devoured by failure, have become barbarous and -hopelessly morbid. There was a spirit full of love and calm belief, -full of goodness and infinite tenderness, hostile to all violence and -self-deterioration, and abhorring the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>sight of a soul in bondage. And -it was this spirit which manifested itself to Wagner. It hovered over -him as a consoling angel, it covered him with its wings, and showed -him the true path. At this stage we bring the other side of Wagner's -nature into view: but how shall we describe this other side?</p> - -<p>The characters an artist creates are not himself, but the succession -of these characters, to which it is clear he is greatly attached, must -at all events reveal something of his nature. Now try and recall -Rienzi, the Flying Dutchman and Senta, Tannhäuser and Elizabeth, -Lohengrin and Elsa, Tristan and Marke, Hans Sachs, Woden and -Brunhilda,—all these characters are correlated by a secret current of -ennobling and broadening morality which flows through them and becomes -ever purer and clearer as it progresses. And at this point we enter -with respectful reserve into the presence of the most hidden -development in Wagner's own soul. In what other artist do we meet with -the like of this, in the same proportion? Schiller's characters, from -the Robbers to Wallenstein and Tell, do indeed pursue an ennobling -course, and likewise reveal something of their author's development; -but in Wagner the standard is higher and the distance covered is much -greater. In the Nibelungen Ring, for instance, where Brunhilda is -awakened by Siegfried, I perceive the most moral music I have ever -heard. Here Wagner attains to such a high level of sacred feeling that -our mind unconsciously wanders to the glistening ice- and snow-peaks of -the Alps, to find a likeness there;—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>so pure, isolated, inaccessible, -chaste, and bathed in love-beams does Nature here display herself, -that clouds and tempests—yea, and even the sublime itself—seem to -lie beneath her. Now, looking down from this height upon Tannhäuser -and the Flying Dutchman, we begin to perceive how the man in Wagner -was evolved: how restlessly and darkly he began; how tempestuously he -strove to gratify his desires, to acquire power and to taste those -rapturous delights from which he often fled in disgust; how he wished -to throw off a yoke, to forget, to be negative, and to renounce -everything. The whole torrent plunged, now into this valley, now into -that, and flooded the most secluded chinks and crannies. In the night -of these semi-subterranean convulsions a star appeared and glowed high -above him with melancholy vehemence; as soon as he recognised it, he -named it Fidelity—unselfish fidelity. Why did this star seem to him -the brightest and purest of all? What secret meaning had the word -"fidelity" to his whole being? For he has graven its image and -problems upon all his thoughts and compositions. His works contain -almost a complete series of the rarest and most beautiful examples of -fidelity: that of brother to sister, of friend to friend, of servant -to master; of Elizabeth to Tannhäuser, of Senta to the Dutchman, of -Elsa to Lohengrin, of Isolde, Kurvenal, and Marke to Tristan, of -Brunhilda to the most secret vows of Woden—and many others. It is -Wagner's most personal and most individual experience, which he -reveres like a religious mystery, and which he calls Fidelity; he -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>never wearies of breathing it into hundreds of different characters, -and of endowing it with the sublimest that in him lies, so overflowing -is his gratitude. It is, in short, the recognition of the fact that -the two sides of his nature remained faithful to each other, that out -of free and unselfish love, the creative, ingenuous, and brilliant -side kept loyally abreast of the dark, the intractable, and the -tyrannical side.</p> - - - -<h4>III.</h4> - - -<p>The relation of the two constituent forces to each other, and the -yielding of the one to the other, was the great requisite by which -alone he could remain wholly and truly himself. At the same time, this -was the only thing he could not control, and over which he could only -keep a watch, while the temptations to infidelity and its threatening -dangers beset him more and more. The uncertainty derived therefrom is -an overflowing source of suffering for those in process of -development. Each of his instincts made constant efforts to attain to -unmeasured heights, and each of the capacities he possessed for -enjoying life seemed to long to tear itself away from its companions -in order to seek satisfaction alone; the greater their exuberance the -more terrific was the tumult, and the more bitter the competition -between them. In addition, accident and life fired the desire for -power and splendour in him; but he was more often tormented by the -cruel necessity of having to live at all, while all around him lay -obstacles and snares. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>How is it possible for any one to remain -faithful here, to be completely steadfast? This doubt often depressed -him, and he expresses it, as an artist expressed his doubt, in -artistic forms. Elizabeth, for instance, can only suffer, pray, and -die; she saves the fickle and intemperate man by her loyalty, though -not for this life. In the path of every true artist, whose lot is cast -in these modern days, despair and danger are strewn. He has many means -whereby he can attain to honour and might; peace and plenty -persistently offer themselves to him, but only in that form recognised -by the modern man, which to the straightforward artist is no better -than choke-damp. In this temptation, and in the act of resisting it, -lie the dangers that threaten him—dangers arising from his disgust at -the means modernity offers him of acquiring pleasure and esteem, and -from the indignation provoked by the selfish ease of modern society. -Imagine Wagner's filling an official position, as for instance that of -bandmaster at public and court theatres, both of which positions he -has held: think how he, a serious artist, must have struggled in order -to enforce seriousness in those very places which, to meet the demands -of modern conventions, are designed with almost systematic frivolity -to appeal only to the frivolous. Think how he must have partially -succeeded, though only to fail on the whole. How constantly disgust -must have been at his heels despite his repeated attempts to flee it, -how he failed to find the haven to which he might have repaired, and -how he had ever to return to the Bohemians and outlaws of our <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>society, -as one of them. If he himself broke loose from any post or position, -he rarely found a better one in its stead, while more than once -distress was all that his unrest brought him. Thus Wagner changed his -associates, his dwelling-place and country, and when we come to -comprehend the nature of the circles into which he gravitated, we can -hardly realise how he was able to tolerate them for any length of -time. The greater half of his past seems to be shrouded in heavy mist; -for a long time he appears to have had no general hopes, but only -hopes for the morrow, and thus, although he reposed no faith in the -future, he was not driven to despair. He must have felt like a -nocturnal traveller, broken with fatigue, exasperated from want of -sleep, and tramping wearily along beneath a heavy burden, who, far -from fearing the sudden approach of death, rather longs for it as -something exquisitely charming. His burden, the road and the -night—all would disappear! The thought was a temptation to him. Again -and again, buoyed up by his temporary hopes, he plunged anew into the -turmoil of life, and left all apparatus behind him. But his method of -doing this, his lack of moderation in the doing, betrayed what a -feeble hold his hopes had upon him; how they were only stimulants to -which he had recourse in an extremity. The conflict between his -aspirations and his partial or total inability to realise them, -tormented him like a thorn in the flesh. Infuriated by constant -privations, his imagination lapsed into the dissipated, whenever the -state of want was momentarily relieved. Life <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>grew ever more and more -complicated for him; but the means and artifices that he discovered in -his art as a dramatist became evermore resourceful and daring. Albeit, -these were little more than palpable dramatic makeshifts and -expedients, which deceived, and were invented, only for the moment. In -a flash such means occurred to his mind and were used up. Examined -closely and without prepossession, Wagner's life, to recall one of -Schopenhauer's expressions, might be said to consist largely of -comedy, not to mention burlesque. And what the artist's feelings must -have been, conscious as he was, during whole periods of his life, of -this undignified element in it,—he who more than any one else, -perhaps, breathed freely only in sublime and more than sublime -spheres,—the thinker alone can form any idea.</p> - -<p>In the midst of this mode of life, a detailed description of which is -necessary in order to inspire the amount of pity, awe, and admiration -which are its due, he developed a <i>talent for acquiring knowledge</i>, -which even in a German—a son of the nation learned above all -others—was really extraordinary. And with this talent yet another -danger threatened Wagner—a danger more formidable than that involved -in a life which was apparently without either a stay or a rule, borne -hither and thither by disturbing illusions. From a novice trying his -strength, Wagner became a thorough master of music and of the theatre, -as also a prolific inventor in the preliminary technical conditions -for the execution of art. No one will any longer deny him the glory of -having given us the supreme model for lofty artistic <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>execution on a -large scale. But he became more than this, and in order so to develop, -he, no less than any one else in like circumstances, had to reach the -highest degree of culture by virtue of his studies. And wonderfully he -achieved this end! It is delightful to follow his progress. From all -sides material seemed to come unto him and into him, and the larger -and heavier the resulting structure became, the more rigid was the -arch of the ruling and ordering thought supporting it. And yet access -to the sciences and arts has seldom been made more difficult for any -man than for Wagner; so much so that he had almost to break his own -road through to them. The reviver of the simple drama, the discoverer -of the position due to art in true human society, the poetic -interpreter of bygone views of life, the philosopher, the historian, -the æsthete and the critic, the master of languages, the mythologist -and the myth poet, who was the first to include all these wonderful -and beautiful products of primitive times in a single Ring, upon which -he engraved the runic characters of his thoughts—what a wealth of -knowledge must Wagner have accumulated and commanded, in order to have -become all that! And yet this mass of material was just as powerless -to impede the action of his will as a matter of detail—however -attractive—was to draw his purpose from its path. For the exceptional -character of such conduct to be appreciated fully, it should be -compared with that of Goethe,—he who, as a student and as a sage, -resembled nothing so much as a huge river-basin, which does not pour -all its water into the sea, but spends <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>as much of it on its way there, -and at its various twists and turns, as it ultimately disgorges at its -mouth. True, a nature like Goethe's not only has, but also engenders, -more pleasure than any other; there is more mildness and noble -profligacy in it; whereas the tenor and tempo of Wagner's power at -times provoke both fear and flight. But let him fear who will, we -shall only be the more courageous, in that we shall be permitted to -come face to face with a hero who, in regard to modern culture, "has -never learned the meaning of fear."</p> - -<p>But neither has he learned to look for repose in history and -philosophy, nor to derive those subtle influences from their study -which tend to paralyse action or to soften a man unduly. Neither the -creative nor the militant artist in him was ever diverted from his -purpose by learning and culture. The moment his constructive powers -direct him, history becomes yielding clay in his hands. His attitude -towards it then differs from that of every scholar, and more nearly -resembles the relation of the ancient Greek to his myths; that is to -say, his subject is something he may fashion, and about which he may -write verses. He will naturally do this with love and a certain -becoming reverence, but with the sovereign right of the creator -notwithstanding. And precisely because history is more supple and more -variable than a dream to him, he can invest the most individual case -with the characteristics of a whole age, and thus attain to a -vividness of narrative of which historians are quite incapable. In -what work of art, of any kind, has the body and soul of the Middle -Ages ever been <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>so thoroughly depicted as in Lohengrin? And will not -the Meistersingers continue to acquaint men, even in the remotest ages -to come, with the nature of Germany's soul? Will they not do more than -acquaint men of it? Will they not represent its very ripest fruit—the -fruit of that spirit which ever wishes to reform and not to overthrow, -and which, despite the broad couch of comfort on which it lies, has -not forgotten how to endure the noblest discomfort when a worthy and -novel deed has to be accomplished?</p> - -<p>And it is just to this kind of discomfort that Wagner always felt -himself drawn by his study of history and philosophy: in them he not -only found arms and coats of mail, but what he felt in their presence -above all was the inspiring breath which is wafted from the graves of -all great fighters, sufferers, and thinkers. Nothing distinguishes a -man more from the general pattern of the age than the use he makes of -history and philosophy. According to present views, the former seems -to have been allotted the duty of giving modern man breathing-time, in -the midst of his panting and strenuous scurry towards his goal, so -that he may, for a space, imagine he has slipped his leash. What -Montaigne was as an individual amid the turmoil of the -Reformation—that is to say, a creature inwardly coming to peace with -himself, serenely secluded in himself and taking breath, as his best -reader, Shakespeare, understood him,—this is what history is to the -modern spirit to-day. The fact that the Germans, for a whole century, -have devoted themselves more particularly <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>to the study of history, -only tends to prove that they are the stemming, retarding, and -becalming force in the activity of modern society—a circumstance -which some, of course, will place to their credit. On the whole, -however, it is a dangerous symptom when the mind of a nation turns -with preference to the study of the past. It is a sign of flagging -strength, of decline and degeneration; it denotes that its people are -perilously near to falling victims to the first fever that may happen -to be rif—the political fever among others. Now, in the history of -modern thought, our scholars are an example of this condition of -weakness as opposed to all reformative and revolutionary activity. The -mission they have chosen is not of the noblest; they have rather been -content to secure smug happiness for their kind, and little more. -Every independent and manly step leaves them halting in the -background, although it by no means outstrips history. For the latter -is possessed of vastly different powers, which only natures like -Wagner have any notion of; but it requires to be written in a much -more earnest and severe spirit, by much more vigorous students, and -with much less optimism than has been the case hitherto. In fact, it -requires to be treated quite differently from the way German scholars -have treated it until now. In all their works there is a continual -desire to embellish, to submit and to be content, while the course of -events invariably seems to have their approbation. It is rather the -exception for one of them to imply that he is satisfied only because -things might have turned out worse; for most of them believe, almost -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>as a matter of course, that everything has been for the best simply -because it has only happened once. Were history not always a disguised -Christian theodicy, were it written with more justice and fervent -feeling, it would be the very last thing on earth to be made to serve -the purpose it now serves, namely, that of an opiate against -everything subversive and novel. And philosophy is in the same plight: -all that the majority demand of it is, that it may teach them to -understand approximate facts—very approximate facts—in order that -they may then become adapted to them. And even its noblest exponents -press its soporific and comforting powers so strongly to the fore, -that all lovers of sleep and of loafing must think that their aim and -the aim of philosophy are one. For my part, the most important -question philosophy has to decide seems to be, how far things have -acquired an unalterable stamp and form, and, once this question has -been answered, I think it the duty of philosophy unhesitatingly and -courageously to proceed with the task of <i>improving that part of the -world which has been recognised as still susceptible to change</i>. But -genuine philosophers do, as a matter of fact, teach this doctrine -themselves, inasmuch as they work at endeavouring to alter the very -changeable views of men, and do not keep their opinions to themselves. -Genuine disciples of genuine philosophies also teach this doctrine; -for, like Wagner, they understand the art of deriving a more decisive -and inflexible will from their master's teaching, rather than an -opiate or a sleeping draught. Wagner is most philosophical <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>where he is -most powerfully active and heroic. It was as a philosopher that he -went, not only through the fire of various philosophical systems -without fear, but also through the vapours of science and scholarship, -while remaining ever true to his highest self. And it was this highest -self which exacted <i>from his versatile spirit works as complete as his -were</i>, which bade him suffer and learn, that he might accomplish such -works.</p> - - - -<h4>IV.</h4> - - -<p>The history of the development of culture since the time of the Greeks -is short enough, when we take into consideration the actual ground it -covers, and ignore the periods during which man stood still, went -backwards, hesitated or strayed. The Hellenising of the world—and to -make this possible, the Orientalising of Hellenism—that double -mission of Alexander the Great, still remains the most important -event: the old question whether a foreign civilisation may be -transplanted is still the problem that the peoples of modern times are -vainly endeavouring to solve. The rhythmic play of those two factors -against each other is the force that has determined the course of -history heretofore. Thus Christianity appears, for instance, as a -product of Oriental antiquity, which was thought out and pursued to -its ultimate conclusions by men, with almost intemperate thoroughness. -As its influence began to decay, the power of Hellenic culture was -revived, and we are now <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>experiencing phenomena so strange that they -would hang in the air as unsolved problems, if it were not possible, -by spanning an enormous gulf of time, to show their relation to -analogous phenomena in Hellenistic culture. Thus, between Kant and the -Eleatics, Schopenhauer and Empedocles, Æschylus and Wagner, there is -so much relationship, so many things in common, that one is vividly -impressed with the very relative nature of all notions of time. It -would even seem as if a whole diversity of things were really all of a -piece, and that time is only a cloud which makes it hard for our eyes -to perceive the oneness of them. In the history of the exact sciences -we are perhaps most impressed by the close bond uniting us with the -days of Alexander and ancient Greece. The pendulum of history seems -merely to have swung back to that point from which it started when it -plunged forth into unknown and mysterious distance. The picture -represented by our own times is by no means a new one: to the student -of history it must always seem as though he were merely in the -presence of an old familiar face, the features of which he recognises. -In our time the spirit of Greek culture is scattered broadcast. While -forces of all kinds are pressing one upon the other, and the fruits of -modern art and science are offering themselves as a means of exchange, -the pale outline of Hellenism is beginning to dawn faintly in the -distance. The earth which, up to the present, has been more than -adequately Orientalised, begins to yearn once more for Hellenism. He -who wishes to help her in this respect <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span>will certainly need to be -gifted for speedy action and to have wings on his heels, in order to -synthetise the multitudinous and still undiscovered facts of science -and the many conflicting divisions of talent so as to reconnoitre and -rule the whole enormous field. It is now necessary that a generation -of <i>anti-Alexanders</i> should arise, endowed with the supreme strength -necessary for gathering up, binding together, and joining the -individual threads of the fabric, so as to prevent their being -scattered to the four winds. The object is not to cut the Gordian knot -of Greek culture after the manner adopted by Alexander, and then to -leave its frayed ends fluttering in all directions; it is rather <i>to -bind it after it has been loosed</i>. That is our task to-day. In the -person of Wagner I recognise one of these anti-Alexanders: he rivets -and locks together all that is isolated, weak, or in any way -defective; if I may be allowed to use a medical expression, he has an -<i>astringent power</i>. And in this respect he is one of the greatest -civilising forces of his age. He dominates art, religion, and -folklore, yet he is the reverse of a polyhistor or of a mere -collecting and classifying spirit; for he constructs with the -collected material, and breathes life into it, and is a <i>Simplifier of -the Universe</i>. We must not be led away from this idea by comparing the -general mission which his genius imposed upon him with the much -narrower and more immediate one which we are at present in the habit -of associating with the name of Wagner. He is expected to effect a -reform in the theatre world; but even supposing he should succeed in -doing this, what would then <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>have been done towards the accomplishment -of that higher, more distant mission?</p> - -<p>But even with this lesser theatrical reform, modern man would also be -altered and reformed; for everything is so intimately related in this -world, that he who removes even so small a thing as a rivet from the -framework shatters and destroys the whole edifice. And what we here -assert, with perhaps seeming exaggeration, of Wagner's activity would -hold equally good of any other genuine reform. It is quite impossible -to reinstate the art of drama in its purest and highest form without -effecting changes everywhere in the customs of the people, in the -State, in education, and in social intercourse. When love and justice -have become powerful in one department of life, namely in art, they -must, in accordance with the law of their inner being, spread their -influence around them, and can no more return to the stiff stillness -of their former pupal condition. In order even to realise how far the -attitude of the arts towards life is a sign of their decline, and how -far our theatres are a disgrace to those who build and visit them, -everything must be learnt over again, and that which is usual and -commonplace should be regarded as something unusual and complicated. -An extraordinary lack of clear judgment, a badly-concealed lust of -pleasure, of entertainment at any cost, learned scruples, assumed airs -of importance, and trifling with the seriousness of art on the part of -those who represent it; brutality of appetite and money-grubbing on -the part of promoters; the empty-mindedness and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>thoughtlessness of -society, which only thinks of the people in so far as these serve or -thwart its purpose, and which attends theatres and concerts without -giving a thought to its duties,—all these things constitute the -stifling and deleterious atmosphere of our modern art conditions: -when, however, people like our men of culture have grown accustomed to -it, they imagine that it is a condition of their healthy existence, -and would immediately feel unwell if, for any reason, they were -compelled to dispense with it for a while. In point of fact, there is -but one speedy way of convincing oneself of the vulgarity, weirdness, -and confusion of our theatrical institutions, and that is to compare -them with those which once flourished in ancient Greece. If we knew -nothing about the Greeks, it would perhaps be impossible to assail our -present conditions at all, and objections made on the large scale -conceived for the first time by Wagner would have been regarded as the -dreams of people who could only be at home in outlandish places. "For -men as we now find them," people would have retorted, "art of this -modern kind answers the purpose and is fitting—and men have never -been different." But they have been very different, and even now there -are men who are far from satisfied with the existing state of -affairs—the fact of Bayreuth alone demonstrates this point. Here you -will find prepared and initiated spectators, and the emotion of men -conscious of being at the very zenith of their happiness, who -concentrate their whole being on that happiness in order to strengthen -themselves <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>for a higher and more far-reaching purpose. Here you will -find the most noble self-abnegation on the part of the artist, and the -finest of all spectacles—that of a triumphant creator of works which -are in themselves an overflowing treasury of artistic triumphs. Does -it not seem almost like a fairy tale, to be able to come face to face -with such a personality? Must not they who take any part whatsoever, -active or passive, in the proceedings at Bayreuth, already feel -altered and rejuvenated, and ready to introduce reforms and to effect -renovations in other spheres of life? Has not a haven been found for -all wanderers on high and desert seas, and has not peace settled over -the face of the waters? Must not he who leaves these spheres of ruling -profundity and loneliness for the very differently ordered world with -its plains and lower levels, cry continually like Isolde: "Oh, how -could I bear it? How can I still bear it?" And should he be unable to -endure his joy and his sorrow, or to keep them egotistically to -himself, he will avail himself from that time forward of every -opportunity of making them known to all. "Where are they who are -suffering under the yoke of modern institutions?" he will inquire. -"Where are my natural allies, with whom I may struggle against the -ever waxing and ever more oppressive pretensions of modern erudition?" -For at present, at least, we have but one enemy—at present!—and it -is that band of æsthetes, to whom the word Bayreuth means the -completest rout—they have taken no share in the arrangements, they -were rather indignant at the whole movement, or else <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>availed -themselves effectively of the deaf-ear policy, which has now become -the trusty weapon of all very superior opposition. But this proves -that their animosity and knavery were ineffectual in destroying -Wagner's spirit or in hindering the accomplishment of his plans; it -proves even more, for it betrays their weakness and the fact that all -those who are at present in possession of power will not be able to -withstand many more attacks. The time is at hand for those who would -conquer and triumph; the vastest empires lie at their mercy, a note of -interrogation hangs to the name of all present possessors of power, so -far as possession may be said to exist in this respect. Thus -educational institutions are said to be decaying, and everywhere -individuals are to be found who have secretly deserted them. If only -it were possible to invite those to open rebellion and public -utterances, who even now are thoroughly dissatisfied with the state of -affairs in this quarter! If only it were possible to deprive them of -their faint heart and lukewarmness! I am convinced that the whole -spirit of modern culture would receive its deadliest blow if the tacit -support which these natures give it could in any way be cancelled. -Among scholars, only those would remain loyal to the old order of -things who had been infected with the political mania or who were -literary hacks in any form whatever. The repulsive organisation which -derives its strength from the violence and injustice upon which it -relies—that is to say, from the State and Society—and which sees its -advantage in making the latter ever more evil and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>unscrupulous,—this -structure which without such support would be something feeble and -effete, only needs to be despised in order to perish. He who is -struggling to spread justice and love among mankind must regard this -organisation as the least significant of the obstacles in his way; for -he will only encounter his real opponents once he has successfully -stormed and conquered modern culture, which is nothing more than their -outworks.</p> - -<p>For us, Bayreuth is the consecration of the dawn of the combat. No -greater injustice could be done to us than to suppose that we are -concerned with art alone, as though it were merely a means of healing -or stupefying us, which we make use of in order to rid our -consciousness of all the misery that still remains in our midst. In -the image of this tragic art work at Bayreuth, we see, rather, the -struggle of individuals against everything which seems to oppose them -with invincible necessity, with power, law, tradition, conduct, and -the whole order of things established. Individuals cannot choose a -better life than that of holding themselves ready to sacrifice -themselves and to die in their fight for love and justice. The gaze -which the mysterious eye of tragedy vouchsafes us neither lulls nor -paralyses. Nevertheless, it demands silence of us as long as it keeps -us in view; for art does not serve the purposes of war, but is merely -with us to improve our hours of respite, before and during the course -of the contest,—to improve those few moments when, looking back, yet -dreaming of the future, we seem to understand the symbolical, and are -carried away into a refreshing reverie when <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>fatigue overtakes us. Day -and battle dawn together, the sacred shadows vanish, and Art is once -more far away from us; but the comfort she dispenses is with men from -the earliest hour of day, and never leaves them. Wherever he turns, -the individual realises only too clearly his own shortcomings, his -insufficiency and his incompetence; what courage would he have left -were he not previously rendered impersonal by this consecration! The -greatest of all torments harassing him, the conflicting beliefs and -opinions among men, the unreliability of these beliefs and opinions, -and the unequal character of men's abilities—all these things make -him hanker after art. We cannot be happy so long as everything about -us suffers and causes suffering; we cannot be moral so long as the -course of human events is determined by violence, treachery, and -injustice; we cannot even be wise, so long as the whole of mankind -does not compete for wisdom, and does not lead the individual to the -most sober and reasonable form of life and knowledge. How, then, would -it be possible to endure this feeling of threefold insufficiency if -one were not able to recognise something sublime and valuable in one's -struggles, strivings, and defeats, if one did not learn from tragedy -how to delight in the rhythm of the great passions, and in their -victim? Art is certainly no teacher or educator of practical conduct: -the artist is never in this sense an instructor or adviser; the things -after which a tragic hero strives are not necessarily worth striving -after. As in a dream so in art, the valuation of things only holds -good while we are <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>under its spell. What we, for the time being, regard -as so worthy of effort, and what makes us sympathise with the tragic -hero when he prefers death to renouncing the object of his desire, -this can seldom retain the same value and energy when transferred to -everyday life: that is why art is the business of the man who is -recreating himself. The strife it reveals to us is a simplification of -life's struggle; its problems are abbreviations of the infinitely -complicated phenomena of man's actions and volitions. But from this -very fact—that it is the reflection, so to speak, of a simpler world, -a more rapid solution of the riddle of life—art derives its greatness -and indispensability. No one who suffers from life can do without this -reflection, just as no one can exist without sleep. The more difficult -the science of natural laws becomes, the more fervently we yearn for -the image of this simplification, if only for an instant; and the -greater becomes the tension between each man's general knowledge of -things and his moral and spiritual faculties. Art is with us <i>to -prevent the bow from snapping</i>.</p> - -<p>The individual must be consecrated to something impersonal—that is -the aim of tragedy: he must forget the terrible anxiety which death -and time tend to create in him; for at any moment of his life, at any -fraction of time in the whole of his span of years, something sacred -may cross his path which will amply compensate him for all his -struggles and privations. This means <i>having a sense for the tragic</i>. -And if all mankind must perish some day—and who could question this! -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>—it has been given its highest aim for the future, namely, to -increase and to live in such unity that it may confront its final -extermination as a whole, with one spiritmdash;with a common sense of the -tragic: in this one aim all the ennobling influences of man lie -locked; its complete repudiation by humanity would be the saddest blow -which the soul of the philanthropist could receive. That is how I feel -in the matter! There is but one hope and guarantee for the future of -man, and that is <i>that his sense for the tragic may not die out</i>. If he -ever completely lost it, an agonised cry, the like of which has never -been heard, would have to be raised all over the world; for there is -no more blessed joy than that which consists in knowing what we -know—how tragic thought was born again on earth. For this joy is -thoroughly impersonal and general: it is the wild rejoicing of -humanity, anent the hidden relationship and progress of all that is -human.</p> - - - -<h4>V.</h4> - - -<p>Wagner concentrated upon life, past and present, the light of an -intelligence strong enough to embrace the most distant regions in its -rays. That is why he is a simplifier of the universe; for the -simplification of the universe is only possible to him whose eye has -been able to master the immensity and wildness of an apparent chaos, -and to relate and unite those things which before had lain hopelessly -asunder. Wagner did this by discovering a connection between two -objects which <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>seemed to exist apart from each other as though in -separate spheres—that between music and life, and similarly between -music and the drama. Not that he invented or was the first to create -this relationship, for they must always have existed and have been -noticeable to all; but, as is usually the case with a great problem, -it is like a precious stone which thousands stumble over before one -finally picks it up. Wagner asked himself the meaning of the fact that -an art such as music should have become so very important a feature of -the lives of modern men. It is not necessary to think meanly of life -in order to suspect a riddle behind this question. On the contrary, -when all the great forces of existence are duly considered, and -struggling life is regarded as striving mightily after conscious -freedom and independence of thought, only then does music seem to be a -riddle in this world. Should one not answer: Music could not have been -born in our time? What then does its presence amongst us signify? An -accident? A single great artist might certainly be an accident, but -the appearance of a whole group of them, such as the history of modern -music has to show, a group only once before equalled on earth, that is -to say in the time of the Greeks,—a circumstance of this sort leads -one to think that perhaps necessity rather than accident is at the -root of the whole phenomenon. The meaning of this necessity is the -riddle which Wagner answers.</p> - -<p>He was the first to recognise an evil which is as widespread as -civilisation itself among men; language is everywhere diseased, and -the burden <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>of this terrible disease weighs heavily upon the whole of -man's development. Inasmuch as language has retreated ever more and -more from its true province—the expression of strong feelings, which -it was once able to convey in all their simplicity—and has always had -to strain after the practically impossible achievement of -communicating the reverse of feeling, that is to say thought, its -strength has become so exhausted by this excessive extension of its -duties during the comparatively short period of modern civilisation, -that it is no longer able to perform even that function which alone -justifies its existence, to wit, the assisting of those who suffer, in -communicating with each other concerning the sorrows of existence. Man -can no longer make his misery known unto others by means of language; -hence he cannot really express himself any longer. And under these -conditions, which are only vaguely felt at present, language has -gradually become a force in itself which with spectral arms coerces -and drives humanity where it least wants to go. As soon as they would -fain understand one another and unite for a common cause, the -craziness of general concepts, and even of the ring of modern words, -lays hold of them. The result of this inability to communicate with -one another is that every product of their co-operative action bears -the stamp of discord, not only because it fails to meet their real -needs, but because of the very emptiness of those all-powerful words -and notions already mentioned. To the misery already at hand, man thus -adds the curse of convention—that is to say, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>the agreement between -words and actions without an agreement between the feelings. Just as, -during the decline of every art, a point is reached when the morbid -accumulation of its means and forms attains to such tyrannical -proportions that it oppresses the tender souls of artists and converts -these into slaves, so now, in the period of the decline of language, -men have become the slaves of words. Under this yoke no one is able to -show himself as he is, or to express himself artlessly, while only few -are able to preserve their individuality in their fight against a -culture which thinks to manifest its success, not by the fact that it -approaches definite sensations and desires with the view of educating -them, but by the fact that it involves the individual in the snare of -"definite notions," and teaches him to think correctly: as if there -were any value in making a correctly thinking and reasoning being out -of man, before one has succeeded in making him a creature that feels -correctly. If now the strains of our German masters' music burst upon -a mass of mankind sick to this extent, what is really the meaning of -these strains? Only <i>correct feeling</i>, the enemy of all convention, of -all artificial estrangement and misunderstandings between man and man: -this music signifies a return to nature, and at the same time a -purification and remodelling of it; for the need of such a return took -shape in the souls of the most loving of men, and, <i>through their art, -nature transformed into love makes its voice heard</i>.</p> - -<p>Let us regard this as <i>one</i> of Wagner's answers to the question, What -does music mean in our <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>time? for he has a second. The relation between -music and life is not merely that existing between one kind of -language and another; it is, besides, the relation between the perfect -world of sound and that of sight. Regarded merely as a spectacle, and -compared with other and earlier manifestations of human life, the -existence of modern man is characterised by indescribable indigence -and exhaustion, despite the unspeakable garishness at which only the -superficial observer rejoices. If one examines a little more closely -the impression which this vehement and kaleidoscopic play of colours -makes upon one, does not the whole seem to blaze with the shimmer and -sparkle of innumerable little stones borrowed from former -civilisations? Is not everything one sees merely a complex of -inharmonious bombast, aped gesticulations, arrogant superficiality?—a -ragged suit of motley for the naked and the shivering? A seeming dance -of joy enjoined upon a sufferer? Airs of overbearing pride assumed by -one who is sick to the backbone? And the whole moving with such -rapidity and confusion that it is disguised and masked—sordid -impotence, devouring dissension, assiduous ennui, dishonest distress! -The appearance of present-day humanity is all appearance, and nothing -else: in what he now represents man himself has become obscured and -concealed; and the vestiges of the creative faculty in art, which -still cling to such countries as France and Italy, are all -concentrated upon this one task of concealing. Wherever form is still -in demand in society, conversation, literary style, or the relations -between <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>governments, men have unconsciously grown to believe that it -is adequately met by a kind of agreeable dissimulation, quite the -reverse of genuine form conceived as a necessary relation between the -proportions of a figure, having no concern whatever with the notions -"agreeable" or "disagreeable," simply because it is necessary and not -optional. But even where form is not openly exacted by civilised -people, there is no greater evidence of this requisite relation of -proportions; a striving after the agreeable dissimulation, already -referred to, is on the contrary noticeable, though it is never so -successful even if it be more eager than in the first instance. How -far this dissimulation is <i>agreeable</i> at times, and why it must please -everybody to see how modern men at least endeavour to dissemble, every -one is in a position to judge, according to, the extent to which he -himself may happen to be modern. "Only galley slaves know each other," -says Tasso, "and if we <i>mistake</i> others, it is only out of courtesy, and -with the hope that they, in their turn, should mistake us."</p> - -<p>Now, in this world of forms and intentional misunderstandings, what -purpose is served by the appearance of souls overflowing with music? -They pursue the course of grand and unrestrained rhythm with noble -candour—with a passion more than personal; they glow with the mighty -and peaceful fire of music, which wells up to the light of day from -their unexhausted depths—and all this to what purpose?</p> - -<p>By means of these souls music gives expression to the longing that it -feels for the company of its <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>naturally, <i>gymnastics</i>—that is to say, -its necessary form in the order of visible phenomena. In its search -and craving for this ally, it becomes the arbiter of the whole visible -world and the world of mere lying appearance of the present day. This -is Wagner's second answer to the question, What is the meaning of -music in our times? "Help me," he cries to all who have ears to hear, -"help me to discover that culture of which my music, as the -rediscovered language of correct feeling, seems to foretell the -existence. Bear in mind that the soul of music now wishes to acquire a -body, that, by means of you all, it would find its way to visibleness -in movements, deeds, institutions, and customs!" There are some men -who understand this summons, and their number will increase; they have -also understood, for the first time, what it means to found the State -upon music. It is something that the ancient Hellenes not only -understood but actually insisted upon; and these enlightened creatures -would just as soon have sentenced the modern State to death as modern -men now condemn the Church. The road to such a new though not -unprecedented goal would lead to this: that we should be compelled to -acknowledge where the worst faults of our educational system lie, and -why it has failed hitherto to elevate us out of barbarity: in reality, -it lacks the stirring and creative soul of music; its requirements and -arrangements are moreover the product of a period in which the music, -to which We seem to attach so much importance, had not yet been born. -Our education is the most antiquated factor of our present conditions, -and it is so <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>more precisely in regard to the one new educational force -by which it makes men of to-day in advance of those of bygone -centuries, or by which it would make them in advance of their remote -ancestors, provided only they did not persist so rashly in hurrying -forward in meek response to the scourge of the moment. Through not -having allowed the soul of music to lodge within them, they have no -notion of gymnastics in the Greek and Wagnerian sense; and that is why -their creative artists are condemned to despair, as long as they wish -to dispense with music as a guide in a new world of visible phenomena. -Talent may develop as much as may be desired: it either comes too late -or too soon, and at all events out of season; for it is in the main -superfluous and abortive, just as even the most perfect and the -highest products of earlier times which serve modern artists as models -are superfluous and abortive, and add not a stone to the edifice -already begun. If their innermost consciousness can perceive no new -forms, but only the old ones belonging to the past, they may certainly -achieve something for history, but not for life; for they are already -dead before having expired. He, however, who feels genuine and -fruitful life in him, which at present can only be described by the -one term "Music," could he allow himself to be deceived for one moment -into nursing solid hopes by this something which exhausts all its -energy in producing figures, forms, and styles? He stands above all -such vanities, and as little expects to meet with artistic wonders -outside his ideal world of sound as with great writers bred on our -effete and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>discoloured language. Rather than lend an ear to illusive -consolations, he prefers to turn his unsatisfied gaze stoically upon -our modern world, and if his heart be not warm enough to feel pity, -let it at least feel bitterness and hate! It were better for him to -show anger and scorn than to take cover in spurious contentment or -steadily to drug himself, as our "friends of art" are wont to do. But -if he can do more than condemn and despise, if he is capable of -loving, sympathising, and assisting in the general work of -construction, he must still condemn, notwithstanding, in order to -prepare the road for his willing soul. In order that music may one day -exhort many men to greater piety and make them privy to her highest -aims, an end must first be made to the whole of the pleasure-seeking -relations which men now enjoy with such a sacred art. Behind all our -artistic pastimes—theatres, museums, concerts, and the like—that -aforementioned "friend of art" is to be found, and he it is who must -be suppressed: the favour he now finds at the hands of the State must -be changed into oppression; public opinion, which lays such particular -stress upon the training of this love of art, must be routed by better -judgment. Meanwhile we must reckon the <i>declared enemy of art</i> as our -best and most useful ally; for the object of his animosity is -precisely art as understood by the "friend of art,"—he knows of no -other kind! Let him be allowed to call our "friend of art" to account -for the nonsensical waste of money occasioned by the building of his -theatres and public monuments, the engagement of his celebrated -singers and actors, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>and the support of his utterly useless schools of -art and picture-galleries—to say nothing of all the energy, time, and -money which every family squanders in pretended "artistic interests." -Neither hunger nor satiety is to be noticed here, but a dead-and-alive -game is played—with the semblance of each, a game invented by the -idle desire to produce an effect and to deceive others. Or, worse -still, art is taken more or less seriously, and then it is itself -expected to provoke a kind of hunger and craving, and to fulfil its -mission in this artificially induced excitement. It is as if people -were afraid of sinking beneath the weight of their loathing and -dulness, and invoked every conceivable evil spirit to scare them and -drive them about like wild cattle. Men hanker after pain, anger, hate, -the flush of passion, sudden flight, and breathless suspense, and they -appeal to the artist as the conjurer of this demoniacal host. In the -spiritual economy of our cultured classes art has become a spurious or -ignominious and undignified need—a nonentity or a something evil. The -superior and more uncommon artist must be in the throes of a -bewildering nightmare in order to be blind to all this, and like a -ghost, diffidently and in a quavering voice, he goes on repeating -beautiful words which he declares descend to him from higher spheres, -but whose sound he can hear only very indistinctly. The artist who -happens to be moulded according to the modern pattern, however, -regards the dreamy gropings and hesitating speech of his nobler -colleague with contempt, and leads forth the whole brawling mob of -assembled passions on a leash in order to let them <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span>loose upon modern -men as he may think fit. For these modern creatures wish rather to be -hunted down, wounded, and torn to shreds, than to live alone with -themselves in solitary calm. Alone with oneself!—this thought -terrifies the modern soul; it is his one anxiety, his one ghastly -fear.</p> - -<p>When I watch the throngs that move and linger about the streets of a -very populous town, and notice no other expression in their faces than -one of hunted stupor, I can never help commenting to myself upon the -misery of their condition. For them all, art exists only that they may -be still more wretched, torpid, insensible, or even more flurried and -covetous. For <i>incorrect feeling</i> governs and drills them unremittingly, -and does not even give them time to become aware of their misery. -Should they wish to speak, convention whispers their cue to them, and -this makes them forget what they originally intended to say; should -they desire to understand one another, their comprehension is maimed -as though by a spell: they declare that to be their joy which in -reality is but their doom, and they proceed to collaborate in wilfully -bringing about their own damnation. Thus they have become transformed -into perfectly and absolutely different creatures, and reduced to the -state of abject slaves of incorrect feeling.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p> -<h4>VI.</h4> - - -<p>I shall only give two instances showing how utterly the sentiment of -our time has been perverted, and how completely unconscious the -present age is of this perversion. Formerly financiers were looked -down upon with honest scorn, even though they were recognised as -needful; for it was generally admitted that every society must have -its viscera. Now, however, they are the ruling power in the soul of -modern humanity, for they constitute the most covetous portion -thereof. In former times people were warned especially against taking -the day or the moment too seriously: the <i>nil admirari</i> was recommended -and the care of things eternal. Now there is but one kind of -seriousness left in the modern mind, and it is limited to the news -brought by the newspaper and the telegraph. Improve each shining hour, -turn it to some account and judge it as quickly as possible!—one -would think modern men had but one virtue left—presence of mind. -Unfortunately, it much more closely resembles the omnipresence of -disgusting and insatiable cupidity, and spying inquisitiveness become -universal. For the question is whether <i>mind is present at all -to-day</i>;—but we shall leave this problem for future judges to solve; -they, at least, are bound to pass modern men through a sieve. But that -this age is vulgar, even we can see now, and it is so because it -reveres precisely what nobler ages contemned. If, therefore, it loots -all the treasures of bygone wit and wisdom, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>struts about in this -richest of rich garments, it only proves its sinister consciousness of -its own vulgarity in so doing; for it does not don this garb for -warmth, but merely in order to mystify its surroundings. The desire to -dissemble and to conceal himself seems stronger than the need of -protection from the cold in modern man. Thus scholars and philosophers -of the age do not have recourse to Indian and Greek wisdom in order to -become wise and peaceful: the only purpose of their work seems to be -to earn them a fictitious reputation for learning in their own time. -The naturalists endeavour to classify the animal outbreaks of -violence, ruse and revenge, in the present relations between nations -and individual men, as immutable laws of nature. Historians are -anxiously engaged in proving that every age has its own particular -right and special conditions,—with the view of preparing the -groundwork of an apology for the day that is to come, when our -generation will be called to judgment. The science of government, of -race, of commerce, and of jurisprudence, all have that <i>preparatorily -apologetic</i> character now; yea, it even seems as though the small -amount of intellect which still remains active to-day, and is not used -up by the great mechanism of gain and power, has as its sole task the -defending—and excusing of the present</p> - -<p>Against what accusers? one asks, surprised.</p> - -<p>Against its own bad conscience.</p> - -<p>And at this point we plainly discern the task assigned to modern -art—that of stupefying or intoxicating, of lulling to sleep or -bewildering. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span>By hook or by crook to make conscience unconscious! To -assist the modern soul over the sensation of guilt, not to lead it -back to innocence! And this for the space of moments only! To defend -men against themselves, that their inmost heart may be silenced, that -they may turn a deaf ear to its voice! The souls of those few who -really feel the utter ignominy of this mission and its terrible -humiliation of art, must be filled to the brim with sorrow and pity, -but also with a new and overpowering yearning. He who would fain -emancipate art, and reinstall its sanctity, now desecrated, must first -have freed himself from all contact with modern souls; only as an -innocent being himself can he hope to discover the innocence of art, -for he must be ready to perform the stupendous tasks of -self-purification and self-consecration. If he succeeded, if he were -ever able to address men from out his enfranchised soul and by means -of his emancipated art, he would then find himself exposed to the -greatest of dangers and involved in the most appalling of struggles. -Man would prefer to tear him and his art to pieces, rather than -acknowledge that he must die of shame in presence of them. It is just -possible that the emancipation of art is the only ray of hope -illuminating the future, an event intended only for a few isolated -souls, while the many remain satisfied to gaze into the flickering and -smoking flame of their art and can endure to do so. For they do not -<i>want</i> to be enlightened, but dazzled. They rather <i>hate</i> light—more -particularly when it is thrown on themselves.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> -That is why they evade the new messenger of light; but he follows -them—the love which gave him birth compels him to follow them and to -reduce them to submission. "Ye must go through my mysteries," he cries -to them; "ye need to be purified and shaken by them. Dare to submit to -this for your own salvation, and abandon the gloomily lighted corner -of life and nature which alone seems familiar to you. I lead you into -a kingdom which is also real, and when I lead you out of my cell into -your daylight, ye will be able to judge which life is more real, -which, in fact, is day and which night. Nature is much richer, more -powerful, more blessed and more terrible below the surface; ye cannot -divine this from the way in which ye live. O that ye yourselves could -learn to become natural again, and then suffer yourselves to be -transformed through nature, and into her, by the charm of my ardour -and love!"</p> - -<p>It is the voice <i>of Wagner's art</i> which thus appeals to men. And that -we, the children of a wretched age, should be the first to hear it, -shows how deserving of pity this age must be: it shows, moreover, that -real music is of a piece with fate and primitive law; for it is quite -impossible to attribute its presence amongst us precisely at the -present time to empty and meaningless chance. Had Wagner been an -accident, he would certainly have been crushed by the superior -strength of the other elements in the midst of which he was placed, -out in the coming of Wagner there seems to have been a necessity which -both justifies it and makes <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>it glorious. Observed from its earliest -beginnings, the development of his art constitutes a most magnificent -spectacle, and—even though it was attended with great -suffering—reason, law, and intention mark its course throughout. -Under the charm of such a spectacle the observer will be led to take -pleasure even in this painful development itself, and will regard it -as fortunate. He will see how everything necessarily contributes to -the welfare and benefit of talent and a nature foreordained, however -severe the trials may be through which it may have to pass. He will -realise how every danger gives it more heart, and every triumph more -prudence; how it partakes of poison and sorrow and thrives upon them. -The mockery and perversity of the surrounding world only goad and spur -it on the more. Should it happen to go astray, it but returns from its -wanderings and exile loaded with the most precious spoil; should it -chance to slumber, "it does but recoup its strength." It tempers the -body itself and makes it tougher; it does not consume life, however -long it lives; it rules over man like a pinioned passion, and allows -him to fly just in the nick of time, when his foot has grown weary in -the sand or has been lacerated by the stones on his way. It can do -nought else but impart; every one must share in its work, and it is no -stinted giver. When it is repulsed it is but more prodigal in its -gifts; ill used by those it favours, it does but reward them with the -richest treasures it possesses,—and, according to the oldest and most -recent experience, its favoured ones have never been quite worthy of -its <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>gifts. That is why the nature foreordained, through which music -expresses itself to this world of appearance, is one of the most -mysterious things under the sun—an abyss in which strength and -goodness lie united, a bridge between self and non-self. Who would -undertake to name the object of its existence with any -certainty?—even supposing the sort of purpose which it would be -likely to have could be divined at all. But a most blessed foreboding -leads one to ask whether it is possible for the grandest things to -exist for the purpose of the meanest, the greatest talent for the -benefit of the smallest, the loftiest virtue and holiness for the sake -of the defective and faulty? Should real music make itself heard, -because mankind of all creatures <i>least deserves to hear it, though it -perhaps need it most</i>? If one ponder over the transcendental and -wonderful character of this possibility, and turn from these -considerations to look back on life, a light will then be seen to -ascend, however dark and misty it may have seemed a moment before.</p> - - - -<h4>VII.</h4> - - -<p>It is quite impossible otherwise: the observer who is confronted with -a nature such as Wagner's must, willy-nilly, turn his eyes from time -to time upon himself, upon his insignificance and frailty, and ask -himself, What concern is this of thine? Why, pray, art thou there at -all? Maybe he will find no answer to these questions, in which case he -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span>will remain estranged and confounded, face to face with his own -personality. Let it then suffice him that he has experienced this -feeling; let the fact <i>that he has felt strange and embarrassed in the -presence of his own soul</i> be the answer to his question For it is -precisely by virtue of this feeling that he shows the most powerful -manifestation of life in Wagner—the very kernel of his strength—that -demoniacal <i>magnetism</i> and gift of imparting oneself to others, which is -peculiar to his nature, and by which it not only conveys itself to -other beings, but also absorbs other beings into itself; thus -attaining to its greatness by giving and by taking. As the observer is -apparently subject to Wagner's exuberant and prodigally generous -nature, he partakes of its strength, and thereby becomes formidable -<i>through him and to him</i>. And every one who critically examines himself -knows that a certain mysterious antagonism is necessary to the process -of mutual study. Should his art lead us to experience all that falls -to the lot of a soul engaged upon a journey, <i>i.e.</i> feeling sympathy -with others and sharing their fate, and seeing the world through -hundreds of different eyes, we are then able, from such a distance, -and under such strange influences, to contemplate him, once we have -lived his life. We then feel with the utmost certainty that in Wagner -the whole visible world desires to be spiritualised, absorbed, and -lost in the world of sounds. In Wagner, too, the world of sounds seeks -to manifest itself as a phenomenon for the sight; it seeks, as it -were, to incarnate itself. His art always leads him into two distinct -directions, from <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>the world of the play of sound to the mysterious and -yet related world of visible things, and <i>vice versâ</i>. He is continually -forced—and the observer with him—to re-translate the visible into -spiritual and primeval life, and likewise to perceive the most hidden -interstices of the soul as something concrete and to lend it a visible -body. This constitutes the nature of the <i>dithyrambic dramatist</i>, if the -meaning given to the term includes also the actor, the poet, and the -musician; a conception necessarily borrowed from Æschylus and the -contemporary Greek artists—the only perfect examples of the -dithyrambic dramatist before Wagner. If attempts have been made to -trace the most wonderful developments to inner obstacles or -deficiencies, if, for instance, in Goethe's case, poetry was merely -the refuge of a foiled talent for painting; if one may speak of -Schiller's dramas as of vulgar eloquence directed into uncommon -channels; if Wagner himself tries to account for the development of -music among the Germans by showing that, inasmuch as they are devoid -of the entrancing stimulus of a natural gift for singing, they were -compelled to take up instrumental music with the same profound -seriousness as that with which their reformers took up -Christianity,—if, on the same principle, it were sought to associate -Wagner's development with an inner barrier of the same kind, it would -then be necessary to recognise in him a primitive dramatic talent, -which had to renounce all possibility of satisfying its needs by the -quickest and most methods, and which found its salvation and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>its means -of expression in drawing all arts to it for one great dramatic -display. But then one would also have to assume that the most powerful -musician, owing to his despair at having to appeal to people who were -either only semi-musical or not musical at all, violently opened a -road for himself to the other arts, in order to acquire that capacity -for diversely communicating himself to others, by which he compelled -them to understand him, by which he compelled the masses to understand -him. However the development of the born dramatist may be pictured, in -his ultimate expression he is a being free from all inner barriers and -voids: the real, emancipated artist cannot help himself, he must think -in the spirit of all the arts at once, as the mediator and intercessor -between apparently separated spheres, the one who reinstalls the unity -and wholeness of the artistic faculty, which cannot be divined or -reasoned out, but can only be revealed by deeds themselves. But he in -whose presence this deed is performed will be overcome by its gruesome -and seductive charm: in a flash he will be confronted with a power -which cancels both resistance and reason, and makes every detail of -life appear irrational and incomprehensible. Carried away from -himself, he seems to be suspended in a mysterious fiery element; he -ceases to understand himself, the standard of everything has fallen -from his hands; everything stereotyped and fixed begins to totter; -every object seems to acquire a strange colour and to tell us its tale -by means of new symbols;—one would need to be a Plato in order to -discover, amid this confusion of delight <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>and fear, how he accomplishes -the feat, and to say to the dramatist: "Should a man come into our -midst who possessed sufficient knowledge to simulate or imitate -anything, we would honour him as something wonderful and holy; we -would even anoint him and adorn his brow with a sacred diadem; but we -would urge him to leave our circle for another, notwithstanding." It -may be that a member of the Platonic community would have been able to -chasten himself to such conduct: we, however, who live in a very -different community, long for, and earnestly desire, the charmer to -come to us, although we may fear him already,—and we only desire his -presence in order that our society and the mischievous reason and -might of which it is the incarnation may be confuted. A state of human -civilisation, of human society, morality, order, and general -organisation which would be able to dispense with the services of an -imitative artist or mimic, is not perhaps so utterly inconceivable; -but this Perhaps is probably the most daring that has ever been -posited, and is equivalent to the gravest expression of doubt. The -only man who ought to be at liberty to speak of such a possibility is -he who could beget, and have the presentiment of, the highest phase of -all that is to come, and who then, like Faust, would either be obliged -to turn blind, or be permitted to become so. For we have no right to -this blindness; whereas Plato, after he had cast that one glance into -the ideal Hellenic, had the right to be blind to all Hellenism. For -this reason, we others are in much greater need of art; because it was -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> -<i>in the presence of the realistic that our eyes began to see</i>, and we -require the complete dramatist in order that he may relieve us, if -only for an hour or so, of the insufferable tension arising from our -knowledge of the chasm which lies between our capabilities and the -duties we have to perform. With him we ascend to the highest pinnacle -of feeling, and only then do we fancy we have returned to nature's -unbounded freedom, to the actual realm of liberty. From this point of -vantage we can see ourselves and our fellows emerge as something -sublime from an immense mirage, and we see the deep meaning in our -struggles, in our victories and defeats; we begin to find pleasure in -the rhythm of passion and in its victim in the hero's every footfall -we distinguish the hollow echo of death, and in its proximity we -realise the greatest charm of life: thus transformed into tragic men, -we return again to life with comfort in our souls. We are conscious of -a new feeling of security, as if we had found a road leading out of -the greatest dangers, excesses, and ecstasies, back to the limited and -the familiar: there where our relations with our fellows seem to -partake of a superior benevolence, and are at all events more noble -than they were. For here, everything seemingly serious and needful, -which appears to lead to a definite goal, resembles only detached -fragments when compared with the path we ourselves have trodden, even -in our dreams,—detached fragments of that complete and grand -experience whereof we cannot even think without a thrill. Yes, we -shall even fall into danger and be tempted to take life too easily, -simply because <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>in art we were in such deadly earnest concerning it, as -Wagner says somewhere anent certain incidents in his own life. For if -we who are but the spectators and not the creators of this display of -dithyrambic dramatic art, can almost imagine a dream to be more real -than the actual experiences of our wakeful hours, how much more keenly -must the creator realise this contrast! There he stands amid all the -clamorous appeals and importunities of the day, and of the necessities -of life; in the midst of Society and State—and as what does he stand -there? Maybe he is the only wakeful one, the only being really and -truly conscious, among a host of confused and tormented sleepers, -among a multitude of deluded and suffering people. He may even feel -like a victim of chronic insomnia, and fancy himself obliged to bring -his clear, sleepless, and conscious life into touch with somnambulists -and ghostly well-intentioned creatures. Thus everything that others -regard as commonplace strikes him as weird, and he is tempted to meet -the whole phenomenon with haughty mockery. But how peculiarly this -feeling is crossed, when another force happens to join his quivering -pride, the craving of the heights for the depths, the affectionate -yearning for earth, for happiness and for fellowship—then, when he -thinks of all he misses as a hermit-creator, he feels as though he -ought to descend to the earth like a god, and bear all that is weak, -human, and lost, "in fiery arms up to heaven," so as to obtain love -and no longer worship only, and to be able to lose himself completely -in his love. But it is just this <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>contradiction which is the miraculous -fact in the soul of the dithyrambic dramatist, and if his nature can -be understood at all, surely it must be here. For his creative moments -in art occur when the antagonism between his feelings is at its height -and when his proud astonishment and wonder at the world combine with -the ardent desire to approach that same world as a lover. The glances -he then bends towards the earth are always rays of sunlight which -"draw up water," form mist, and gather storm-clouds. <i>Clear-sighted and -prudent, loving and unselfish</i> at the same time, his glance is -projected downwards; and all things that are illumined by this double -ray of light, nature conjures to discharge their strength, to reveal -their most hidden secret, and this through bashfulness. It is more -than a mere figure of speech to say that he surprised Nature with that -glance, that he caught her naked; that is why she would conceal her -shame by seeming precisely the reverse. What has hitherto been -invisible, the inner life, seeks its salvation in the region of the -visible; what has hitherto been only visible, repairs to the dark -ocean of sound: <i>thus Nature, in trying to conceal herself, unveils the -character of her contradictions</i>. In a dance, wild, rhythmic and -gliding, and with ecstatic movements, the born dramatist makes known -something of what is going on within him, of what is taking place in -nature: the dithyrambic quality of his movements speaks just as -eloquently of quivering comprehension and of powerful penetration as -of the approach of love and self-renunciation. Intoxicated speech -follows the course of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>this rhythm; melody resounds coupled with -speech, and in its turn melody projects its sparks into the realm of -images and ideas. A dream-apparition, like and unlike the image of -Nature and her wooer, hovers forward; it condenses into more human -shapes; it spreads out in response to its heroically triumphant will, -and to a most delicious collapse and cessation of will:—thus tragedy -is born; thus life is presented with its grandest knowledge—that of -tragic thought; thus, at last, the greatest charmer and benefactor -among mortals—the dithyrambic dramatist—is evolved.</p> - - - -<h4>VIII.</h4> - - -<p>Wagner's actual life—that is to say, the gradual evolution of the -dithyrambic dramatist in him—was at the same time an uninterrupted -struggle with himself, a struggle which never ceased until his -evolution was complete. His fight with the opposing world was grim and -ghastly, only because it was this same world—this alluring -enemy—which he heard speaking out of his own heart, and because he -nourished a violent demon in his breast—the demon of resistance. When -the ruling idea of his life gained ascendancy over his mind—the idea -that drama is, of all arts, the one that can exercise the greatest -amount of influence over the world—it aroused the most active -emotions in his whole being. It gave him no very clear or luminous -decision, at first, as to what was to be done and desired in the -future; <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>for the idea then appeared merely as a form of -temptation—that is to say, as the expression of his gloomy, selfish, -and insatiable will, eager for <i>power and glory</i>. Influence—the -greatest amount of influence—how? over whom?—these were henceforward -the questions and problems which did not cease to engage his head and -his heart. He wished to conquer and triumph as no other artist had -ever done before, and, if possible, to reach that height of tyrannical -omnipotence at one stroke for which all his instincts secretly craved. -With a jealous and cautious eye, he took stock of everything -successful, and examined with special care all that upon which this -influence might be brought to bear. With the magic sight of the -dramatist, which scans souls as easily as the most familiar book, he -scrutinised the nature of the spectator and the listener, and although -he was often perturbed by the discoveries he made, he very quickly -found means wherewith he could enthral them. These means were ever -within his reach: everything that moved him deeply he desired and -could also produce; at every stage in his career he understood just as -much of his predecessors as he himself was able to create, and he -never doubted that he would be able to do what they had done. In this -respect his nature is perhaps more presumptuous even than Goethe's, -despite the fact that the latter said of himself: "I always thought I -had mastered everything; and even had I been crowned king, I should -have regarded the honour as thoroughly deserved." Wagner's ability, -his taste and his aspirations—all of which have <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>ever been as closely -related as key to lock—grew and attained to freedom together; but -there was a time when it was not so. What did he care about the feeble -but noble and egotistically lonely feeling which that friend of art -fosters, who, blessed with a literary and æsthetic education, takes -his stand far from the common mob! But those violent spiritual -tempests which are created by the crowd when under the influence of -certain climactic passages of dramatic song, that sudden bewildering -ecstasy of the emotions, thoroughly honest and selfless—they were but -echoes of his own experiences and sensations, and filled him with -glowing hope for the greatest possible power and effect. Thus he -recognised <i>grand opera</i> as the means whereby he might express his -ruling thoughts; towards it his passions impelled him; his eyes turned -in the direction of its home. The larger portion of his life, his most -daring wanderings, and his plans, studies, sojourns, and acquaintances -are only to be explained by an appeal to these passions and the -opposition of the outside world, which the poor, restless, -passionately ingenuous German artist had to face. Another artist than -he knew better how to become master of this calling, and now that it -has gradually become known by means of what ingenious artifices of all -kinds Meyerbeer succeeded in preparing and achieving every one of his -great successes, and how scrupulously the sequence of "effects" was -taken into account in the opera itself, people will begin to -understand how bitterly Wagner was mortified when his eyes were opened -to the tricks of the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span><i>métier</i> which were indispensable to a great public -success. I doubt whether there has ever been another great artist in -history who began his career with such extraordinary illusions and who -so unsuspectingly and sincerely fell in with the most revolting form -of artistic trickery. And yet the way in which he proceeded partook of -greatness and was therefore extraordinarily fruitful. For when he -perceived his error, despair made him understand the meaning of modern -success, of the modern public, and the whole prevaricating spirit of -modern art. And while becoming the critic of "effect," indications of -his own purification began to quiver through him. It seems as if from -that time forward the spirit of music spoke to him with an -unprecedented spiritual charm. As though he had just risen from a long -illness and had for the first time gone into the open, he scarcely -trusted his hand and his eye, and seemed to grope along his way. Thus -it was an almost delightful surprise to him to find that he was still -a musician and an artist, and perhaps then only for the first time.</p> - -<p>Every subsequent stage in Wagner's development may be distinguished -thus, that the two fundamental powers of his nature drew ever more -closely together: the aversion of the one to the other lessened, the -higher self no longer condescended to serve its more violent and baser -brother; it loved him and felt compelled to serve him. The tenderest -and purest thing is ultimately—that is to say, at the highest stage -of its evolution—always associated with the mightiest; the storming -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>instincts pursue their course as before, but along different roads, in -the direction of the higher self; and this in its turn descends to -earth and finds its likeness in everything earthly. If it were -possible, on this principle, to speak of the final aims and -unravelments of that evolution, and to remain intelligible, it might -also be possible to discover the graphic terms with which to describe -the long interval preceding that last development; but I doubt whether -the first achievement is possible at all, and do not therefore attempt -the second. The limits of the interval separating the preceding and -the subsequent ages will be described historically in two sentences: -Wagner was the <i>revolutionist of society</i>; Wagner recognised the only -artistic element that ever existed hitherto—<i>the poetry of the people</i>. -The ruling idea which in a new form and mightier than it had ever -been, obsessed Wagner, after he had overcome his share of despair and -repentance, led him to both conclusions. Influence, the greatest -possible amount of influence to be exercised by means of the stage! -—but over whom? He shuddered when he thought of those whom he had, -until then, sought to influence. His experience led him to realise the -utterly ignoble position which art and the artist adorn; how a callous -and hard-hearted community that calls itself the good, but which is -really the evil, reckons art and the artist among its slavish retinue, -and keeps them both in order to minister to its need of deception. -Modern art is a luxury; he saw this, and understood that it must stand -or fall with the luxurious society of which it forms <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>but a part. This -society had but one idea, to use its power as hard-heartedly and as -craftily as possible in order to render the impotent—the people—ever -more and more serviceable, base and unpopular, and to rear the modern -workman out of them. It also robbed them of the greatest and purest -things which their deepest needs led them to create, and through which -they meekly expressed the genuine and unique art within their soul: -their myths, songs, dances, and their discoveries in the department of -language, in order to distil therefrom a voluptuous antidote against -the fatigue and boredom of its existence—modern art. How this -society came into being, how it learned to draw new strength for -itself from the seemingly antagonistic spheres of power, and how, for -instance, decaying Christianity allowed itself to be used, under the -cover of half measures and subterfuges, as a shield against the masses -and as a support of this society and its possessions, and finally how -science and men of learning pliantly consented to become its -drudges—all this Wagner traced through the ages, only to be convulsed -with loathing at the end of his researches. Through his compassion for -the people, he became a revolutionist. From that time forward he loved -them and longed for them, as he longed for his art; for, alas! in them -alone, in this fast disappearing, scarcely recognisable body, -artificially held aloof, he now saw the only spectators and listeners -worthy and fit for the power of his masterpieces, as he pictured them. -Thus his thoughts concentrated themselves upon the question, How do -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>the people come into being? How are they resuscitated?</p> - -<p>He always found but one answer: if a large number of people were -afflicted with the sorrow that afflicted him, that number would -constitute the people, he said to himself. And where the same sorrow -leads to the same impulses and desires, similar satisfaction would -necessarily be sought, and the same pleasure found in this -satisfaction. If he inquired into what it was that most consoled him -and revived his spirits in his sorrow, what it was that succeeded best -in counteracting his affliction, it was with joyful certainty that he -discovered this force only in music and myth, the latter of which he -had already recognised as the people's creation and their language of -distress. It seemed to him that the origin of music must be similar, -though perhaps more mysterious. In both of these elements he steeped -and healed his soul; they constituted his most urgent need:—in this -way he was able to ascertain how like his sorrow was to that of the -people, when they came into being, and how they must arise anew if -<i>many Wagners</i> are going to appear. What part did myth and music play in -modern society, wherever they had not been actually sacrificed to it? -They shared very much the same fate, a fact which only tends to prove -their close relationship: myth had been sadly debased and usurped by -idle tales and stories; completely divested of its earnest and sacred -virility, it was transformed into the plaything and pleasing bauble of -children and women of the afflicted people. Music had kept <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span>itself -alive among the poor, the simple, and the isolated; the German -musician had not succeeded in adapting himself to the luxurious -traffic of the arts; he himself had become a fairy tale full Of -monsters and mysteries, full of the most touching omens and -auguries—a helpless questioner, something bewitched and in need of -rescue. Here the artist distinctly heard the command that concerned -him alone—to recast myth and make it virile, to break the spell lying -over music and to make music speak: he felt his strength for drama -liberated at one stroke, and the foundation of his sway established -over the hitherto undiscovered province lying between myth and music. -His new masterpiece, which included all the most powerful, effective, -and entrancing forces that he knew, he now laid before men with this -great and painfully cutting question: "Where are ye all who suffer and -think as I do? Where is that number of souls that I wish to see become -a people, that ye may share the same joys and comforts with me? In -your joy ye will reveal your misery to me." These were his questions -in Tannhäuser and Lohengrin, in these operas he looked about him for -his equals—the anchorite yearned for the number.</p> - -<p>But what were his feelings withal? Nobody answered him. Nobody had -understood his question. Not that everybody remained silent: on the -contrary, answers were given to thousands of questions which he had -never put; people gossipped about the new masterpieces as though they -had only been composed for the express purpose of supplying subjects -for conversation. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>The whole mania of æsthetic scribbling and small -talk overtook the Germans like a pestilence, and with that lack of -modesty which characterises both German scholars and German -journalists, people began measuring, and generally meddling with, -these masterpieces, as well as with the person of the artist. Wagner -tried to help the comprehension of his question by writing about it; -but this only led to fresh confusion and more uproar,—for a musician -who writes and thinks was, at that time, a thing unknown. The cry -arose: "He is a theorist who wishes to remould art with his -far-fetched notions—stone him!" Wagner was stunned: his question was -not understood, his need not felt; his masterpieces seemed a message -addressed only to the deaf and blind; his people—an hallucination. -He staggered and vacillated. The feasibility of a complete upheaval of -all things then suggested itself to him, and he no longer shrank from -the thought: possibly, beyond this revolution and dissolution, there -might be a chance of a new hope; on the other hand, there might not. -But, in any case, would not complete annihilation be better than the -wretched existing state of affairs? Not very long afterwards, he was a -political exile in dire distress.</p> - -<p>And then only, with this terrible change in his environment and in his -soul, there begins that period of the great man's life over which as a -golden reflection there is stretched the splendour of highest mastery. -Now at last the genius of dithyrambic drama doffs its last disguise. -He is isolated; the age seems empty to him; he ceases <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>to hope; and his -all-embracing glance descend once more into the deep, and finds the -bottom, there he sees suffering in the nature of things, and -henceforward, having become more impersonal, he accepts his portion of -sorrow more calmly. The desire for great power which was but the -inheritance of earlier conditions is now directed wholly into the -channel of creative art; through his art he now speaks only to -himself, and no longer to a public or to a people, and strives to lend -this intimate conversation all the distinction and other qualities in -keeping with such a mighty dialogue. During the preceding period -things had been different with his art; then he had concerned himself, -too, albeit with refinement and subtlety, with immediate effects: that -artistic production was also meant as a question, and it ought to have -called forth an immediate reply. And how often did Wagner not try to -make his meaning clearer to those he questioned! In view of their -inexperience in having questions put to them, he tried to meet them -half way and to conform with older artistic notions and means of -expression. When he feared that arguments couched in his own terms -would only meet with failure, he had tried to persuade and to put his -question in a language half strange to himself though familiar to his -listeners. Now there was nothing to induce him to continue this -indulgence: all he desired now was to come to terms with himself, to -think of the nature of the world in dramatic actions, and to -philosophise in music; <i>what desires</i> he still possessed turned in the -direction of the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span><i>latest philosophical views</i>. He who is worthy of -knowing what took place in him at that time or what questions were -thrashed out in the darkest holy of holies in his soul—and not many -are worthy of knowing all this—must hear, observe, and experience -Tristan and Isolde, the real <i>opus metaphysicum</i> of all art, a work upon -which rests the broken look of a dying man with his insatiable and -sweet craving for the secrets of night and death, far away from life -which throws a horribly spectral morning light, sharply, upon all that -is evil, delusive, and sundering: moreover, a drama austere in the -severity of its form, overpowering in its simple grandeur, and in -harmony with the secret of which it treats—lying dead in the midst of -life, being one in two. And yet there is something still more -wonderful than this work, and that is the artist himself, the man who, -shortly after he had accomplished it, was able to create a picture of -life so full of clashing colours as the Meistersingers of Nürnberg, -and who in both of these compositions seems merely to have refreshed -and equipped himself for the task of completing at his ease that -gigantic edifice in four parts which he had long ago planned and -begun—the ultimate result of all his meditations and poetical flights -for over twenty years, his Bayreuth masterpiece, the Ring of the -Nibelung! He who marvels at the rapid succession of the two operas, -Tristan and the Meistersingers, has failed to understand one important -side of the life and nature of all great Germans: he does not know the -peculiar soil out of which that essentially German gaiety, which -characterised <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>Luther, Beethoven, and Wagner, can grow, the gaiety -which other nations quite fail to understand and which even seems to -be missing in the Germans of to-day—that clear golden and thoroughly -fermented mixture of simplicity, deeply discriminating love, -observation, and roguishness which Wagner has dispensed, as the most -precious of drinks, to all those who have suffered deeply through -life, but who nevertheless return to it with the smile of -convalescents. And, as he also turned upon the world the eyes of one -reconciled, he was more filled with rage and disgust than with sorrow, -and more prone to renounce the love of power than to shrink in awe -from it. As he thus silently furthered his greatest work and gradually -laid score upon score, something happened which caused him to stop and -listen: <i>friends</i> were coming, a kind of subterranean movement of many -souls approached with a message for him—it was still far from being -the people that constituted this movement and which wished to bear him -news, but it may have been the nucleus and first living source of a -really human community which would reach perfection in some age still -remote. For the present they only brought him the warrant that his -great work could be entrusted to the care and charge of faithful men, -men who would watch and be worthy to watch over this most magnificent -of all legacies to posterity. In the love of friends his outlook began -to glow with brighter colours; his noblest care—the care that his -work should be accomplished and should find a refuge before the -evening of his life—was not his only preoccupation. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>Then something -occurred which he could only understand as a symbol: it was as much as -a new comfort and a new token of happiness to him. A great German war -caused him to open his eyes, and he observed that those very Germans -whom he considered so thoroughly degenerate and so inferior to the -high standard of real Teutonism, of which he had formed an ideal both -from self-knowledge and the conscientious study of other great Germans -in history; he observed that those very Germans were, in the midst of -terrible circumstances, exhibiting two virtues of the highest -order—simple bravery and prudence; and with his heart bounding with -delight he conceived the hope that he might not be the last German, -and that some day a greater power would perhaps stand by his works -than that devoted yet meagre one consisting of his little band of -friends—a power able to guard it during that long period preceding -its future glory, as the masterpiece of this future. Perhaps it was -not possible to steel this belief permanently against doubt, more -particularly when it sought to rise to hopes of immediate results: -suffice it that he derived a tremendous spur from his environment, -which constantly reminded him of a lofty duty ever to be fulfilled.</p> - -<p>His work would not have been complete had he handed it to the world -only in the form of silent manuscript. He must make known to the world -what it could not guess in regard to his productions, what was his -alone to reveal—the new style for the execution and presentation of -his works, so that he might set that example which nobody else could -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>set, and thus establish a <i>tradition of style</i>, not on paper, not by -means of signs, but through impressions made upon the very souls of -men. This duty had become all the more pressing with him, seeing that -precisely in regard to the style of their execution his other works -had meanwhile succumbed to the most insufferable and absurd of fates: -they were famous and admired, yet no one manifested the slightest sign -of indignation when they were mishandled. For, strange to say, whereas -he renounced ever more and more the hope of success among his -contemporaries, owing to his all too thorough knowledge of them, and -disclaimed all desire for power, both "success" and "power" came to -him, or at least everybody told him so. It was in vain that he made -repeated attempts to expose, with the utmost clearness, how worthless -and humiliating such successes were to him: people were so unused to -seeing an artist able to differentiate at all between the effects of -his works that even his most solemn protests were never entirely -trusted. Once he had perceived the relationship existing between our -system of theatres and their success, and the men of his time, his -soul ceased to be attracted by the stage at all. He had no further -concern with æsthetic ecstasies and the exultation of excited crowds, -and he must even have felt angry to see his art being gulped down -indiscriminately by the yawning abyss of boredom and the insatiable -love of distraction. How flat and pointless every effect proved under -these circumstances—more especially as it was much more a case of -having to minister to one quite insatiable <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>than of cloying the hunger -of a starving man—Wagner began to perceive from the following -repeated experience: everybody, even the performers and promoters, -regarded his art as nothing more nor less than any other kind of -stage-music, and quite in keeping with the repulsive style of -traditional opera; thanks to the efforts of cultivated conductors, his -works were even cut and hacked about, until, after they had been -bereft of all their spirit, they were held to be nearer the -professional singer's plane. But when people tried to follow Wagner's -instructions to the letter, they proceeded so clumsily and timidly -that they were not incapable of representing the midnight riot in the -second act of the Meistersingers by a group of ballet-dancers. They -seemed to do all this, however, in perfectly good faith—without the -smallest evil intention. Wagner's devoted efforts to show, by means of -his own example, the correct and complete way of performing his works, -and his attempts at training individual singers in the new style, were -foiled time after time, owing only to the thoughtlessness and iron -tradition that ruled all around him. Moreover, he was always induced -to concern himself with that class of theatricals which he most -thoroughly loathed. Had not even Goethe, in his time, once grown tired -of attending the rehearsals of his Iphigenia? "I suffer unspeakably," -he explained, "when I have to tumble about with these spectres, which -never seem to act as they should." Meanwhile Wagner's "success" in the -kind of drama which he most disliked steadily increased; so much so, -indeed, that the largest <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>theatres began to subsist almost entirely -upon the receipts which Wagner's art, in the guise of operas, brought -into them. This growing passion on the part of the theatre-going -public bewildered even some of Wagner's friends; but this man who had -endured so much, had still to endure the bitterest pain of all—he had -to see his friends intoxicated with his "successes" and "triumphs" -everywhere where his highest ideal was openly belied and shattered. It -seemed almost as though a people otherwise earnest and reflecting had -decided to maintain an attitude of systematic levity only towards its -most serious artist, and to make him the privileged recipient of all -the vulgarity, thoughtlessness, clumsiness, and malice of which the -German nature is capable. When, therefore, during the German War, a -current of greater magnanimity and freedom seemed to run through every -one, Wagner remembered the duty to which he had pledged himself, -namely, to rescue his greatest work from those successes and affronts -which were so largely due to misunderstandings, and to present it in -his most personal rhythm as an example for all times. Thus he -conceived <i>the idea of Bayreuth</i>. In the wake of that current of better -feeling already referred to, he expected to notice an enhanced sense -of duty even among those with whom he wished to entrust his most -precious possession. Out of this two-fold duty, that event took shape -which, like a glow of strange sunlight, will illumine the few years -that lie behind and before us, and was designed to bless that distant -and problematic future which to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>our time and to the men of our time -can be little more than a riddle or a horror, but which to the few -who are allowed to assist in its realisation is a foretaste of coming -joy, a foretaste of love in a higher sphere, through which they know -themselves to be blessed, blessing and fruitful, far beyond their span -of years; and which to Wagner himself is but a cloud of distress, -care, meditation, and grief, a fresh passionate outbreak of -antagonistic elements, but all bathed in the starlight of <i>selfless -fidelity</i>, and changed by this light into indescribable joy.</p> - -<p>It scarcely need be said that it is the breath of tragedy that fills -the lungs of the world. And every one whose innermost soul has a -presentiment of this, every one unto whom the yoke of tragic deception -concerning the aim of life, the distortion and shattering of -intentions, renunciation and purification through love, are not -unknown things, must be conscious of a vague reminiscence of Wagner's -own heroic life, in the masterpieces with which the great man now -presents us. We shall feel as though Siegfried from some place far -away were relating his deeds to us: the most blissful of touching -recollections are always draped in the deep mourning of waning summer, -when all nature lies still in the sable twilight.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> -</p> -<h4>IX.</h4> - -<p>All those to whom the thought of Wagner's development as a man may -have caused pain will find it both restful and healing to reflect upon -what he was as an artist, and to observe how his ability and daring -attained to such a high degree of independence. If art mean only the -faculty of communicating to others what one has oneself experienced, -and if every work of art confutes itself which does not succeed in -making itself understood, then Wagner's greatness as an artist would -certainly lie in the almost demoniacal power of his nature to -communicate with others, to express itself in all languages at once, -and to make known its most intimate and personal experience with the -greatest amount of distinctness possible. His appearance in the -history of art resembles nothing so much as a volcanic eruption of the -united artistic faculties of Nature herself, after mankind had grown -to regard the practice of a special art as a necessary rule. It is -therefore a somewhat moot point whether he ought to be classified as a -poet, a painter, or a musician, even using each these words in its -widest sense, or whether a new word ought not to be invented in order -to describe him.</p> - -<p>Wagner's <i>poetic</i> ability is shown by his thinking in visible and actual -facts, and not in ideas; that is to say, he thinks mythically, as the -people have always done. No particular thought lies at the bottom of a -myth, as the children of an artificial <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>culture would have us believe; -but it is in itself a thought: it conveys an idea of the world, but -through the medium of a chain of events, actions, and pains. The Ring -of the Nibelung is a huge system of thought without the usual -abstractness of the latter. It were perhaps possible for a philosopher -to present us with its exact equivalent in pure thought, and to purge -it of all pictures drawn from life, and of all living actions, in -which case we should be in possession of the same thing portrayed in -two completely different forms—the one for the people, and the other -for the very reverse of the people; that is to say, men of theory. But -Wagner makes no appeal to this last class, for the man of theory can -know as little of poetry or myth as the deaf man can know of music; -both of them being conscious only of movements which seem meaningless -to them. It is impossible to appreciate either one of these completely -different forms from the standpoint of the other: as long as the -poet's spell is upon one, one thinks with him just as though one were -merely a feeling, seeing, and hearing creature; the conclusions thus -reached are merely the result of the association of the phenomena one -sees, and are therefore not logical but actual causalities.</p> - -<p>If, therefore, the heroes and gods of mythical dramas, as understood -by Wagner, were to express themselves plainly in words, there would be -a danger (inasmuch as the language of words might tend to awaken the -theoretical side in us) of our finding ourselves transported from the -world of myth to the world of ideas, and the result would <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>be not only -that we should fail to understand with greater ease, but that we -should probably not understand at all. Wagner thus forced language -back to a more primeval stage in its development a stage at which it -was almost free of the abstract element, and was still poetry, -imagery, and feeling; the fearlessness with which Wagner undertook -this formidable mission shows how imperatively he was led by the -spirit of poetry, as one who must follow whithersoever his phantom -leader may direct him. Every word in these dramas ought to allow of -being sung, and gods and heroes should make them their own—that was -the task which Wagner set his literary faculty. Any other person in -like circumstances would have given up all hope; for our language -seems almost too old and decrepit to allow of one's exacting what -Wagner exacted from it; and yet, when he smote the rock, he brought -forth an abundant flow. Precisely owing to the fact that he loved his -language and exacted a great deal from it, Wagner suffered more than -any other German through its decay and enfeeblement, from its manifold -losses and mutilations of form, from its unwieldy particles and clumsy -construction, and from its unmusical auxiliary verbs. All these are -things which have entered the language through sin and depravity. On -the other hand, he was exceedingly proud to record the number of -primitive and vigorous factors still extant in the current speech; and -in the tonic strength of its roots he recognised quite a wonderful -affinity and relation to real music, a quality which distinguished it -from the highly <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>evolved and artificially rhetorical Latin languages. -Wagner's poetry is eloquent of his affection for the German language, -and there is a heartiness and candour in his treatment of it which are -scarcely to be met with in any other German writer, save perhaps -Goethe. Forcibleness of diction, daring brevity, power and variety in -rhythm, a remarkable wealth of strong and striking words, simplicity -in construction, an almost unique inventive faculty in regard to -fluctuations of feeling and presentiment, and therewithal a perfectly -pure and overflowing stream of colloquialisms—these are the qualities -that have to be enumerated, and even then the greatest and most -wonderful of all is omitted. Whoever reads two such poems as Tristan -and the Meistersingers consecutively will be just as astonished and -doubtful in regard to the language as to the music; for he will wonder -how it could have been possible for a creative spirit to dominate so -perfectly two worlds as different in form, colour, and arrangement, as -in soul. This is the most wonderful achievement of Wagner's talent; -for the ability to give every work its own linguistic stamp and to -find a fresh body and a new sound for every thought is a task which -only the great master can successfully accomplish. Where this rarest -of all powers manifests itself, adverse criticism can be but petty and -fruitless which confines itself to attacks upon certain excesses and -eccentricities in the treatment, or upon the more frequent obscurities -of expression and ambiguity of thought. Moreover, what seemed to -electrify <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>and scandalise those who were most bitter in their criticism -was not so much the language as the spirit of the Wagnerian -operas—that is to say, his whole manner of feeling and suffering. It -were well to wait until these very critics have acquired another -spirit themselves; they will then also speak a different tongue, and, -by that time, it seems to me things will go better with the German -language than they do at present.</p> - -<p>In the first place, however, no one who studies Wagner the poet and -word-painter should forget that none of his dramas were meant to be -read, and that it would therefore be unjust to judge them from the -same standpoint as the spoken drama. The latter plays upon the -feelings by means of words and ideas, and in this respect it is under -the dominion of the laws of rhetoric. But in real life passion is -seldom eloquent: in spoken drama it perforce must be, in order to be -able to express itself at all. When, however, the language of a people -is already in a state of decay and deterioration, the word-dramatist -is tempted to impart an undue proportion of new colour and form both -to his medium and to his thoughts; he would elevate the language in -order to make it a vehicle capable of conveying lofty feelings, and by -so doing he runs the risk of becoming abstruse. By means of sublime -phrases and conceits he likewise tries to invest passion with some -nobility, and thereby runs yet another risk, that of appearing false -and artificial. For in real life passions do not speak in sentences, -and the poetical element often draws suspicion upon their genuineness -when it departs too palpably from reality. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>Now Wagner, who was the -first to detect the essential feeling in spoken drama, presents every -dramatic action threefold: in a word, in a gesture, and in a sound. -For, as a matter of fact, music succeeds in conveying the deepest -emotions of the dramatic performers direct to the spectators, and -while these see the evidence of the actors' states of soul in their -bearing and movements, a third though more feeble confirmation of -these states, translated into conscious will, quickly follows in the -form of the spoken word. All these effects fulfil their purpose -simultaneously, without disturbing one another in the least, and urge -the spectator to a completely new understanding and sympathy, just as -if his senses had suddenly grown more spiritual and his spirit more -sensual, and as if everything which seeks an outlet in him, and which -makes him thirst for knowledge, were free and joyful in exultant -perception. Because every essential factor in a Wagnerian drama is -conveyed to the spectator with the utmost clearness, illumined and -permeated throughout by music as by an internal flame, their author -can dispense with the expedients usually employed by the writer of the -spoken play in order to lend light and warmth to the action. The whole -of the dramatist's stock in trade could be more simple, and the -architect's sense of rhythm could once more dare to manifest itself in -the general proportions of the edifice; for there was no more need of -"the deliberate confusion and involved variety of styles, whereby the -ordinary playwright strove in the interests of his work to produce -that feeling of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>wonder and thrilling suspense which he ultimately -enhanced to one of delighted amazement. The impression of ideal -distance and height was no more to be induced by means of tricks and -artifices. Language withdrew itself from the length and breadth of -rhetoric into the strong confines of the speech of the feelings, and -although the actor spoke much less about all he did and felt in the -performance, his innermost sentiments, which the ordinary playwright -had hitherto ignored for fear of being undramatic, was now able to -drive the spectators to passionate sympathy, while the accompanying -language of gestures could be restricted to the most delicate -modulations. Now, when passions are rendered in song, they require -rather more time than when conveyed by speech; music prolongs, so to -speak, the duration of the feeling, from which it follows, as a rule, -that the actor who is also a singer must overcome the extremely -unplastic animation from which spoken drama suffers. He feels himself -incited all the more to a certain nobility of bearing, because music -envelopes his feelings in a purer atmosphere, and thus brings them -closer to beauty.</p> - -<p>The extraordinary tasks which Wagner set his actors and singers will -provoke rivalry between them for ages to come, in the personification -of each of his heroes with the greatest possible amount of clearness, -perfection, and fidelity, according to that perfect incorporation -already typified by the music of drama. Following this leader, the eye -of the plastic artist will ultimately behold the marvels of another -visible world, which, previous <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>to him, was seen for the first time -only by the creator of such works as the Ring of the Nibelung—that -creator of highest rank, who, like Æschylus, points the way to a -coming art. Must not jealousy awaken the greatest talent, if the -plastic artist ever compares the effect of his productions with that -of Wagnerian music, in which there is so much pure and sunny happiness -that he who hears it feels as though all previous music had been but -an alien, faltering, and constrained language; as though in the past -it had been but a thing to sport with in the presence of those who -were not deserving of serious treatment, or a thing with which to -train and instruct those who were not even deserving of play? In the -case of this earlier kind of music, the joy we always experience while -listening to Wagner's compositions is ours only for a short space of -time, and it would then seem as though it were overtaken by certain -rare moments of forgetfulness, during which it appears to be communing -with its inner self and directing its eyes upwards, like Raphael's -Cecilia, away from the listeners and from all those who demand -distraction, happiness, or instruction from it.</p> - -<p>In general it may be said of Wagner the Musician, that he endowed -everything in nature which hitherto had had no wish to speak with the -power of speech: he refuses to admit that anything must be dumb, and, -resorting to the dawn, the forest, the mist, the cliffs, the hills, -the thrill of night and the moonlight, he observes a desire common to -them all—they too wish to sing their own melody. If the philosopher -says it <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>is will that struggles for existence in animate and inanimate -nature, the musician adds: And this will wherever it manifests itself, -yearns for a melodious existence.</p> - -<p>Before Wagner's time, music for the most part moved in narrow limits: -it concerned itself with the permanent states of man, or with what the -Greeks call <i>ethos</i>. And only with Beethoven did it begin to find the -language of pathos, of passionate will, and of the dramatic -occurrences in the souls of men. Formerly, what people desired was to -interpret a mood, a stolid, merry, reverential, or penitential state -of mind, by means of music; the object was, by means of a certain -striking uniformity of treatment and the prolonged duration of this -uniformity, to compel the listener to grasp the meaning of the music -and to impose its mood upon him. To all such interpretations of mood -or atmosphere, distinct and particular forms of treatment were -necessary: others were established by convention. The question of -length was left to the discretion of the musician, whose aim was not -only to put the listener into a certain mood, but also to avoid -rendering that mood monotonous by unduly protracting it. A further -stage was reached when the interpretations of contrasted moods were -made to follow one upon the other, and the charm of light and shade -was discovered; and yet another step was made when the same piece of -music was allowed to contain a contrast of the <i>ethos</i>—for instance, -the contest between a male and a female theme. All these, however, are -crude and primitive stages in the development of music. The fear of -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>passion suggested the first rule, and the fear of monotony the second; -all depth of feeling and any excess thereof were regarded as -"unethical." Once, however, the art of the <i>ethos</i> had repeatedly been -made to ring all the changes on the moods and situations which -convention had decreed as suitable, despite the most astounding -resourcefulness on the part of its masters, its powers were exhausted. -Beethoven was the first to make music speak a new language—till then -forbidden—the language of passion; but as his art was based upon the -laws and conventions of the <i>ethos</i>, and had to attempt to justify -itself in regard to them, his artistic development was beset with -peculiar difficulties and obscurities. An inner dramatic factor—and -every passion pursues a dramatic course—struggled to obtain a new -form, but the traditional scheme of "mood music" stood in its way, and -protested—almost after the manner in which morality opposes -innovations and immorality. It almost seemed, therefore, as if -Beethoven had set himself the contradictory task of expressing pathos -in the terms of the <i>ethos</i>. This view does not, however, apply to -Beethoven's latest and greatest works; for he really did succeed in -discovering a novel method of expressing the grand and vaulting arch -of passion. He merely selected certain portions of its curve; imparted -these with the utmost clearness to his listeners, and then left it to -them to <i>divine</i> its whole span. Viewed superficially, the new form -seemed rather like an aggregation of several musical compositions, of -which every one appeared to represent a sustained situation, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>but was -in reality but a momentary stage in the dramatic course of a passion. -The listener might think that he was hearing the old "mood" music over -again, except that he failed to grasp the relation of the various -parts to one another, and these no longer conformed with the canon of -the law. Even among minor musicians, there flourished a certain -contempt for the rule which enjoined harmony in the general -construction of a composition and the sequence of the parts in their -works still remained arbitrary. Then, owing to a misunderstanding, the -discovery of the majestic treatment of passion led back to the use of -the single movement with an optional setting, and the tension between -the parts thus ceased completely. That is why the symphony, as -Beethoven understood it, is such a wonderfully obscure production, -more especially when, here and there, it makes faltering attempts at -rendering Beethoven's pathos. The means ill befit the intention, and -the intention is, on the whole, not sufficiently clear to the -listener, because it was never really clear, even in the mind of the -composer. But the very injunction that something definite must be -imparted, and that this must be done as distinctly as possible, -becomes ever more and more essential, the higher, more difficult, and -more exacting the class of work happens to be.</p> - -<p>That is why all Wagner's efforts were concentrated upon the one object -of discovering those means which best served the purpose of -<i>distinctness</i>, and to this end it was above all necessary for him to -emancipate himself from all the prejudices <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>and claims of the old -"mood" music, and to give his compositions—the musical -interpretations of feelings and passion—a perfectly unequivocal mode -of expression. If we now turn to what he has achieved, we see that his -services to music are practically equal in rank to those which that -sculptor-inventor rendered to sculpture who introduced "sculpture in -the round." All previous music seems stiff and uncertain when compared -with Wagner's, just as though it were ashamed and did not wish to be -inspected from all sides. With the most consummate skill and -precision, Wagner avails himself of every degree and colour in the -realm of feeling; without the slightest hesitation or fear of its -escaping him, he seizes upon the most delicate, rarest, and mildest -emotion, and holds it fast, as though it had hardened at his touch, -despite the fact that it may seem like the frailest butterfly to every -one else. His music is never vague or dreamy; everything that is -allowed to speak through it, whether it be of man or of nature, has a -strictly individual passion; storm and fire acquire the ruling power -of a personal will in his hands. Over all the clamouring characters -and the clash of their passions, over the whole torrent of contrasts, -an almighty and symphonic understanding hovers with perfect serenity, -and continually produces concord out of war. Taken as a whole, -Wagner's music is a reflex of the world as it was understood by the -great Ephesian poet—that is to say, a harmony resulting from strife, -as the union of justice and enmity. I admire the ability which could -describe the grand line of universal passion <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>out of a confusion of -passions which all seem to be striking out in different directions: -the fact that this was a possible achievement I find demonstrated in -every individual act of a Wagnerian drama, which describes the -individual history of various characters side by side with a general -history of the whole company. Even at the very beginning we know we -are watching a host of cross currents dominated by one great violent -stream; and though at first this stream moves unsteadily over hidden -reefs, and the torrent seems to be torn asunder as if it were -travelling towards different points, gradually we perceive the central -and general movement growing stronger and more rapid, the convulsive -fury of the contending waters is converted into one broad, steady, and -terrible flow in the direction of an unknown goal; and suddenly, at -the end, the whole flood in all its breadth plunges into the depths, -rejoicing demoniacally over the abyss and all its uproar. Wagner is -never more himself than when he is overwhelmed with difficulties and -can exercise power on a large scale with all the joy of a law-giver. To -bring restless and contending masses into simple rhythmic movement, -and to exercise one will over a bewildering host of claims and -desires—these are the tasks for which he feels he was born, and in -the performance of which he finds freedom. And he never loses his -breath withal, nor does he ever reach his goal panting. He strove just -as persistently to impose the severest laws upon himself as to lighten -the burden of others in this respect. Life and art weigh heavily upon -him when he cannot play wit <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>their most difficult questions. If one -considers the relation between the melody of song and that of speech, -one will perceive how he sought to adopt as his natural model the -pitch, strength, and tempo of the passionate man's voice in order to -transform it into art; and if one further considers the task of -introducing this singing passion into the general symphonic order of -music, one gets some idea of the stupendous difficulties he had to -overcome. In this behalf, his inventiveness in small things as in -great, his omniscience and industry are such, that at the sight of one -of Wagner's scores one is almost led to believe that no real work or -effort had ever existed before his time. It seems almost as if he too -could have said, in regard to the hardships of art, that the real -virtue of the dramatist lies in self-renunciation. But he would -probably have added, There is but one kind of hardship—that of the -artist who is not yet free: virtue and goodness are trivial -accomplishments.</p> - -<p>Viewing him generally as an artist, and calling to mind a more famous -type, we see that Wagner is not at all unlike Demosthenes: in him also -we have the terrible earnestness of purpose and that strong prehensile -mind which always obtains a complete grasp of a thing; in him, too, we -have the hand's quick clutch and the grip as of iron. Like -Demosthenes, he conceals his art or compels one to forget it by the -peremptory way he calls attention to the subject he treats; and yet, -like his great predecessor, he is the last and greatest of a whole -line of artist-minds, and therefore has more to conceal than his -forerunners: his art acts like <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>nature, like nature recovered and -restored. Unlike all previous musicians, there is nothing bombastic -about him; for the former did not mind playing at times with their -art, and making an exhibition of their virtuosity. One associates -Wagner's art neither with interest nor with diversion, nor with Wagner -himself and art in general. All one is conscious of is of the great -necessity of it all. No one will ever be able to appreciate what -severity evenness of will, and self-control the artist required during -his development, in order, at his zenith, to be able to do the -necessary thing joyfully and freely. Let it suffice if we can -appreciate how, in some respects, his music, with a certain cruelty -towards itself, determines to subserve the course of the drama, which -is as unrelenting as fate, whereas in reality his art was ever -thirsting for a free ramble in the open and over the wilderness.</p> - - - -<h4>X.</h4> - - -<p>An artist who has this empire over himself subjugates all other -artists, even though he may not particularly desire to do so. For him -alone there lies no danger or stemming-force in those he has -subjugated—his friends and his adherents; whereas the weaker natures -who learn to rely on their friends pay for this reliance by forfeiting -their independence. It is very wonderful to observe how carefully, -throughout his life, Wagner avoided anything in the nature of heading -a party, notwithstanding the fact that at the close of every phase in -his career a circle of adherents formed, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>presumably with the view of -holding him fast to his latest development He always succeeded, -however, in wringing himself free from them, and never allowed himself -to be bound; for not only was the ground he covered too vast for one -alone to keep abreast of him with any ease, but his way was so -exceptionally steep that the most devoted would have lost his breath. -At almost every stage in Wagner's progress his friends would have -liked to preach to him, and his enemies would fain have done so -too—but for other reasons. Had the purity of his artist's nature been -one degree less decided than it was, he would have attained much -earlier than he actually did to the leading position in the artistic -and musical world of his time. True, he has reached this now, but in a -much higher sense, seeing that every performance to be witnessed in -any department of art makes its obeisance, so to speak, before the -judgment-stool of his genius and of his artistic temperament. He has -overcome the most refractory of his contemporaries; there is not one -gifted musician among them but in his innermost heart would willingly -listen to him, and find Wagner's compositions more worth listening to -than his own and all other musical productions taken together. Many -who wish, by hook or by crook, to make their mark, even wrestle with -Wagner's secret charm, and unconsciously throw in their lot with the -older masters, preferring to ascribe their "independence" to Schubert -or Handel rather than to Wagner. But in vain! Thanks to their very -efforts in contending against the dictates of their own consciences, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>they become ever meaner and smaller artists; they ruin their own -natures by forcing themselves to tolerate undesirable allies and -friends. And in spite of all these sacrifices, they still find perhaps -in their dreams, that their ear turns attentively to Wagner. These -adversaries are to be pitied: they imagine they lose a great deal when -they lose themselves, but here they are mistaken.</p> - -<p>Albeit it is obviously all one to Wagner whether musicians compose in -his style, or whether they compose at all, he even does his utmost to -dissipate the belief that a school of composers should now necessarily -follow in his wake; though, in so far as he exercises a direct -influence upon musicians, he does indeed try to instruct them -concerning the art of grand execution. In his opinion, the evolution -of art seems to have reached that stage when the honest endeavour to -become an able and masterly exponent or interpreter is ever so much -more worth talking about than the longing to be a creator at all -costs. For, at the present stage of art, universal creating has this -fatal result, that inasmuch as it encourages a much larger output, it -tends to exhaust the means and artifices of genius by everyday use, -and thus to reduce the real grandeur of its effect. Even that which is -good in art is superfluous and detrimental when it proceeds from the -imitation of what is best. Wagnerian ends and means are of one piece: -to perceive this, all that is required is honesty in art matters, and -it would be dishonest to adopt his means in order to apply them to -other and less significant ends.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> -If, therefore, Wagner declines to live on amid a multitude of creative -musicians, he is only the more desirous of imposing upon all men of -talent the new duty of joining him in seeking the <i>law of style for -dramatic performances</i>. He deeply feels the need of establishing a -<i>traditional style</i> for his art, by means of which his work may continue -to live from one age to another in a pure form, until it reaches that -<i>future</i> which its creator ordained for it.</p> - -<p>Wagner is impelled by an undaunted longing to make known everything -relating to that foundation of a style, mentioned above, and, -accordingly, everything relating to the continuance of his art. To -make his work—as Schopenhauer would say—a sacred depository and the -real fruit of his life, as well as the inheritance of mankind, and to -store it for the benefit of a posterity better able to appreciate -it,—these were <i>the supreme objects</i> of his life, and for these he bore -that crown of thorns which, one day, will shoot forth leaves of bay. -Like the insect which, in its last form, concentrates all its energies -upon the one object of finding a safe depository for its eggs and of -ensuring the future welfare of its posthumous brood,—then only to die -content, so Wagner strove with equal determination to find a place of -security for his works.</p> - -<p>This subject, which took precedence of all others with him, constantly -incited him to new discoveries; and these he sought ever more and more -at the spring of his demoniacal gift of communicability, the more -distinctly he saw himself in conflict with an age that was both -perverse <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>and unwilling to lend him its ear. Gradually however, even -this same age began to mark his indefatigable efforts, to respond to -his subtle advances, and to turn its ear to him. Whenever a small or a -great opportunity arose, however far away, which suggested to Wagner a -means wherewith to explain his thoughts, he availed himself of it: he -thought his thoughts anew into every fresh set of circumstances, and -would make them speak out of the most paltry bodily form. Whenever a -soul only half capable of comprehending him opened itself to him, he -never failed to implant his seed in it. He saw hope in things which -caused the average dispassionate observer merely to shrug his -shoulders; and he erred again and again, only so as to be able to -carry his point against that same observer. Just as the sage, in -reality, mixes with living men only for the purpose of increasing his -store of knowledge, so the artist would almost seem to be unable to -associate with his contemporaries at all, unless they be such as can -help him towards making his work eternal. He cannot be loved otherwise -than with the love of this eternity, and thus he is conscious only of -one kind of hatred directed at him, the hatred which would demolish -the bridges bearing his art into the future. The pupils Wagner -educated for his own purpose, the individual musicians and actors whom -he advised and whose ear he corrected and improved, the small and -large orchestras he led, the towns which witnessed him earnestly -fulfilling the duties of us calling, the princes and ladies who half -boastfully <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>and half lovingly participated in the framing of his plans, -the various European countries to which he temporarily belonged as the -judge and evil conscience of their arts,—everything gradually became -the echo of his thought and of his indefatigable efforts to attain to -fruitfulness in the future. Although this echo often sounded so -discordant as to confuse him, still the tremendous power of his voice -repeatedly crying out into the world must in the end call forth -reverberations, and it will soon be impossible to be deaf to him or to -misunderstand him. It is this reflected sound which even now causes -the art-institutions of modern men to shake: every time the breath of -his spirit blew into these coverts, all that was overripe or withered -fell to the ground; but the general increase of scepticism in all -directions speaks more eloquently than all this trembling. Nobody any -longer dares to predict where Wagner's influence may not unexpectedly -break out. He is quite unable to divorce the salvation of art from any -other salvation or damnation: wherever modern life conceals a danger, -he, with the discriminating eye of mistrust, perceives a danger -threatening art. In his imagination he pulls the edifice of modern -civilisation to pieces, and allows nothing rotten, no unsound -timber-work to escape: if in the process he should happen to encounter -weather-tight walls or anything like solid foundations, he immediately -casts about for means wherewith he can convert them into bulwarks and -shelters for his art. He lives like a fugitive, whose will is not to -preserve his own life, but to keep a secret—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>like an unhappy woman -who does not wish to save her own soul, but that of the child lying in -her lap: in short, he lives like Sieglinde, "for the sake of love."</p> - -<p>For life must indeed be full of pain and shame to one who can find -neither rest nor shelter in this world, and who must nevertheless -appeal to it, exact things from it, contemn it, and still be unable to -dispense with the thing contemned,—this really constitutes the -wretchedness of the artist of the future, who, unlike the philosopher, -cannot prosecute his work alone in the seclusion of a study, but who -requires human souls as messengers to this future, public institutions -as a guarantee of it, and, as it were, bridges between now and -hereafter. His art may not, like the philosopher's, be put aboard the -boat of written documents: art needs <i>capable men</i>, not letters and -notes, to transmit it. Over whole periods in Wagner's life rings a -murmur of distress—his distress at not being able to meet with these -capable interpreters before whom he longed to execute examples of his -work, instead of being confined to written symbols; before whom he -yearned to practise his art, instead of showing a pallid reflection of -it to those who read books, and who, generally speaking, therefore are -not artists.</p> - -<p>In Wagner the man of letters we see the struggle of a brave fighter, -whose right hand has, as it were, been lopped off, and who has -continued the contest with his left. In his writings he is always the -sufferer, because a temporary and insuperable destiny deprives him of -his own and the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>correct way of conveying his thoughts—that is to say, -in the form of apocalyptic and triumphant examples. His writings -contain nothing canonical or severe: the canons are to be found in his -works as a whole. Their literary side represents his attempts to -understand the instinct which urged him to create his works and to get -a glimpse of himself through them. If he succeeded in transforming his -instincts into terms of knowledge, it was always with the hope that -the reverse process might take place in the souls of his readers—it -was with this intention that he wrote. Should it ultimately be proved -that, in so doing, Wagner attempted the impossible, he would still -only share the lot of all those who have meditated deeply on art; and -even so he would be ahead of most of them in this, namely, that the -strongest instinct for all arts harboured in him. I know of no written -æsthetics that give more light than those of Wagner; all that can -possibly be learnt concerning the origin of a work of art is to be -found in them. He is one of the very great, who appeared amongst us a -witness, and who is continually improving his testimony and making it -ever clearer and freer; even when he stumbles as a scientist, sparks -rise from the ground. Such tracts as "Beethoven," "Concerning the Art -of Conducting," "Concerning Actors and Singers," "State and Religion," -silence all contradiction, and, like sacred reliquaries, impose upon -all who approach them a calm, earnest, and reverential regard. Others, -more particularly the earlier ones, including "Opera and Drama," -excite and agitate <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>one; their rhythm is so uneven that, as prose they -are bewildering. Their dialectics is constantly interrupted, and their -course is more retarded than accelerated by outbursts of feeling; a -certain reluctance on the part of the writer seems to hang over them -like a pall, just as though the artist were somewhat ashamed of -speculative discussions. What the reader who is only imperfectly -initiated will probably find most oppressive is the general tone of -authoritative dignity which is peculiar to Wagner, and which is very -difficult to describe: it always strikes me as though Wagner were -continually <i>addressing enemies</i>; for the style of all these tracts more -resembles that of the spoken than of the written language, hence they -will seem much more intelligible if heard read aloud, in the presence -of his enemies, with whom he cannot be on familiar terms, and towards -whom he must therefore show some reserve and aloofness. The entrancing -passion of his feelings, however, constantly pierces this intentional -disguise, and then the stilted and heavy periods, swollen with -accessary words, vanish, and his pen dashes off sentences, and even -whole pages, which belong to the best in German prose. But even -admitting that while he wrote such passages he was addressing friends, -and that the shadow of his enemies had been removed for a while, all -the friends and enemies that Wagner, as a man of letters, has, possess -one factor in common, which differentiates them fundamentally from the -"people" for whom he worked as an artist. Owing to the refining and -fruitless nature of their education, they are <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span><i>quite devoid of the -essential traits of the national character</i>, and he who would appeal to -them must speak in a way which is not of the people—that is to say, -after the manner of our best prose-writers and Wagner himself; though -that he did violence to himself in writing thus is evident. But the -strength of that almost maternal instinct of prudence in him, which is -ready to make any sacrifice, rather tends to reinstall him among the -scholars and men of learning, to whom as a creator he always longed to -bid farewell. He submits to the language of culture and all the laws -governing its use, though he was the first to recognise its profound -insufficiency as a means of communication.</p> - -<p>For if there is anything that distinguishes his art from every other -art of modern times, it is that it no longer speaks the language of -any particular caste, and refuses to admit the distinctions "literate" -and "illiterate." It thus stands as a contrast to every culture of the -Renaissance, which to this day still bathes us modern men in its light -and shade. Inasmuch as Wagner's art bears us, from time to time, -beyond itself, we are enabled to get a general view of its uniform -character: we see Goethe and Leopardi as the last great stragglers of -the Italian philologist-poets, Faust as the incarnation of a most -unpopular problem, in the form of a man of theory thirsting for life; -even Goethe's song is an imitation of the song of the people rather -than a standard set before them to which they are expected to attain, -and the poet knew very well how truly he spoke when he seriously -assured his adherents: "My <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>compositions cannot become popular; he who -hopes and strives to make them so is mistaken."</p> - -<p>That an art could arise which would be so clear and warm as to flood -the base and the poor in spirit with its light, as well as to melt the -haughtiness of the learned—such a phenomenon had to be experienced -though it could not be guessed. But even in the mind of him who -experiences it to-day it must upset all preconceived notions -concerning education and culture; to such an one the veil will seem to -have been rent in twain that conceals a future in which no highest -good or highest joys exist that are not the common property of all. -The odium attaching to the word "common" will then be abolished.</p> - -<p>If presentiment venture thus into the remote future, the discerning -eye of all will recognise the dreadful social insanity of our present -age, and will no longer blind itself to the dangers besetting an art -which seems to have roots only in the remote and distant future, and -which allows its burgeoning branches to spread before our gaze when it -has not yet revealed the ground from which it draws its sap. How can -we protect this homeless art through the ages until that remote future -is reached? How can we so dam the flood of a revolution seemingly -inevitable everywhere, that the blessed prospect and guarantee of a -better future—of a freer human life—shall not also be washed away -with all that is destined to perish and deserves to perish?</p> - -<p>He who asks himself this question shares Wagner's care: he will feel -himself impelled with <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197</a></span>Wagner to seek those established powers that -have the goodwill to protect the noblest passions of man during the -period of earthquakes and upheavals. In this sense alone Wagner -questions the learned through his writings, whether they intend -storing his legacy to them—the precious Ring of his art—among their -other treasures. And even the wonderful confidence which he reposes in -the German mind and the aims of German politics seems to me to arise -from the fact that he grants the people of the Reformation that -strength, mildness, and bravery which is necessary in order to divert -"the torrent of revolution into the tranquil river-bed of a calmly -flowing stream of humanity": and I could almost believe that this and -only this is what he meant to express by means of the symbol of his -Imperial march.</p> - -<p>As a rule, though, the generous impulses of the creative artist and -the extent of his philanthropy are too great for his gaze to be -confined within the limits of a single nation. His thoughts, like -those of every good and great German, are <i>more than German</i>, and the -language of his art does not appeal to particular races but to mankind -in general.</p> - -<p><i>But to the men of the future</i>.</p> - -<p>This is the belief that is proper to him; this is his torment and his -distinction. No artist, of what past soever, has yet received such a -remarkable portion of genius; no one, save him, has ever been obliged -to mix this bitterest of ingredients with the drink of nectar to which -enthusiasm helped him. It is not as one might expect, the -misunderstood <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>and mishandled artist, the fugitive of his age, who -adopted this faith in self-defence: success or failure at the hands of -his contemporaries was unable either to create or to destroy it -Whether it glorified or reviled him, he did not belong to this -generation: that was the conclusion to which his instincts led him. -And the possibility of any generation's ever belonging to him is -something which he who disbelieves in Wagner can never be made to -admit. But even this unbeliever may at least ask, what kind of -generation it will be in which Wagner will recognise his "people," and -in which he will see the type of all those who suffer a common -distress, and who wish to escape from it by means of an art common to -them all. Schiller was certainly more hopeful and sanguine; he did not -ask what a future must be like if the instinct of the artist that -predicts it prove true; his command to every artist was rather—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -Soar aloft in daring flight<br /> -Out of sight of thine own years!<br /> -In thy mirror, gleaming bright,<br /> -Glimpse of distant dawn appears.<br /> -</p> - - - -<h4>XI.</h4> - - -<p>May blessed reason preserve us from ever thinking that mankind will at -any time discover a final and ideal order of things, and that -happiness will then and ever after beam down upon us uniformly, like -the rays of the sun in the tropics. Wagner has nothing to do with such -a hope; he is <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>no Utopian. If he was unable to dispense with the belief -in a future, it only meant that he observed certain properties in -modern men which he did not hold to be essential to their nature, and -which did not seem to him to form any necessary part of their -constitution; in fact, which were changeable and transient; and that -precisely <i>owing to these properties</i> art would find no home among them, -and he himself had to be the precursor and prophet of another epoch. -No golden age, no cloudless sky will fall to the portion of those -future generations, which his instinct led him to expect, and whose -approximate characteristics may be gleaned from the cryptic characters -of his art, in so far as it is possible to draw conclusions concerning -the nature of any pain from the kind of relief it seeks. Nor will -superhuman goodness and justice stretch like an everlasting rainbow -over this future land. Belike this coming generation will, on the -whole, seem more evil than the present one—for in good as in evil it -will be more <i>straightforward</i>. It is even possible, if its soul were -ever able to speak out in full and unembarrassed tones, that it might -convulse and terrify us, as though the voice of some hitherto -concealed and evil spirit had suddenly cried out in our midst. Or how -do the following propositions strike our ears?—That passion is better -than stoicism or hypocrisy; that straightforwardness, even in evil, is -better than losing oneself in trying to observe traditional morality; -that the free man is just as able to be good as evil, but that the -unemancipated man is a disgrace to nature, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>has no share in -heavenly or earthly bliss; finally, that all who wish to be free must -become so through themselves, and that freedom falls to nobody's lot -as a gift from Heaven. However harsh and strange these propositions -may sound, they are nevertheless reverberations from that future -world, which <i>is verily in need of art</i>, and which expects genuine -pleasure from its presence; they are the language of -nature—<i>reinstated</i> even in mankind; they stand for what I have already -termed correct feeling as opposed to the incorrect feeling that reigns -to-day.</p> - -<p>But real relief or salvation exists only for nature not for that which -is contrary to nature or which arises out of incorrect feeling. When -all that is unnatural becomes self-conscious, it desires but one -thing—nonentity; the natural thing, on the other hand, yearns to be -transfigured through love: the former would fain <i>not</i> be, the latter -would fain be <i>otherwise</i>. Let him who has understood this recall, in -the stillness of his soul, the simple themes of Wagner's art, in order -to be able to ask himself whether it were nature or nature's opposite -which sought by means of them to achieve the aims just described.</p> - -<p>The desperate vagabond finds deliverance from his distress in the -compassionate love of a woman who would rather die than be unfaithful -to him: the theme of the Flying Dutchman. The sweet-heart, renouncing -all personal happiness, owing to a divine transformation of Love into -Charity, becomes a saint, and saves the soul of her loved one: the -theme of Tannhäuser. The sublimest <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>and highest thing descends a -suppliant among men, and will not be questioned whence it came; when, -however, the fatal question is put, it sorrowfully returns to its -higher life: the theme of Lohengrin. The loving soul of a wife, and -the people besides, joyfully welcome the new benevolent genius, -although the retainers of tradition and custom reject and revile him: -the theme of the Meistersingers. Of two lovers, that do not know they -are loved, who believe rather that they are deeply wounded and -contemned, each demands of the other that he or she should drink a cup -of deadly poison, to all intents and purposes as an expiation of the -insult; in reality, however, as the result of an impulse which neither -of them understands: through death they wish to escape all possibility -of separation or deceit. The supposed approach of death loosens their -fettered souls and allows them a short moment of thrilling happiness, -just as though they had actually escaped from the present, from -illusions and from life: the theme of Tristan and Isolde.</p> - -<p>In the Ring of the Nibelung the tragic hero is a god whose heart -yearns for power, and who, since he travels along all roads in search -of it, finally binds himself to too many undertakings, loses his -freedom, and is ultimately cursed by the curse inseparable from power. -He becomes aware of his loss of freedom owing to the fact that he no -longer has the means to take possession of the golden Ring—that -symbol of all earthly power, and also of the greatest dangers to -himself as long as it lies in the hands of his enemies. The fear of -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>the end and the twilight of all gods overcomes him, as also the -despair at being able only to await the end without opposing it. He is -in need of the free and fearless man who, without his advice or -assistance—even in a struggle against gods—can accomplish -single-handed what is denied to the powers of a god. He fails to see -him, and just as a new hope finds shape within him, he must obey the -conditions to which he is bound: with his own hand he must murder the -thing he most loves, and purest pity must be punished by his sorrow. -Then he begins to loathe power, which bears evil and bondage in its -lap; his will is broken, and he himself begins to hanker for the end -that threatens him from afar off. At this juncture something happens -which had long been the subject of his most ardent desire: the free -and fearless man appears, he rises in opposition to everything -accepted and established, his parents atone for having been united by -a tie which was antagonistic to the order of nature and usage; they -perish, but Siegfried survives. And at the sight of his magnificent -development and bloom, the loathing leaves Wotan's soul, and he follows -the hero's history with the eye of fatherly love and anxiety. How he -forges his sword, kills the dragon, gets possession of the ring, -escapes the craftiest ruse, awakens Brunhilda; how the curse abiding -in the ring gradually overtakes him; how, faithful in faithfulness, he -wounds the thing he most loves, out of love; becomes enveloped in the -shadow and cloud of guilt, and, rising out of it more brilliantly than -the sun, ultimately goes down, firing the whole <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>heavens with his -burning glow and purging the world of the curse,—all this is seen by -the god whose sovereign spear was broken in the contest with the -freest man, and who lost his power through him, rejoicing greatly over -his own defeat: full of sympathy for the triumph and pain of his -victor, his eye burning with aching joy looks back upon the last -events; he has become free through love, free from himself.</p> - -<p>And now ask yourselves, ye generation of to-day, Was all this composed -<i>for you</i>? Have ye the courage to point up to the stars of the whole of -this heavenly dome of beauty and goodness and to say, This is our -life, that Wagner has transferred to a place beneath the stars?</p> - -<p>Where are the men among you who are able to interpret the divine image -of Wotan in the light of their own lives, and who can become ever -greater while, like him, ye retreat? Who among you would renounce -power, knowing and having learned that power is evil? Where are they -who like Brunhilda abandon their knowledge to love, and finally rob -their lives of the highest wisdom, "afflicted love, deepest sorrow, -opened my eyes"? and where are the free and fearless, developing and -blossoming in innocent egoism? and where are the Siegfrieds, among -you?</p> - -<p>He who questions thus and does so in vain, will find himself compelled -to look around him for signs of the future; and should his eye, on -reaching an unknown distance, espy just that "people" which his own -generation can read out of the signs contained in Wagnerian art, he -will then also understand <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span><i>what Wagner will mean to this -people</i>—something that he cannot be to all of us, namely, not the -prophet of the future, as perhaps he would fain appear to us, but the -interpreter and clarifier of the past.</p> - - - - - - - - - -<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 51710 ***</div> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/old/51710-h/images/cover.jpg b/old/51710-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 1bffc1f..0000000 --- a/old/51710-h/images/cover.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51710-h/images/ludovici.png b/old/51710-h/images/ludovici.png Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 3c2db63..0000000 --- a/old/51710-h/images/ludovici.png +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/old/51710-8.txt b/old/old/51710-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 77b7ef5..0000000 --- a/old/old/51710-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6139 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Thoughts out of Season, Part I, by -Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Thoughts out of Season, Part I - David Strauss, the Confessor and the Writer - Richard - Wagner in Bayreuth. - -Author: Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche - -Editor: Oscar Levy - -Translator: Anthony M. Ludovici - -Release Date: April 9, 2016 [EBook #51710] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON, PART I *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Hathi Trust.) - - - - - -THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON - -PART ONE - -DAVID STRAUSS, THE CONFESSOR - -AND THE WRITER - -RICHARD WAGNER IN BAYREUTH - -By - -FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE - -TRANSLATED BY - -ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI - - - -The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche - -The First Complete and Authorised English Translation - -Edited by Dr Oscar Levy - -Volume Four - -T.N. FOULIS - -13 & 15 FREDERICK STREET - -EDINBURGH: AND LONDON - -1910 - - - - CONTENTS. - EDITORIAL NOTE - NIETZSCHE IN ENGLAND (BY THE EDITOR) - TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE TO DAVID STRAUSS - AND RICHARD WAGNER IN BAYREUTH - DAVID STRAUSS, THE CONFESSOR AND THE WRITER - RICHARD WAGNER IN BAYREUTH - - - - -EDITORIAL NOTE. - - -The Editor begs to call attention to some of the difficulties he had -to encounter in preparing this edition of the complete works of -Friedrich Nietzsche. Not being English himself, he had to rely upon -the help of collaborators, who were somewhat slow in coming forward. -They were also few in number; for, in addition to an exact knowledge -of the German language, there was also required sympathy and a certain -enthusiasm for the startling ideas of the original, as well as a -considerable feeling for poetry, and that highest form of it, -religious poetry. - -Such a combination--a biblical mind, yet one open to new thoughts--was -not easily found. And yet it was necessary to find translators with -such a mind, and not be satisfied, as the French are and must be, with -a free though elegant version of Nietzsche. What is impossible and -unnecessary in French--a faithful and powerful rendering of the -psalmistic grandeur of Nietzsche--is possible and necessary in -English, which is a rougher tongue of the Teutonic stamp, and -moreover, like German, a tongue influenced and formed by an excellent -version of the Bible. The English would never be satisfied, as -Bible-ignorant France is, with a Nietzsche _à l'Eau de Cologne_--they -would require the natural, strong, real Teacher, and would prefer his -outspoken words to the finely-chiselled sentences of the _raconteur_. It -may indeed be safely predicted that once the English people have -recovered from the first shock of Nietzsche's thoughts, their biblical -training will enable them, more than any other nation, to appreciate -the deep piety underlying Nietzsche's Cause. - -As this Cause is a somewhat holy one to the Editor himself, he is -ready to listen to any suggestions as to improvements of style or -sense coming from qualified sources. The Editor, during a recent visit -to Mrs. Foerster-Nietzsche at Weimar, acquired the rights of -translation by pointing out to her that in this way her brother's -works would not fall into the hands of an ordinary publisher and his -staff of translators: he has not, therefore, entered into any -engagement with publishers, not even with the present one, which could -hinder his task, bind him down to any text found faulty, or make him -consent to omissions or the falsification or "sugaring" of the -original text to further the sale of the books. He is therefore in a -position to give every attention to a work which he considers as of no -less importance for the country of his residence than for the country -of his birth, as well as for the rest of Europe. - -It is the consciousness of the importance of this work which makes the -Editor anxious to point out several difficulties to the younger -student of Nietzsche. The first is, of course, not to begin reading -Nietzsche at too early an age. While fully admitting that others may -be more gifted than himself, the Editor begs to state that he began to -study Nietzsche at the age of twenty-six, and would not have been able -to endure the weight of such teaching before that time. Secondly, the -Editor wishes to dissuade the student from beginning the study of -Nietzsche by reading first of all his most complicated works. Not -having been properly prepared for them, he will find the _Zarathustra_ -abstruse, the _Ecce Homo_ conceited, and the _Antichrist_ violent. He -should rather begin with the little pamphlet on Education, the -_Thoughts out of Season, Beyond Good and Evil_, or the _Genealogy of -Morals_. Thirdly, the Editor wishes to remind students of Nietzsche's -own advice to them, namely: to read him slowly, to think over what -they have read, and not to accept too readily a teaching which they -have only half understood. By a too ready acceptance of Nietzsche it -has come to pass that his enemies are, as a rule, a far superior body -of men to those who call themselves his eager and enthusiastic -followers. Surely it is not every one who is chosen to combat a -religion or a morality of two thousand years' standing, first within -and then without himself; and whoever feels inclined to do so ought at -least to allow his attention to be drawn to the magnitude of his task. - - - - -NIETZSCHE IN ENGLAND: - - -AN INTRODUCTORY ESSAY BY THE EDITOR. - - -DEAR ENGLISHMEN,--In one of my former writings I have made the remark -that the world would have seen neither the great Jewish prophets nor -the great German thinkers, if the people from among whom these eminent -men sprang had not been on the whole such a misguided, and, in their -misguidedness, such a tough and stubborn race. The arrow that is to -fly far must be discharged from a well distended bow: if, therefore, -anything is necessary for greatness, it is a fierce and tenacious -opposition, an opposition either of open contempt, or of malicious -irony, or of sly silence, or of gross stupidity, an opposition -regardless of the wounds it inflicts and of the precious lives it -sacrifices, an opposition that nobody would dare to attack who was not -prepared, like the Spartan of old, to return either with his shield or -on it. - -An opposition so devoid of pity is not as a rule found amongst you, -dear and fair-minded Englishmen, which may account for the fact that -you have neither produced the greatest prophets nor the greatest -thinkers in this world. You would never have crucified Christ, as did -the Jews, or driven Nietzsche into madness, as did the Germans--you -would have made Nietzsche, on account of his literary faculties, -Minister of State in a Whig Ministry, you would have invited Jesus -Christ to your country houses, where he would have been worshipped by -all the ladies on account of his long hair and interesting looks, and -tolerated by all men as an amusing, if somewhat romantic, foreigner. I -know that the current opinion is to the contrary, and that your -country is constantly accused, even by yourselves, of its insularity; -but I, for my part, have found an almost feminine receptivity amongst -you in my endeavour to bring you into contact with some ideas of my -native country--a receptivity which, however, has also this in common -with that of the female mind, that evidently nothing sticks deeply, -but is quickly wiped out by what any other lecturer, or writer, or -politician has to tell you. I was prepared for indifference--I was not -prepared for receptivity and that benign lady's smile, behind which -ladies, like all people who are only clever, usually hide their inward -contempt for the foolishness of mere men! I was prepared for abuse, -and even a good fight--I was not prepared for an extremely -faint-hearted criticism; I did not expect that some of my opponents -would be so utterly inexperienced in that most necessary work of -literary execution. No, no: give me the Germans or the Jews for -executioners: they can do the hanging properly, while the English -hangman is like the Russian, to whom, when the rope broke, the -half-hanged revolutionary said: "What a country, where they cannot -hang a man properly!" What a country, where they do not hang -philosophers properly--which would be the proper thing to do to -them--but smile at them, drink tea with them, discuss with them, and -ask them to contribute to their newspapers! - -To get to the root of the matter: in spite of many encouraging signs, -remarks and criticisms, adverse or benevolent, I do not think I have -been very successful in my crusade for that European thought which -began with Goethe and has found so fine a development in Nietzsche. -True, I have made many a convert, but amongst them are very -undesirable ones, as, for instance, some enterprising publishers, who -used to be the toughest disbelievers in England, but who have now come -to understand the "value" of the new gospel--but as neither this -gospel is exactly Christian, nor I, the importer of it, I am not -allowed to count my success by the conversion of publishers and -sinners, but have to judge it by the more spiritual standard of the -quality of the converted. In this respect, I am sorry to say, my -success has been a very poor one. - -As an eager missionary, I have naturally asked myself the reason of my -failure. Why is there no male audience in England willing to listen to -a manly and daring philosophy? Why are there no eyes to see, no ears -to hear, no hearts to feel, no brains to understand? Why is my -trumpet, which after all I know how to blow pretty well, unable to -shatter the walls of English prejudice against a teacher whose school -cannot possibly be avoided by any European with a higher purpose in -his breast?... There is plenty of time for thought nowadays for a man -who does not allow himself to be drawn into that aimless bustle of -pleasure business or politics, which is called modern life because -outside that life there is--just as outside those noisy Oriental -cities-a desert, a calmness, a true and almost majestic leisure, a -leisure unprecedented in any age, a leisure in which one may arrive at -several conclusions concerning English indifference towards the new -thought. - -First of all, of course, there stands in the way the terrible abuse -which Nietzsche has poured upon the heads of the innocent Britishers. -While France and the Latin countries, while the Orient and India, are -within the range of his sympathies, this most outspoken of all -philosophers, this prophet and poet-philosopher, cannot find words -enough to express his disgust at the illogical, plebeian, shallow, -utilitarian Englishman. It must certainly be disagreeable to be -treated like this, especially when one has a fairly good opinion of -one's self; but why do you take it so very, very seriously? Did -Nietzsche, perchance, spare the Germans? And aren't you accustomed to -criticism on the part of German philosophers? Is it not the ancient -and time-honoured privilege of the whole range of them from Leibnitz -to Hegel--even of German poets, like Goethe and Heine--to call you -bad names and to use unkind language towards you? Has there not always -been among the few thinking heads in Germany a silent consent and an -open contempt for you and your ways; the sort of contempt you -yourselves have for the even more Anglo-Saxon culture of the -Americans? I candidly confess that in my more German moments I have -felt and still feel as the German philosophers do; but I have also my -European turns and moods, and then I try to understand you and even -excuse you, and take your part against earnest and thinking Germany. -Then I feel like telling the German philosophers that if you, poor -fellows, had practised everything they preached, they would have had -to renounce the pleasure of abusing you long ago, for there would now -be no more Englishmen left to abuse! As it is, you have suffered -enough on account of the wild German ideals you luckily only partly -believed in: for what the German thinker wrote on patient paper in his -study, you always had to write the whole world over on tender human -skins, black and yellow skins, enveloping ungrateful beings who -sometimes had no very high esteem for the depth and beauty of German -philosophy. And you have never taken revenge upon the inspired masters -of the European thinking-shop, you have never reabused them, you have -never complained of their want of worldly wisdom: you have invariably -suffered in silence and agony, just as brave and staunch Sancho Panza -used to do. For this is what you are, dear Englishmen, and however -well you brave, practical, materialistic John Bulls and Sancho Panzas -may know this world, however much better you may be able to perceive, -to count, to judge, and to weigh things than your ideal German Knight: -there is an eternal law in this world that the Sancho Panzas have to -follow the Don Quixotes; for matter has to follow the spirit, even the -poor spirit of a German philosopher! So it has been in the past, so it -is at present, and so it will be in the future; and you had better -prepare yourselves in time for the eventuality. For if Nietzsche were -nothing else but this customary type of German philosopher, you would -again have to pay the bill largely; and it would be very wise on your -part to study him: Sancho Panza may escape a good many sad experiences -by knowing his master's weaknesses. But as Nietzsche no longer belongs -to the Quixotic class, as Germany seems to emerge with him from her -youthful and cranky nebulosity, you will not even have the pleasure of -being thrashed in the company of your Master: no, you will be thrashed -all alone, which is an abominable thing for any right-minded human -being. "_Solamen miseris socios habuisse malorum_."[1] - -[1] It is a comfort to the afflicted to have companions in their -distress. - -The second reason for the neglect of Nietzsche in this country is that -you do not need him yet. And you do not need him yet because you have -always possessed the British virtue of not carrying things to -extremes, which, according to the German version, is an euphemism for -the British want of logic and critical capacity. You have, for -instance, never let your religion have any great influence upon your -politics, which is something quite abhorrent to the moral German, and -makes him so angry about you. For the German sees you acting as a -moral and law-abiding Christian at home, and as an unscrupulous and -Machiavellian conqueror abroad; and if he refrains from the reproach -of hypocrisy, with which the more stupid continentals invariably -charge you, he will certainly call you a "British muddlehead." Well, I -myself do not take things so seriously as that, for I know that men of -action have seldom time to think. It is probably for this reason also -that liberty of thought and speech has been granted to you, the -law-giver knowing very well all the time that you would be much too -busy to use and abuse such extraordinary freedom. Anyhow, it might now -be time to abuse it just a little bit, and to consider what an -extraordinary amalgamation is a Christian Power with imperialistic -ideas. True, there has once before been another Christian conquering -and colonising empire like yours, that of Venice--but these Venetians -were thinkers compared with you, and smuggled their gospel into the -paw of their lion.... Why don't you follow their example, in order not -to be unnecessarily embarrassed by it in your enterprises abroad? In -this manner you could also reconcile the proper Germans, who -invariably act up to their theories, their Christianity, their -democratic principles, although, on the other hand, in so doing you -would, I quite agree, be most unfaithful to your own traditions, which -are of a more democratic character than those of any other European -nation. - -For Democracy, as every schoolboy knows, was born in an English -cradle: individual liberty, parliamentary institutions, the sovereign -rights of the people, are ideas of British origin, and have been -propagated from this island over the whole of Europe. But as the -prophet and his words are very often not honoured in his own country, -those ideas have been embraced with much more fervour by other nations -than by that in which they originated. The Continent of Europe has -taken the desire for liberty and equality much more seriously than -their levelling but also level-headed inventors, and the fervent -imagination of France has tried to put into practice all that was -quite hidden to the more sober English eye. Every one nowadays knows -the good and the evil consequences of the French Revolution, which -swept over the whole of Europe, throwing it into a state of unrest, -shattering thrones and empires, and everywhere undermining authority -and traditional institutions. While this was going on in Europe, the -originator of the merry game was quietly sitting upon his island -smiling broadly at the excitable foreigners across the Channel, -fishing as much as he could out of the water he himself had so -cleverly disturbed, and thus in every way reaping the benefit from the -mighty fight for the apple of Eros which he himself had thrown amongst -them. As I have endeavoured above to draw a parallel between the -Germans and the Jews, I may now be allowed to follow this up with one -between the Jews and the English. It is a striking parallel, which -will specially appeal to those religious souls amongst you who -consider themselves the lost tribes of our race (and who are perhaps -even more lost than they think),--and it is this: Just as the Jews -have brought Christianity into the world, but never accepted it -themselves, just as they, in spite of their democratic offspring, have -always remained the most conservative, exclusive, aristocratic, and -religious people, so have the English never allowed themselves to be -intoxicated by the strong drink of the natural equality of men, which -they once kindly offered to all Europe to quaff; but have, on the -contrary, remained the most sober, the most exclusive, the most -feudal, the most conservative people of our continent. - -But because the ravages of Democracy have been less felt here than -abroad, because there is a good deal of the mediæval building left -standing over here, because things have never been carried to that -excess which invariably brings a reaction with it--this reaction has -not set in in this country, and no strong desire for the necessity of -it, no craving for the counterbalancing influence of a Nietzsche, has -arisen yet in the British mind. I cannot help pointing out the grave -consequences of this backwardness of England, which has arisen from -the fact that you have never taken any ideas or theories, not even -your own, seriously. Democracy, dear Englishmen, is like a stream, -which all the peoples of Europe will have to cross: they will come out -of it cleaner, healthier, and stronger, but while the others are -already in the water, plunging, puffing, paddling, losing their -ground, trying to swim, and even half-drowned, you are still standing -on the other side of it, roaring unmercifully about the poor swimmers, -screamers, and fighters below,--but one day you will have to cross -this same river too, and when you enter it the others will just be out -of it, and will laugh at the poor English straggler in their turn! - -The third and last reason for the icy silence which has greeted -Nietzsche in this country is due to the fact that he has--as far as I -know--no literary ancestor over here whose teachings could have -prepared you for him. Germany has had her Goethe to do this; France -her Stendhal; in Russia we find that fearless curiosity for all -problems, which is the sign of a youthful, perhaps too youthful -nation; while in Spain, on the other hand, we have an old and -experienced people, with a long training away from Christianity under -the dominion of the Semitic Arabs, who undoubtedly left some of their -blood behind,--but I find great difficulty in pointing out any man -over here who could serve as a useful guide to the heights of the -Nietzschean thought, except one, who was not a Britisher. I am -alluding to a man whose politics you used to consider and whose -writings you even now consider as fantastic, but who, like another -fantast of his race, may possess the wonderful gift of resurrection, -and come again to life amongst you--to Benjamin Disraeli. - -The Disraelian Novels are in my opinion the best and only preparation -for those amongst you who wish gradually to become acquainted with the -Nietzschean spirit. There, and nowhere else, will you find the true -heroes of coming times, men of moral courage, men whose failures and -successes are alike admirable, men whose noble passions have -altogether superseded the ordinary vulgarities and moralities of lower -beings, men endowed with an extraordinary imagination, which, however, -is balanced by an equal power of reason, men already anointed with a -drop of that sacred and noble oil, without which the High -Priest-Philosopher of Modern Germany would not have crowned his Royal -Race of the Future. - -Both Disraeli and Nietzsche you perceive starting from the same -pessimistic diagnosis of the wild anarchy, the growing melancholy, the -threatening Nihilism of Modern Europe, for both recognised the danger -of the age behind its loud and forced "shipwreck gaiety," behind its -big-mouthed talk about progress and evolution, behind that veil of -business-bustle, which hides its fear and utter despair--but for all -that black outlook they are not weaklings enough to mourn and let -things go, nor do they belong to that cheap class of society doctors -who mistake the present wretchedness of Humanity for sinfulness, and -wish to make their patient less sinful and still more wretched. Both -Nietzsche and Disraeli have clearly recognised that this patient of -theirs is suffering from weakness and not from sinfulness, for which -latter some kind of strength may still be required; both are therefore -entirely opposed to a further dieting him down to complete moral -emaciation, but are, on the contrary, prescribing a tonic, a -roborating, a natural regime for him--advice for which both doctors -have been reproached with Immorality by their contemporaries as well -as by posterity. But the younger doctor has turned the tables upon -their accusers, and has openly reproached his Nazarene colleagues with -the Immorality of endangering life itself, he has clearly demonstrated -to the world that their trustful and believing patient was shrinking -beneath their very fingers, he has candidly foretold these Christian -quacks that one day they would be in the position of the quack -skin-specialist at the fair, who, as a proof of his medical skill, -used to show to the peasants around him the skin of a completely cured -patient of his. Both Nietzsche and Disraeli know the way to health, -for they have had the disease of the age themselves, but they -have--the one partly, the other entirely--cured themselves of it, -they have resisted the spirit of their time, they have escaped the -fate of their contemporaries; they therefore, and they alone, know -their danger. This is the reason why they both speak so violently, why -they both attack with such bitter fervour the utilitarian and -materialistic attitude of English Science, why they both so ironically -brush aside the airy and fantastic ideals of German Philosophy--this -is why they both loudly declare (to use Disraeli's words) "that we are -the slaves of false knowledge; that our memories are filled with ideas -that have no origin in truth; that we believe what our fathers -credited, who were convinced without a cause; that we study human -nature in a charnel house, and, like the nations of the East, pay -divine honours to the maniac and the fool." But if these two great men -cannot refrain from such outspoken vituperation--they also lead the -way: they both teach the divinity of ideas and the vileness of action -without principle; they both exalt the value of personality and -character; they both deprecate the influence of society and -socialisation; they both intensely praise and love life, but they both -pour contempt and irony upon the shallow optimist, who thinks it -delightful, and the quietist, who wishes it to be calm, sweet, and -peaceful. They thus both preach a life of danger, in opposition to -that of pleasure, of comfort, of happiness, and they do not only -preach this noble life, they also act it: for both have with equal -determination staked even their lives on the fulfilment of their -ideal. - -It is astonishing--but only astonishing to your superficial student of -the Jewish character--that in Disraeli also we find an almost -Nietzschean appreciation of that eternal foe of the Jewish race, the -Hellenist, which makes Disraeli, just like Nietzsche, confess that the -Greek and the Hebrew are both amongst the highest types of the human -kind. It is not less astonishing--but likewise easily intelligible for -one who knows something of the great Jews of the Middle Ages--that in -Disraeli we discover that furious enmity against the doctrine of the -natural equality of men which Nietzsche combated all his life. It was -certainly the great Maimonides himself, that spiritual father of -Spinoza, who guided the pen of his Sephardic descendant, when he thus -wrote in his _Tancred_: "It is to be noted, although the Omnipotent -Creator might have formed, had it pleased him, in the humblest of his -creations, an efficient agent for his purpose that Divine Majesty has -never thought fit to communicate except with human beings of the very -highest order." - -But what about Christianity, to which Disraeli was sincerely attached, -and whose creation he always considered as one of the eternal glories -of his race? Did not the Divine Majesty think it fit then to -communicate with the most humble of its creatures, with the fishermen -of Galilee, with the rabble of Corinth, with the slaves, the women, -the criminals of the Roman Empire? As I wish to be honest about -Disraeli, I must point out here, that his genius, although the most -prominent in England during his lifetime, and although violently -opposed to its current superstitions, still partly belongs to his -age--and for this very pardonable reason, that in his Jewish pride he -overrated and even misunderstood Christianity. He all but overlooked -the narrow connection between Christianity and Democracy. He did not -see that in fighting Liberalism and Nonconformity all his life, he was -really fighting Christianity, the Protestant Form of which is at the -root of British Liberalism and Individualism to this very day. And -when later in his life Disraeli complained that the disturbance in the -mind of nations has been occasioned by "the powerful assault on the -Divinity of the Semitic Literature by the Germans," he overlooked -likewise the connection of this German movement with the same -Protestantism, from the narrow and vulgar middle-class of which have -sprung all those rationalising, unimaginative, and merely clever -professors, who have so successfully undermined the ancient and -venerable lore. And thirdly, and worst of all, Disraeli never -suspected that the French Revolution, which in the same breath he once -contemptuously denounced as "the Celtic Rebellion against Semitic -laws," was, in spite of its professed attack against religion, really -a profoundly Christian, because a democratic and revolutionary -movement. What a pity he did not know all this! What a shower of -splendid additional sarcasms he would have poured over those -flat-nosed Franks, had he known what I know now, that it is the -eternal way of the Christian to be a rebel, and that just as he has -once rebelled against us, he has never ceased pestering and rebelling -against any one else either of his own or any other creed. - -But it is so easy for me to be carried away by that favourite sport of -mine, of which I am the first inventor among the Jews--Christian -baiting. You must forgive this, however, in a Jew, who, while he has -been baited for two thousand years by you, likes to turn round now -that the opportunity has come, and tries to indulge on his part also -in a little bit of that genial pastime. I candidly confess it is -delightful, and I now quite understand your ancestors hunting mine as -much as they could--had I been a Christian, I would, probably, have -done the same; perhaps have done it even better, for no one would now -be left to write any such impudent truisms against me--rest assured -of that! But as I am a Jew, and have had too much experience of the -other side of the question, I must try to control myself in the midst -of victory; I must judge things calmly; I must state fact honestly; I -must not allow myself to be unjust towards you. First of all, then, -this rebelling faculty of yours is a Jewish inheritance, an -inheritance, however, of which you have made a more than generous, a -truly Christian use, because you did not keep it niggardly for -yourselves, but have distributed it all over the earth, from Nazareth -to Nishni-Novgorod, from Jerusalem to Jamaica, from Palestine to -Pimlico, so that every one is a rebel and an anarchist nowadays. But, -secondly, I must not forget that in every Anarchist, and therefore in -every Christian, there is also, or may be, an aristocrat--a man who, -just like the anarchist, but with a perfectly holy right, wishes to -obey no laws but those of his own conscience; a man who thinks too -highly of his own faith and persuasion, to convert other people to it; -a man who, therefore, would never carry it to Caffres and Coolis; a -man, in short, with whom even the noblest and exclusive Hebrew could -shake hands. In Friedrich Nietzsche this aristocratic element which -may be hidden in a Christian has been brought to light, in him the -Christian's eternal claim for freedom of conscience, for his own -priesthood, for justification by his own faith, is no longer used for -purposes of destruction and rebellion, but for those of command and -creation; in him--and this is the key to the character of this -extraordinary man, who both on his father's and mother's side was the -descendant of a long line of Protestant Parsons--the Christian and -Protestant spirit of anarchy became so strong that he rebelled even -against his own fellow-Anarchists, and told them that Anarchy was a -low and contemptible thing, and that Revolution was an occupation fit -only for superior slaves. But with this event the circle of -Christianity has become closed, and the exclusive House of Israel is -now under the delightful obligation to make its peace with its once -lost and now reforming son. - -The venerable Owner of this old house is still standing on its -threshold: his face is pale, his expression careworn, his eyes -apparently scanning something far in the distance. The wind--for there -is a terrible wind blowing just now--is playing havoc with his long -white Jew-beard, but this white Jew-beard of his is growing black -again at the end, and even the sad eyes are still capable of quite -youthful flashes, as may be noticed at this very moment. For the eyes -of the old Jew, apparently so dreamy and so far away, have suddenly -become fixed upon something in the distance yonder. The old Jew looks -and looks--and then he rubs his eyes--and then he eagerly looks -again. And now he is sure of himself. His old and haggard face is -lighting up, his stooped figure suddenly becomes more erect, and a -tear of joy is seen running over his pale cheek into that long beard -of his. For the old Jew has recognised some one coming from afar--some -one whom he had missed, but never mentioned, for his Law forbade him -to do this--some one, however, for whom he had secretly always -mourned, as only the race of the psalmists and the prophets can -mourn--and he rushes toward him, and he falls on his neck and he -kisses him, and he says to his servants: "Bring forth the best robe -and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand and shoes on his feet. -And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it and let us eat and be -merry!" AMEN. - - OSCAR LEVY. - -LONDON, - January 1909. - - - - -TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. - - -To the reader who knows Nietzsche, who has studied his _Zarathustra_ and -understood it, and who, in addition, has digested the works entitled -_Beyond Good and Evil, The Genealogy of Morals, The Twilight of the -Idols_, and _The Antichrist_,--to such a reader everything in this -volume will be perfectly clear and comprehensible. In the attack on -Strauss he will immediately detect the germ of the whole of -Nietzsche's subsequent attitude towards too hasty contentment and the -foolish beatitude of the "easily pleased"; in the paper on Wagner he -will recognise Nietzsche the indefatigable borer, miner and -underminer, seeking to define his ideals, striving after -self-knowledge above all, and availing himself of any contemporary -approximation to his ideal man, in order to press it forward as the -incarnation of his thoughts. Wagner the reformer of mankind! Wagner -the dithyrambic dramatist!--The reader who knows Nietzsche will not be -misled by these expressions. - -To the uninitiated reader, however, some words of explanation are due, -not only in regard to the two papers before us, but in regard to -Nietzsche himself. So much in our time is learnt from hearsay -concerning prominent figures in science, art, religion, or philosophy, -that it is hardly possible for anybody to-day, however badly informed -he may be, to begin the study of any great writer or scientist with a -perfectly open mind. It were well, therefore, to begin the study of -Nietzsche with some definite idea as to his unaltered purpose, if he -ever possessed such a thing; as to his lifelong ideal, if he ever kept -one so long; and as to the one direction in which he always travelled, -despite apparent deviations and windings. Had he such a purpose, such -an ideal, such a direction? We have no wish to open a controversy -here, neither do we think that in replying to this question in the -affirmative we shall give rise to one; for every careful student of -Nietzsche, we know, will uphold us in our view. Nietzsche had one very -definite and unaltered purpose, ideal and direction, and this was "the -elevation of the type man." He tells us in _The Will to Power_: "All is -truth to me that tends to elevate man!" To this principle he was -already pledged as a student at Leipzig; we owe every line that he -ever wrote to his devotion to it, and it is the key to all his -complexities, blasphemies, prolixities, and terrible earnestness. All -was good to Nietzsche that tended to elevate man; all was bad that -kept man stationary or sent him backwards. Hence he wrote _David -Strauss, the Confessor and Writer_ (1873). - -The Franco-German War had only just come to an end, and the keynote of -this polemical pamphlet is, "Beware of the intoxication of success." -When the whole of Germany was delirious with joy over her victory, at -a time when the unquestioned triumph of her arms tended rather to -reflect unearned glory upon every department of her social -organisation, it required both courage and discernment to raise the -warning voice and to apply the wet blanket. But Nietzsche did both, -and with spirit, because his worst fears were aroused. Smug content -(_erbärmliches Behagen_) was threatening to thwart his one purpose--the -elevation of man; smug content personified in the German scholar was -giving itself airs of omniscience, omnipotence, and ubiquity, and all -the while it was a mere cover for hidden rottenness and jejune -pedantry. - -Nietzsche's attack on Hegelian optimism alone (pp. 46, 53-54), in the -first paper, fully reveals the fundamental idea underlying this essay; -and if the personal attack on Strauss seems sometimes to throw the -main theme into the background, we must remember the author's own -attitude towards this aspect of the case. Nietzsche, as a matter of -fact, had neither the spite nor the meanness requisite for the purely -personal attack. In his _Ecce Homo_, he tells us most emphatically: "I -have no desire to attack particular persons--I do but use a -personality as a magnifying glass; I place it over the subject to -which I wish to call attention, merely that the appeal may be -stronger." David Strauss, in a letter to a friend, soon after the -publication of the first _Thought out of Season_, expresses his utter -astonishment that a total stranger should have made such a dead set at -him. The same problem may possibly face the reader on every page of -this essay: if, however, we realise Nietzsche's purpose, if we -understand his struggle to be one against "Culture-Philistinism" in -general, as a stemming, stultifying and therefore degenerate factor, -and regard David Strauss--as the author himself did, that is to say, -simply as a glass, focusing the whole light of our understanding upon -the main theme--then the Strauss paper is seen to be one of such -enormous power, and its aim appears to us so lofty, that, whatever our -views may be concerning the nature of the person assailed, we are -forced to conclude that, to Nietzsche at least, he was but the -incarnation and concrete example of the evil and danger then -threatening to overtake his country, which it was the object of this -essay to expose. - -When we read that at the time of Strauss's death (February 7th, 1874) -Nietzsche was greatly tormented by the fear that the old scholar might -have been hastened to his end by the use that had been made of his -personality in the first _Unzeitgemässe Betrachtung_; when we remember -that in the midst of this torment he ejaculated, "I was indeed not -made to hate and have enemies!"--we are then in a better position to -judge of the motives which, throughout his life, led him to engage -such formidable opponents and to undertake such relentless attacks. It -was merely his ruling principle that, all is true and good that tends -to elevate man; everything is bad and false that keeps man stationary -or sends him backwards. - -Those who may think that his attacks were often unwarrantable and -ill-judged will do well, therefore, to bear this in mind, that -whatever his value or merits may have been as an iconoclast, at least -the aim he had was sufficiently lofty and honourable, and that he -never shirked the duties which he rightly or wrongly imagined would -help him to. - -In that Wagner paper (1875-1876) we are faced by a somewhat different problem. -Most readers who will have heard of Nietzsche's subsequent -denunciation of Wagner's music will probably stand aghast before this -panegyric of him; those who, like Professor Saintsbury, will fail to -discover the internal evidence in this essay which points so -infallibly to Nietzsche's _real_ but still subconscious opinion of his -hero, may even be content to regard his later attitude as the result -of a complete _volte-face_, and at any rate a flat contradiction of the -one revealed in this paper. Let us, however, examine the internal -evidence we speak of, and let us also discuss the purpose and spirit -of the essay. - -We have said that Nietzsche was a man with a very fixed and powerful -ideal, and we have heard what this ideal was. Can we picture him, -then,--a young and enthusiastic scholar with a cultured love of music, -and particularly of Wagner's music, eagerly scanning all his circle, -the whole city and country in which he lived--yea, even the whole -continent on which he lived--for something or some one that would set -his doubts at rest concerning the feasibility of his ideal? Can we now -picture this young man coming face to face with probably one of the -greatest geniuses of his age--with a man whose very presence must have -been electric, whose every word or movement must have imparted some -power to his surroundings--with Richard Wagner? - -If we can conceive of what the mere attention, even, of a man like -Wagner must have meant to Nietzsche in his twenties, if we can form -any idea of the intoxicating effect produced upon him when this -attention developed into friendship, we almost refuse to believe that -Nietzsche could have been critical at all at first. In Wagner, as was -but natural, he soon began to see the ideal, or at least the means to -the ideal, which was his one obsession. All his hope for the future of -Germany and Europe cleaved, as it were, to this highest manifestation -of their people's life, and gradually he began to invest his already -great friend with all the extra greatness which he himself drew from -the depths of his own soul. - -The friendship which grew between them was of that rare order in which -neither can tell who influences the other more. Wagner would often -declare that the beautiful music in the third act of Siegfried was to -be ascribed to Nietzsche's influence over him; he also adopted the -young man's terminology in art matters, and the concepts implied by -the words "Dionysian" and "Apollonian" were borrowed by him from his -friend's discourses. How much Nietzsche owed to Wagner may perhaps -never be definitely known; to those who are sufficiently interested to -undertake the investigation of this matter, we would recommend Hans -Bélart's book, _Nietzsche's Ethik_; in it references will be found which -give some clue as to the probable sources from which the necessary -information may be derived. In any case, however, the reciprocal -effects of their conversations will never be exactly known; and -although it would be ridiculous to assume that Nietzsche was -essentially the same when he left as when he met him, what the real -nature of the change was it is now difficult to say. - -For some years their friendship continued firm, and grew ever more and -more intimate. _The Birth Of Tragedy_ was one of the first public -declarations of it, and after its publication many were led to -consider that Wagner's art was a sort of resurrection of the Dionysian -Grecian art. Enemies of Nietzsche began to whisper that he was merely -Wagner's "literary lackey"; many friends frowned upon the promising -young philologist, and questioned the exaggerated importance he was -beginning to ascribe to the art of music and to art in general, in -their influence upon the world; and all the while Nietzsche's one -thought and one aim was to help the cause and further the prospects of -the man who he earnestly believed was destined to be the salvation of -European culture. - -Every great ideal coined in his own brain he imagined to be the ideal -of his hero; all his sublimest hopes for society were presented -gratis, in his writings, to Wagner, as though products of the latter's -own mind; and just as the prophet of old never possessed the requisite -assurance to suppose that his noblest ideas were his own, but -attributed them to some higher and supernatural power, whom he thereby -learnt to worship for its fancied nobility of sentiment, so Nietzsche, -still doubting his own powers, created a fetich out of his most -distinguished friend, and was ultimately wounded and well-nigh wrecked -with disappointment when he found that the Wagner of the -Götterdämmerung and Parsifal was not the Wagner of his own mind. - -While writing _Ecce Homo_, he was so well aware of the extent to which -he had gone in idealising his friend, that he even felt able to say: -"_Wagner in Bayreuth_ is a vision of my own future.... Now that I can -look back upon this work, I would not like to deny that, at bottom, it -speaks only of myself" (p. 74). And on another page of the same book -we read: "... What I heard, as a young man, in Wagnerian music, had -absolutely nothing to do with Wagner: when I described Dionysian -music, I only described what I had heard, and I thus translated and -transfigured all that I bore in my own soul into the spirit of the new -art. The strongest proof of this is my essay, _Wagner in Bayreuth_: in -all decidedly psychological passages of this book the reader may -simply read my name, or the name 'Zarathustra,' wherever the text -contains the name 'Wagner'" (p. 68). - -As we have already hinted, there are evidences of his having -subconsciously discerned the _real_ Wagner, even in the heyday of their -friendship, behind the ideal he had formed of him; for his eyes were -too intelligent to be deceived, even though his understanding refused -at first to heed the messages they sent it: both the _Birth of Tragedy_ -and _Wagner in Bayreuth_ are with us to prove this, and not merely when -we read these works between the lines, but when we take such passages -as those found on pp. 115, 149, 150, 151, 156, 158, 159 of this book -quite literally. - -Nietzsche's infatuation we have explained; the consequent idealisation -of the object of his infatuation he himself has confessed; we have -also pointed certain passages which we believe show beyond a doubt -that almost everything to be found in _The Case of Wagner_ and _Nietzsche -contra Wagner_ was already subconscious in our author, long before he -had begun to feel even a coolness towards his hero: let those who -think our interpretation of the said passages is either strained or -unjustified turn to the literature to which we have referred and judge -for themselves. It seems to us that those distinguished critics who -complain of Nietzsche's complete _volte-face_ and his uncontrollable -recantations and revulsions of feeling have completely overlooked this -aspect of the question. - -It were well for us to bear in mind that we are not altogether free to -dispose of Nietzsche's attitude to Wagner, at any given period in -their relationship, with a single sentence of praise or of blame. -After all, we are faced by a problem which no objectivity or -dispassionate detachment on our parts can solve. Nietzsche endowed -both Schopenhauer and Wagner with qualities and aspirations so utterly -foreign to them both, that neither of them would have recognised -himself in the images he painted of them. His love for them was -unusual; perhaps it can only be fully understood emotionally by us: -like all men who are capable of very great love, Nietzsche lent the -objects of his affection anything they might happen to lack in the way -of greatness, and when at last his eyes were opened, genuine pain, not -malice, was the motive of even the most bitter of his diatribes. - -Finally, we should just like to give one more passage from _Ecce Homo_ -bearing upon the subject under discussion. It is particularly -interesting from an autobiographical standpoint, and will perhaps -afford the best possible conclusion to this preface. - -Nietzsche is writing about Wagner's music, and he says: "The world -must indeed be empty for him who has never been unhealthy enough for -this 'infernal voluptuousness'; it is allowable and yet almost -forbidden to use a mystical expression in this behalf. I suppose I -know better than any one the prodigies Wagner was capable of, the -fifty worlds of strange raptures to which no one save him could soar; -and as I stand to-day--strong enough to convert even the most -suspicious and dangerous phenomenon to my own use and be the stronger -for it--I declare Wagner to be the great benefactor of my life. -Something will always keep our names associated in the minds of men, -and that is, that we are two who have suffered more -excruciatingly--even at each other's hands--than most men are able to -suffer nowadays. And just as Wagner is merely a misunderstanding among -Germans, so am I and ever will be. You lack two centuries of -psychological and artistic discipline, my dear countrymen!... But it -will be impossible for you ever to recover the time now lost" (p. 43). - - ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI. - - - - -DAVID STRAUSS, - - -THE CONFESSOR AND THE WRITER. - - -DAVID STRAUSS - - - -I. - - -Public opinion in Germany seems strictly to forbid any allusion to the -evil and dangerous consequences of a war, more particularly when the -war in question has been a victorious one. Those writers, therefore, -command a more ready attention who, regarding this public opinion as -final, proceed to vie with each other in their jubilant praise of the -war, and of the powerful influences it has brought to bear upon -morality, culture, and art. Yet it must be confessed that a great -victory is a great danger. Human nature bears a triumph less easily -than a defeat; indeed, it might even be urged that it is simpler to -gain a victory of this sort than to turn it to such account that it -may not ultimately prove a serious rout. - -But of all evil results due to the last contest with France, the most -deplorable, perhaps, is that widespread and even universal error of -public opinion and of all who think publicly, that German culture was -also victorious in the struggle, and that it should now, therefore, be -decked with garlands, as a fit recognition of such extraordinary -events and successes. This error is in the highest degree pernicious: -not because it is an error,--for there are illusions which are both -salutary and blessed,--but because it threatens to convert our victory -into a signal defeat. A defeat?--I should say rather, into the -uprooting of the "German Mind" for the benefit of the "German Empire." - -Even supposing that the fight had been between the two cultures, the -standard for the value of the victor would still be a very relative -one, and, in any case, would certainly not justify such exaggerated -triumph or self-glorification. For, in the first place, it would be -necessary to ascertain the worth of the conquered culture. This might -be very little; in which case, even if the victory had involved the -most glorious display of arms, it would still offer no warrant for -inordinate rapture. - -Even so, however, there can be no question, in our case, of the -victory of German culture; and for the simple reason, that French -culture remains as heretofore, and that we depend upon it as -heretofore. It did not even help towards the success of our arms. -Severe military discipline, natural bravery and sustaining power, the -superior generalship, unity and obedience in the rank and file--in -short, factors which have nothing to do with culture, were -instrumental in making us conquer an opponent in whom the most -essential of these factors were absent. The only wonder is, that -precisely what is now called "culture" in Germany did not prove an -obstacle to the military operations which seemed vitally necessary to -a great victory. Perhaps, though, this was only owing to the fact that -this "thing" which dubs itself "culture" saw its advantage, for once, -in keeping in the background. - -If however, it be permitted to grow and to spread, if it be spoilt by -the flattering and nonsensical assurance that it has been -victorious,--then, as I have said, it will have the power to extirpate -German mind, and, when that is done, who knows whether there will -still be anything to be made out of the surviving German body! - -Provided it were possible to direct that calm and tenacious bravery -which the German opposed to the pathetic and spontaneous fury of the -Frenchman, against the inward enemy, against the highly suspicious -and, at all events, unnative "cultivation" which, owing to a dangerous -misunderstanding, is called "culture" in Germany, then all hope of a -really genuine German "culture"--the reverse of that -"cultivation"--would not be entirely lost. For the Germans have never -known any lack of clear-sighted and heroic leaders, though these, -often enough, probably, have lacked Germans. But whether it be -possible to turn German bravery into a new direction seems to me to -become ever more and more doubtful; for I realise how fully convinced -every one is that such a struggle and such bravery are no longer -requisite; on the contrary, that most things are regulated as -satisfactorily as they possibly can be--or, at all events, that -everything of moment has long ago been discovered and accomplished: in -a word, that the seed of culture is already sown everywhere, and is -now either shooting up its fresh green blades, or, here and there, -even bursting forth into luxuriant blossom. In this sphere, not only -happiness but ecstasy reigns supreme. I am conscious of this ecstasy -and happiness, in the ineffable, truculent assurance of German -journalists and manufacturers of novels, tragedies, poems, and -histories (for it must be clear that these people belong to one -category), who seem to have conspired to improve the leisure and -ruminative hours--that is to say, "the intellectual lapses"--of the -modern man, by bewildering him with their printed paper. Since the -war, all is gladness, dignity, and self-consciousness in this merry -throng. After the startling successes of German culture, it regards -itself, not only as approved and sanctioned, but almost as sanctified. -It therefore speaks with gravity, affects to apostrophise the German -People, and issues complete works, after the manner of the classics; -nor does it shrink from proclaiming in those journals which are open -to it some few of its adherents as new German classical writers and -model authors. It might be supposed that the dangers of such an _abuse -of success_ would be recognised by the more thoughtful and enlightened -among cultivated Germans; or, at least, that these would feel how -painful is the comedy that is being enacted around them: for what in -truth could more readily inspire pity than the sight of a cripple -strutting like a cock before a mirror, and exchanging complacent -glances with his reflection! But the "scholar" caste willingly allow -things to remain as they are, and are too much concerned with their own -affairs to busy themselves with the care of the German mind. Moreover, -the units of this caste are too thoroughly convinced that their own -scholarship is the ripest and most perfect fruit of the age--in fact, -of all ages--to see any necessity for a care of German culture in -general; since, in so far as they and the legion of their brethren are -concerned, preoccupations of this order have everywhere been, so to -speak, surpassed. The more conscientious observer, more particularly -if he be a foreigner, cannot help noticing withal that no great -disparity exists between that which the German scholar regards as his -culture and that other triumphant culture of the new German classics, -save in respect of the quantum of knowledge. Everywhere, where -knowledge and not ability, where information and not art, hold the -first rank,--everywhere, therefore, where life bears testimony to the -kind of culture extant, there is now only one specific German -culture--and this is the culture that is supposed to have conquered -France? - -The contention appears to be altogether too preposterous. It was -solely to the more extensive knowledge of German officers, to the -superior training of their soldiers, and to their more scientific -military strategy, that all impartial Judges, and even the French -nation, in the end, ascribed the victory. Hence, if it be intended to -regard German erudition as a thing apart, in what sense can German -culture be said to have conquered? In none whatsoever; for the moral -qualities of severe discipline, of more placid obedience, have nothing -in common with culture: these were characteristic of the Macedonian -army, for instance, despite the fact that the Greek soldiers were -infinitely more cultivated. To speak of German scholarship and culture -as having conquered, therefore, can only be the outcome of a -misapprehension, probably resulting from the circumstance that every -precise notion of culture has now vanished from Germany. - -Culture is, before all things, the unity of artistic style, in every -expression of the life of a people. Abundant knowledge and learning, -however, are not essential to it, nor are they a sign of its -existence; and, at a pinch, they might coexist much more harmoniously -with the very opposite of culture--with barbarity: that is to say, -with a complete lack of style, or with a riotous jumble of all styles. -But it is precisely amid this riotous jumble that the German of to-day -subsists; and the serious problem to be solved is: how, with all his -learning, he can possibly avoid noticing it; how, into the bargain, he -can rejoice with all his heart in his present "culture"? For -everything conduces to open his eyes for him--every glance he casts at -his clothes, his room, his house; every walk he takes through the -streets of his town; every visit he pays to his art-dealers and to his -trader in the articles of fashion. In his social intercourse he ought -to realise the origin of his manners and movements; in the heart of -our art-institutions, the pleasures of our concerts, theatres, and -museums, he ought to become apprised of the super- and juxta-position -of all imaginable styles. The German heaps up around him the forms, -colours, products, and curiosities of all ages and zones, and thereby -succeeds in producing that garish newness, as of a country fair, which -his scholars then proceed to contemplate and to define as "Modernism -per se"; and there he remains, squatting peacefully, in the midst of -this conflict of styles. But with this kind of culture, which is, at -bottom, nothing more nor less than a phlegmatic insensibility to real -culture, men cannot vanquish an enemy, least of all an enemy like the -French, who, whatever their worth may be, do actually possess a -genuine and productive culture, and whom, up to the present, we have -systematically copied, though in the majority of cases without skill. - -Even supposing we had really ceased copying them, it would still not -mean that we had overcome them, but merely that we had lifted their -yoke from our necks. Not before we have succeeded in forcing an -original German culture upon them can there be any question of the -triumph of German culture. Meanwhile, let us not forget that in all -matters of form we are, and must be, just as dependent upon Paris now -as we were before the war; for up to the present there has been no -such thing as a original German culture. - -We all ought to have become aware of this, of our own accord. Besides, -one of the few who had he right to speak to Germans in terms of -reproach Publicly drew attention to the fact. "We Germans are of -yesterday," Goethe once said to Eckermann. "True, for the last hundred -years we have diligently cultivated ourselves, but a few centuries may -yet have to run their course before our fellow-countrymen become -permeated with sufficient intellectuality and higher culture to have -it said of them, _it is a long time since they were barbarians_." - - - -II. - - -If, however, our public and private life is so manifestly devoid of -all signs of a productive and characteristic culture; if, moreover, -our great artists, with that earnest vehemence and honesty which is -peculiar to greatness admit, and have admitted, this monstrous -fact--so very humiliating to a gifted nation; how can it still be -possible for contentment to reign to such an astonishing extent among -German scholars? And since the last war this complacent spirit has -seemed ever more and more ready to break forth into exultant cries and -demonstrations of triumph. At all events, the belief seems to be rife -that we are in possession of a genuine culture, and the enormous -incongruity of this triumphant satisfaction in the face of the -inferiority which should be patent to all, seems only to be noticed by -the few and the select. For all those who think with the public mind -have blindfolded their eyes and closed their ears. The incongruity is -not even acknowledged to exist. How is this possible? What power is -sufficiently influential to deny this existence? What species of men -must have attained to supremacy in Germany that feelings which are so -strong and simple should be denied or prevented from obtaining -expression? This power, this species of men, I will name--they are the -_Philistines of Culture_. - -As every one knows, the word "Philistine" is borrowed from the -vernacular of student-life, and, in its widest and most popular sense, -it signifies the reverse of a son of the Muses, of an artist, and of -the genuine man of culture. The Philistine of culture, however, the -study of whose type and the hearing of whose confessions (when he -makes them) have now become tiresome duties, distinguishes himself -from the general notion of the order "Philistine" by means of a -superstition: he fancies that he is himself a son of the Muses and a -man of culture. This incomprehensible error clearly shows that he does -not even know the difference between a Philistine and his opposite. We -must not be surprised, therefore, if we find him, for the most part, -solemnly protesting that he is no Philistine. Owing to this lack of -self-knowledge, he is convinced that his "culture" is the consummate -manifestation of real German culture; and, since he everywhere meets -with scholars of his own type, since all public institutions, whether -schools, universities, or academies, are so organised as to be in -complete harmony with his education and needs, wherever he goes he -bears with him the triumphant feeling that he is the worthy champion -of prevailing German culture, and he frames his pretensions and claims -accordingly. - -If, however, real culture takes unity of style for granted (and even -an inferior and degenerate culture cannot be imagined in which a -certain coalescence of the profusion of forms has not taken place), it -is just possible that the confusion underlying the Culture-Philistine's -error may arise from the fact that, since he comes into contact -everywhere with creatures cast in the same mould as himself, he -concludes that this uniformity among all "scholars" must point to a -certain uniformity in German education--hence to culture. All round -him, he sees only needs and views similar to his own; wherever he goes, -he finds himself embraced by a ring of tacit conventions concerning -almost everything, but more especially matters of religion and art. -This imposing sameness, this _tutti unisono_ which, though it responds to -no word of command, is yet ever ready to burst forth, cozens him into -the belief that here a culture must be established and flourishing. But -Philistinism, despite its systematic organisation and power, does not -constitute a culture by virtue of its system alone; it does not even -constitute an inferior culture, but invariably the reverse--namely, -firmly established barbarity. For the uniformity of character which is -so apparent in the German scholars of to-day is only the result of a -conscious or unconscious exclusion and negation of all the artistically -productive forms and requirements of a genuine style. The mind of the -cultured Philistine must have become sadly unhinged; for precisely -what culture repudiates he regards as culture itself; and, since he -proceeds logically, he succeeds in creating a connected group of these -repudiations--a system of non-culture, to which one might at a pinch -grant a certain "unity of style," provided of course it were not -nonsense to attribute style to barbarity. If he have to choose between -a stylish act and its opposite, he will invariably adopt the latter, -and, since this rule holds good throughout, every one of his acts bears -the same negative stamp. Now, it is by means of this stamp that he is -able to identify the character of the "German culture," which is his -own patent; and all things that do not bear it are so many enemies and -obstacles drawn up against him. In the presence of these arrayed forces -the Culture-Philistine either does no more than ward off the blows, or -else he denies, holds his tongue, stops his ears, and refuses to face -facts. He is a negative creature--even in his hatred and animosity. -Nobody, however, is more disliked by him than the man who regards him -as a Philistine, and tells him what he is--namely, the barrier in the -way of all powerful men and creators, the labyrinth for all who doubt -and go astray, the swamp for all the weak and the weary, the fetters -of those who would run towards lofty goals, the poisonous mist that -chokes all germinating hopes, the scorching sand to all those German -thinkers who seek for, and thirst after, a new life. For the mind of -Germany is seeking; and ye hate it because it is seeking, and because -it will not accept your word, when ye declare that ye have found what -it is seeking. How could it have been possible for a type like that of -the Culture-Philistine to develop? and even granting its development, -how was it able to rise to the powerful position of supreme judge -concerning all questions of German culture? How could this have been -possible, seeing that a whole procession of grand and heroic figures -has already filed past us, whose every movement, the expression of -whose every feature, whose questioning voice and burning eye betrayed -the one fact, _that they were seekers_, and that they sought that which -the Culture-Philistine had long fancied he had found--to wit, a genuine -original German culture? Is there a soil--thus they seemed to ask--a -soil that is pure enough, unhandselled enough, of sufficient virgin -sanctity, to allow the mind of Germany to build its house upon it? -Questioning thus, they wandered through the wilderness, and the woods -of wretched ages and narrow conditions, and as seekers they disappeared -from our vision; one of them, at an advanced age, was even able to -say, in the name of all: "For half a century my life has been hard and -bitter enough; I have allowed myself no rest, but have ever striven, -sought and done, to the best and to the utmost of my ability." - -What does our Culture-Philistinism say of these seekers? It regards -them simply as discoverers, and seems to forget that they themselves -only claimed to be seekers. We have our culture, say her sons; for -have we not our "classics"? Not only is the foundation there, but the -building already stands upon it--we ourselves constitute that -building. And, so saying, the Philistine raises his hand to his brow. - -But, in order to be able thus to misjudge, and thus to grant -left-handed veneration to our classics, people must have ceased to -know them. This, generally speaking, is precisely what has happened. -For, otherwise, one ought to know that there is only one way of -honouring them, and that is to continue seeking with the same spirit -and with the same courage, and not to weary of the search. But to -foist the doubtful title of "classics" upon them, and to "edify" -oneself from time to time by reading their works, means to yield to -those feeble and selfish emotions which all the paying public may -purchase at concert-halls and theatres. Even the raising of monuments -to their memory, and the christening of feasts and societies with -their names--all these things are but so many ringing cash payments by -means of which the Culture-Philistine discharges his indebtedness to -them, so that in all other respects he may be rid of them, and, above -all, not bound to follow in their wake and prosecute his search -further. For henceforth inquiry is to cease: that is the Philistine -watchword. - -This watchword once had some meaning. In Germany, during the first -decade of the nineteenth century, for instance, when the heyday and -confusion of seeking, experimenting, destroying, promising, surmising, -and hoping was sweeping in currents and cross-currents over the land, -the thinking middle-classes were right in their concern for their own -security. It was then quite right of them to dismiss from their minds -with a shrug of their shoulders the _omnium gatherum_ of fantastic and -language-maiming philosophies, and of rabid special-pleading -historical studies, the carnival of all gods and myths, and the -poetical affectations and fooleries which a drunken spirit may be -responsible for. In this respect they were quite right; for the -Philistine has not even the privilege of licence. With the cunning -proper to base natures, however, he availed himself of the -opportunity, in order to throw suspicion even upon the seeking spirit, -and to invite people to join in the more comfortable pastime of -finding. His eye opened to the joy of Philistinism; he saved himself -from wild experimenting by clinging to the idyllic, and opposed the -restless creative spirit that animates the artist, by means of a -certain smug ease--the ease of self-conscious narrowness, -tranquillity, and self-sufficiency. His tapering finger pointed, -without any affectation of modesty, to all the hidden and intimate -incidents of his life, to the many touching and ingenuous joys which -sprang into existence in the wretched depths of his uncultivated -existence, and which modestly blossomed forth on the bog-land of -Philistinism. - -There were, naturally, a few gifted narrators who, with a nice touch, -drew vivid pictures of the happiness, the prosaic simplicity, the -bucolic robustness, and all the well-being which floods the quarters -of children, scholars, and peasants. With picture-books of this class -in their hands, these smug ones now once and for all sought to escape -from the yoke of these dubious classics and the command which they -contained--to seek further and to find. They only started the notion -of an epigone-age in order to secure peace for themselves, and to be -able to reject all the efforts of disturbing innovators summarily as -the work of epigones. With the view of ensuring their own -tranquillity, these smug ones even appropriated history, and sought to -transform all sciences that threatened to disturb their wretched ease -into branches of history--more particularly philosophy and classical -philology. Through historical consciousness, they saved themselves -from enthusiasm; for, in opposition to Goethe, it was maintained that -history would no longer kindle enthusiasm. No, in their desire to -acquire an historical grasp of everything, stultification became the -sole aim of these philosophical admirers of "_nil admirari_." While -professing to hate every form of fanaticism and intolerance, what they -really hated, at bottom, was the dominating genius and the tyranny of -the real claims of culture. They therefore concentrated and utilised -all their forces in those quarters where a fresh and vigorous movement -was to be expected, and then paralysed, stupefied, and tore it to -shreds. In this way, a philosophy which veiled the Philistine -confessions of its founder beneath neat twists and flourishes of -language proceeded further to discover a formula for the canonisation -of the commonplace. It expatiated upon the rationalism of all reality, -and thus ingratiated itself with the Culture-Philistine, who also -loves neat twists and flourishes, and who, above all, considers -himself real, and regards his reality as the standard of reason for -the world. From this time forward he began to allow every one, and -even himself, to reflect, to investigate, to æstheticise, and, more -particularly, to make poetry, music, and even pictures--not to -mention systems philosophy; provided, of course, that everything were -done according to the old pattern, and that no assault were made upon -the "reasonable" and the "real"--that is to say, upon the Philistine. -The latter really does not at all mind giving himself up, from time to -time, to the delightful and daring transgressions of art or of -sceptical historical studies, and he does not underestimate the charm -of such recreations and entertainments; but he strictly separates "the -earnestness of life" (under which term he understands his calling, his -business, and his wife and child) from such trivialities, and among -the latter he includes all things which have any relation to culture. -Therefore, woe to the art that takes itself seriously, that has a -notion of what it may exact, and that dares to endanger his income, -his business, and his habits! Upon such an art he turns his back, as -though it were something dissolute; and, affecting the attitude of a -guardian of chastity, he cautions every unprotected virtue on no -account to look. - -Being such an adept at cautioning people, he is always grateful to any -artist who heeds him and listens to caution. He then assures his -protege that things are to be made more easy for him; that, as a -kindred spirit, he will no longer be expected to make sublime -masterpieces, but that his work must be one of two kinds--either the -imitation of reality to the point of simian mimicry, in idylls or -gentle and humorous satires, or the free copying of the best-known and -most famous classical works, albeit with shamefast concessions to the -taste of the age. For, although he may only be able to appreciate -slavish copying or accurate portraiture of the present, still he knows -that the latter will but glorify him, and increase the well-being of -"reality"; while the former, far from doing him any harm, rather helps -to establish his reputation as a classical judge of taste, and is not -otherwise troublesome; for he has, once and for all, come to terms -with the classics. Finally, he discovers the general and effective -formula "Health" for his habits, methods of observation, judgments, -and the objects of his patronage; while he dismisses the importunate -disturber of the peace with the epithets "hysterical" and "morbid." It -is thus that David Strauss--a genuine example of the _satisfait_ in -regard to our scholastic institutions, and a typical Philistine--it is -thus that he speaks of "the philosophy of Schopenhauer" as being -"thoroughly intellectual, yet often unhealthy and unprofitable." It is -indeed a deplorable fact that intellect should show such a decided -preference for the "unhealthy" and the "unprofitable"; and even the -Philistine, if he be true to himself, will admit that, in regard to -the philosophies which men of his stamp produce, he is conscious of a -frequent lack of intellectuality, although of course they are always -thoroughly healthy and profitable. - -Now and again, the Philistines, provided they are by themselves, -indulge in a bottle of wine, and then they grow reminiscent, and speak -of the great deeds of the war, honestly and ingenuously. On such -occasions it often happens that a great deal comes to light which -would otherwise have been most stead-fastly concealed, and one of them -may even be heard to blurt out the most precious secrets of the whole -brotherhood. Indeed, a lapse of this sort occurred but a short while -ago, to a well-known æsthete of the Hegelian school of reasoning. It -must, however, be admitted that the provocation thereto was of an -unusual character. A company of Philistines were feasting together, in -celebration of the memory of a genuine anti-Philistine--one who, -moreover, had been, in the strictest sense of the words, wrecked by -Philistinism. This man was Hölderlin, and the aforementioned æsthete -was therefore justified, under the circumstances, in speaking of the -tragic souls who had foundered on "reality"--reality being understood, -here, to mean Philistine reason. But the "reality" is now different, -and it might well be asked whether Hölderlin would be able to find his -way at all in the present great age. "I doubt," says Dr. Vischer, -"whether his delicate soul could have borne all the roughness which is -inseparable from war, and whether it had survived the amount of -perversity which, since the war, we now see flourishing in every -quarter. Perhaps he would have succumbed to despair. His was one of -the unarmed souls; he was the Werther of Greece, a hopeless lover; his -life was full of softness and yearning, but there was strength and -substance in his will, and in his style, greatness, riches and life; -here and there it is even reminiscent of Æschylus. His spirit, -however, lacked hardness. He lacked the weapon humour; he could not -grant that one may be a Philistine and still be no barbarian." Not the -sugary condolence of the post-prandial speaker, but this last sentence -concerns us. Yes, it is admitted that one is a Philistine; but, a -barbarian?--No, not at any price! Unfortunately, poor Hölderlin could -not make such fine distinctions. If one reads the reverse of -civilisation, or perhaps sea-pirating, or cannibalism, into the word -"barbarian," then the distinction is justifiable enough. But what the -æsthete obviously wishes to prove to us is, that we may be -Philistines and at the same time men of culture. Therein lies the -humour which poor Hölderlin lacked and the need of which ultimately -wrecked him.[2] - -[2] Nietzsche's allusion to Hölderlin here is full of tragic -significance; for, like Hölderlin, he too was ultimately wrecked and -driven insane by the Philistinism of his age.--Translator's note. - -On this occasion a second admission was made by the speaker: "It is -not always strength of will, but weakness, which makes us superior to -those tragic souls which are so passionately responsive to the -attractions of beauty," or words to this effect. And this was said in -the name of the assembled "We"; that is to say, the "superiors," the -"superiors through weakness." Let us content ourselves with these -admissions. We are now in possession of information concerning two -matters from one of the initiated: first, that these "We" stand beyond -the passion for beauty; secondly, that their position was reached by -means of weakness. In less confidential moments, however, it was just -this weakness which masqueraded in the guise of a much more beautiful -name: it was the famous "healthiness" of the Culture-Philistine. In -view of this very recent restatement of the case, however, it would be -as well not to speak of them any longer as the "healthy ones," but as -the "weakly," or, still better, as the "feeble." Oh, if only these -feeble ones were not in power! How is it that they concern themselves -at all about what we call them! They are the rulers, and he is a poor -ruler who cannot endure to be called by a nickname. Yes, if one only -have power, one soon learns to poke fun--even at oneself. It cannot -matter so very much, therefore, even if one do give oneself away; for -what could not the purple mantle of triumph conceal? The strength of -the Culture-Philistine steps into the broad light of day when he -acknowledges his weakness; and the more he acknowledges it--the more -cynically he acknowledges it--the more completely he betrays his -consciousness of his own importance and superiority. We are living in -a period of cynical Philistine confessions. Just as Friedrich Vischer -gave us his in a word, so has David Strauss handed us his in a book; -and both that word and that book are cynical. - - - -III. - - -Concerning Culture-Philistinism, David Strauss makes a double -confession, by word and by deed; that is to say, by the word of the -confessor, and the act of the writer. His book entitled _The Old Faith -and the New _is, first in regard to its contents, and secondly in -regard to its being a book and a literary production, an uninterrupted -confession; while, in the very fact that he allows himself to write -confessions at all about his faith, there already lies a confession. -Presumably, every one seems to have the right to compile an -autobiography after his fortieth year; for the humblest amongst us may -have experienced things, and may have seen them at such close -quarters, that the recording of them may prove of use and value to the -thinker. But to write a confession of one's faith cannot but be -regarded as a thousand times more pretentious, since it takes for -granted that the writer attaches worth, not only to the experiences -and investigations of his life, but also to his beliefs. Now, what the -nice thinker will require to know, above all else, is the kind of -faith which happens to be compatible with natures of the Straussian -order, and what it is they have "half dreamily conjured up" (p. 10) -concerning matters of which those alone have the right to speak who -are acquainted with them at first hand. Whoever would have desired to -possess the confessions, say, of a Ranke or a Mommsen? And these men -were scholars and historians of a very different stamp from David -Strauss. If, however, they had ever ventured to interest us in their -faith instead of in their scientific investigations, we should have -felt that they were overstepping their limits in a most irritating -fashion. Yet Strauss does this when he discusses his faith. Nobody -wants to know anything about it, save, perhaps, a few bigoted -opponents of the Straussian doctrines, who, suspecting, as they do, a -substratum of satanic principles beneath these doctrines, hope that he -may compromise his learned utterances by revealing the nature of those -principles. These clumsy creatures may, perhaps, have found what they -sought in the last book; but we, who had no occasion to suspect a -satanic substratum, discovered nothing of the sort, and would have -felt rather pleased than not had we been able to discern even a dash -of the diabolical in any part of the volume. But surely no evil spirit -could speak as Strauss speaks of his new faith. In fact, spirit in -general seems to be altogether foreign to the book--more particularly -the spirit of genius. Only those whom Strauss designates as his "We," -speak as he does, and then, when they expatiate upon their faith to -us, they bore us even more than when they relate their dreams; be they -"scholars, artists, military men, civil employés, merchants, or landed -proprietors; come they in their thousands, and not the worst people in -the land either!" If they do not wish to remain the peaceful ones in -town or county, but threaten to wax noisy, then let not the din of -their _unisono_ deceive us concerning the poverty and vulgarity of the -melody they sing. How can it dispose us more favourably towards a -profession of faith to hear that it is approved by a crowd, when it is -of such an order that if any individual of that crowd attempted to -make it known to us, we should not only fail to hear him out, but -should interrupt him with a yawn? If thou sharest such a belief, we -should say unto him, in Heaven's name, keep it to thyself! Maybe, in -the past, some few harmless types looked for the thinker in David -Strauss; now they have discovered the "believer" in him, and are -disappointed. Had he kept silent, he would have remained, for these, -at least, the philosopher; whereas, now, no one regards him as such. -He no longer craved the honours of the thinker, however; all he wanted -to be was a new believer, and he is proud of his new belief. In making -a written declaration of it, he fancied he was writing the catechism -of "modern thought," and building the "broad highway of the world's -future." Indeed, our Philistines have ceased to be faint-hearted and -bashful, and have acquired almost cynical assurance. There was a time, -long, long ago, when the Philistine was only tolerated as something -that did not speak, and about which no one spoke; then a period ensued -during which his roughness was smoothed, during which he was found -amusing, and people talked about him. Under this treatment he -gradually became a prig, rejoiced with all his heart over his rough -places and his wrongheaded and candid singularities, and began to -talk, on his own account, after the style of Riehl's music for the -home. - -"But what do I see? Is it a shadow? Is it reality? How long and broad -my poodle grows!" - -For now he is already rolling like a hippopotamus along "the broad -highway of the world's future," and his growling and barking have -become transformed into the proud incantations of a religious founder. -And is it your own sweet wish, Great Master, to found the religion of -the future? "The times seem to us not yet ripe (p. 7). It does not -occur to us to wish to destroy a church." But why not, Great Master? -One but needs the ability. Besides, to speak quite openly in the -latter, you yourself are convinced that you Possess this ability. Look -at the last page of your book. There you actually state, forsooth, -that your new way "alone is the future highway of the world, which now -only requires partial completion, and especially general use, in order -also to become easy and pleasant." - -Make no further denials, then. The religious founder is unmasked, the -convenient and agreeable highway leading to the Straussian Paradise is -built. It is only the coach in which you wish to convey us that does -not altogether satisfy you, unpretentious man that you are! You tell -us in your concluding remarks: "Nor will I pretend that the coach to -which my esteemed readers have been obliged to trust themselves with -me fulfils every requirement,... all through one is much jolted" (p. -438). Ah! you are casting about for a compliment, you gallant old -religious founder! But let us be straightforward with you. If your -reader so regulates the perusal of the 368 pages of your religious -catechism as to read only one page a day--that is to say, if he take -it in the smallest possible doses-then, perhaps, we should be able to -believe that he might suffer some evil effect from the book--if only -as the outcome of his vexation when the results he expected fail to -make themselves felt. Gulped down more heartily, however, and as much -as possible being taken at each draught, according to the prescription -to be recommended in the case of all modern books, the drink can work -no mischief; and, after taking it, the reader will not necessarily be -either out of sorts or out of temper, but rather merry and -well-disposed, as though nothing had happened; as though no religion -had been assailed, no world's highway been built, and no profession of -faith been made. And I do indeed call this a result! The doctor, the -drug, and the disease--everything forgotten! And the joyous laughter! -The continual provocation to hilarity! You are to be envied, Sir; for -you have founded the most attractive of all religions--one whose -followers do honour to its founder by laughing at him. - - - -IV. - - -The Philistine as founder of the religion of the future--that is the -new belief in its most emphatic form of expression. The Philistine -becomes a dreamer--that is the unheard-of occurrence which -distinguishes the German nation of to-day. But for the present, in any -case, let us maintain an attitude of caution towards this fantastic -exaltation. For does not David Strauss himself advise us to exercise -such caution, in the following profound passage, the general tone of -which leads us to think of the Founder of Christianity rather than of -our particular author? (p. 92): "We know there have been noble -enthusiasts--enthusiasts of genius; the influence of an enthusiast can -rouse, exalt, and produce prolonged historic effects; but we do not -wish to choose him as the guide of our life. He will be sure to -mislead us, if we do not subject his influence to the control of -reason." But we know something more: we know that there are -enthusiasts who are not intellectual, who do not rouse or exalt, and -who, nevertheless, not only expect to be the guides of our lives, but, -as such, to exercise a very lasting historical influence into the -bargain, and to rule the future;--all the more reason why we should -place their influence under the control of reason. Lichtenberg even -said: "There are enthusiasts quite devoid of ability, and these are -really dangerous people." In the first place, as regards the -above-mentioned control of reason, we should like to have candid -answers to the three following questions: First, how does the new -believer picture his heaven? Secondly, how far does the courage lent -him by the new faith extend? And, thirdly, how does he write his -books? Strauss the Confessor must answer the first and second -questions; Strauss the Writer must answer the third. - -The heaven of the new believer must, perforce, be a heaven upon earth; -for the Christian "prospect of an immortal life in heaven," together -with the other consolations, "must irretrievably vanish" for him who -has but "one foot" on the Straussian platform. The way in which a -religion represents its heaven is significant, and if it be true that -Christianity knows no other heavenly occupations than singing and -making music, the prospect of the Philistine, _à la_ Strauss, is truly -not a very comforting one. In the book of confessions, however, there -is a page which treats of Paradise (p. 342). Happiest of Philistines, -unroll this parchment scroll before anything else, and the whole of -heaven will seem to clamber down to thee! "We would but indicate how -we act, how we have acted these many years. Besides our -profession--for we are members of the most various professions, and by -no means exclusively consist of scholars or artists, but of military -men and civil employés, of merchants and landed proprietors;... and -again, as I have said already, there are not a few of us, but many -thousands, and not the worst people in the country;--besides our -profession, then, I say, we are eagerly accessible to all the higher -interests of humanity; we have taken a vivid interest, during late -years, and each after his manner has participated in the great -national war, and the reconstruction of the German State; and we have -been profoundly exalted by the turn events have taken, as unexpected -as glorious, for our much tried nation. To the end of forming just -conclusions in these things, we study history, which has now been made -easy, even to the unlearned, by a series of attractively and popularly -written works; at the same time, we endeavour to enlarge our knowledge -of the natural sciences, where also there is no lack of sources of -information; and lastly, in the writings of our great poets, in the -performances of our great musicians, we find a stimulus for the -intellect and heart, for wit and imagination, which leaves nothing to -be desired. Thus we live, and hold on our way in joy." - -"Here is our man!" cries the Philistine exultingly, who reads this: -"for this is exactly how we live; it is indeed our daily life."[3] -And how perfectly he understands the euphemism! When, for example, he -refers to the historical studies by means of which we help ourselves -in forming just conclusions regarding the political situation, what -can he be thinking of, if it be not our newspaper-reading? When he -speaks of the active part we take in the reconstruction of the German -State, he surely has only our daily visits to the beer-garden in his -mind; and is not a walk in the Zoological Gardens implied by 'the -sources of information through which we endeavour to enlarge our -knowledge of the natural sciences'? Finally, the theatres and -concert-halls are referred to as places from which we take home 'a -stimulus for wit and imagination which leaves nothing to be -desired.'--With what dignity and wit he describes even the most -suspicious of our doings! Here indeed is our man; for his heaven is -our heaven!" - -[3] This alludes to a German student-song. - -Thus cries the Philistine; and if we are not quite so satisfied as he, -it is merely owing to the fact that we wanted to know more. Scaliger -used to say: "What does it matter to us whether Montaigne drank red or -white wine?" But, in this more important case, how greatly ought we to -value definite particulars of this sort! If we could but learn how -many pipes the Philistine smokes daily, according to the prescriptions -of the new faith, and whether it is the _Spener_ or the _National Gazette_ -that appeals to him over his coffee! But our curiosity is not -satisfied. With regard to one point only do we receive more exhaustive -information, and fortunately this point relates to the heaven in -heaven--the private little art-rooms which will be consecrated to the -use of great poets and musicians, and to which the Philistine will go -to edify himself; in which, moreover, according to his own showing, he -will even get "all his stains removed and wiped away" (p. 433); so -that we are led to regard these private little art-rooms as a kind of -bath-rooms. "But this is only effected for some fleeting moments; it -happens and counts only in the realms of phantasy; as soon as we -return to rude reality, and the cramping confines of actual life, we -are again on all sides assailed by the old cares,"--thus our Master -sighs. Let us, however, avail ourselves of the fleeting moments during -which we remain in those little rooms; there is just sufficient time -to get a glimpse of the apotheosis of the Philistine--that is to say, -the Philistine whose stains have been removed and wiped away, and who -is now an absolutely pure sample of his type. In truth, the -opportunity we have here may prove instructive: let no one who happens -to have fallen a victim to the confession-book lay it aside before -having read the two appendices, "Of our Great Poets" and "Of our Great -Musicians." Here the rainbow of the new brotherhood is set, and he who -can find no pleasure in it "for such an one there is no help," as -Strauss says on another occasion; and, as he might well say here, "he -is not yet ripe for our point of view." For are we not in the heaven -of heavens? The enthusiastic explorer undertakes to lead us about, and -begs us to excuse him if, in the excess of his joy at all the beauties -to be seen, he should by any chance be tempted to talk too much. "If I -should, perhaps, become more garrulous than may seem warranted in this -place, let the reader be indulgent to me; for out of the abundance of -the heart the mouth speaketh. Let him only be assured that what he is -now about to read does not consist of older materials, which I take -the opportunity of inserting here, but that these remarks have been -written for their present place and purpose" (pp. 345-46). This -confession surprises us somewhat for the moment. What can it matter to -us whether or not the little chapters were freshly written? As if it -were a matter of writing! Between ourselves, I should have been glad -if they had been written a quarter of a century earlier; then, at -least, I should have understood why the thoughts seem to be so -bleached, and why they are so redolent of resuscitated antiquities. -But that a thing should have been written in 1872 and already smell of -decay in 1872 strikes me as suspicious. Let us imagine some one's -falling asleep while reading these chapters--what would he most -probably dream about? A friend answered this question for me, because -he happened to have had the experience himself. He dreamt of a -wax-work show. The classical writers stood there, elegantly -represented in wax and beads. Their arms and eyes moved, and a screw -inside them creaked an accompaniment to their movements. He saw -something gruesome among them--a misshapen figure, decked with tapes -and jaundiced paper, out of whose mouth a ticket hung, on which -"Lessing" was written. My friend went close up to it and learned the -worst: it was the Homeric Chimera; in front it was Strauss, behind it -was Gervinus, and in the middle Chimera. The _tout-ensemble_ was -Lessing. This discovery caused him to shriek with terror: he waked, -and read no more. In sooth, Great Master, why have you written such -fusty little chapters? - -We do, indeed, learn something new from them; for instance, that -Gervinus made it known to the world how and why Goethe was no dramatic -genius; that, in the second part of Faust, he had only produced a -world of phantoms and of symbols; that Wallenstein is a Macbeth as -well as a Hamlet; that the Straussian reader extracts the short -stories out of the _Wanderjahre_ "much as naughty children pick the -raisins and almonds out of a tough plum-cake"; that no complete effect -can be produced on the stage without the forcible element, and that -Schiller emerged from Kant as from a cold-water cure. All this is -certainly new and striking; but, even so, it does not strike us with -wonder, and so sure as it is new, it will never grow old, for it never -was young; it was senile at birth. What extraordinary ideas seem to -occur to these Blessed Ones, after the New Style, in their æsthetic -heaven! And why can they not manage to forget a few of them, more -particularly when they are of that unæsthetic, earthly, and ephemeral -order to which the scholarly thoughts of Gervinus belong, and when -they so obviously bear the stamp of puerility? But it almost seems as -though the modest greatness of a Strauss and the vain insignificance -of a Gervinus were only too well able to harmonise: then long live all -those Blessed Ones! may we, the rejected, also live long, if this -unchallenged judge of art continues any longer to teach his borrowed -enthusiasm, and the gallop of that hired steed of which the honest -Grillparzer speaks with such delightful clearness, until the whole of -heaven rings beneath the hoof of that galumphing enthusiasm. Then, at -least, things will be livelier and noisier than they are at the -present moment, in which the carpet-slippered rapture of our heavenly -leader and the lukewarm eloquence of his lips only succeed in the end -in making us sick and tired. I should like to know how a Hallelujah -sung by Strauss would sound: I believe one would have to listen very -carefully, lest it should seem no more than a courteous apology or a -lisped compliment. Apropos of this, I might adduce an instructive and -somewhat forbidding example. Strauss strongly resented the action of -one of his opponents who happened to refer to his reverence for -Lessing. The unfortunate man had misunderstood;--true, Strauss did -declare that one must be of a very obtuse mind not to recognise that -the simple words of paragraph 86 come from the writer's heart. Now, I -do not question this warmth in the very least; on the contrary, the -fact that Strauss fosters these feelings towards Lessing has always -excited my suspicion; I find the same warmth for Lessing raised almost -to heat in Gervinus--yea, on the whole, no great German writer is so -popular among little German writers as Lessing is; but for all that, -they deserve no thanks for their predilection; for what is it, in -sooth, that they praise in Lessing? At one moment it is his -catholicity--the fact that he was critic and poet, archæologist and -philosopher, dramatist and theologian. Anon, "it is the unity in him -of the writer and the man, of the head and the heart." The last -quality, as a rule, is just as characteristic of the great writer as -of the little one; as a rule, a narrow head agrees only too fatally -with a narrow heart. And as to the catholicity; this is no -distinction, more especially when, as in Lessing's case, it was a dire -necessity. What astonishes one in regard to Lessing-enthusiasts is -rather that they have no conception of the devouring necessity which -drove him on through life and to this catholicity; no feeling for the -fact that such a man is too prone to consume himself rapidly, like a -flame; nor any indignation at the thought that the vulgar narrowness -and pusillanimity of his whole environment, especially of his learned -contemporaries, so saddened, tormented, and stifled the tender and -ardent creature that he was, that the very universality for which he -is praised should give rise to feelings of the deepest compassion. -"Have pity on the exceptional man!" Goethe cries to us; "for it was -his lot to live in such a wretched age that his life was one long -polemical effort." How can ye, my worthy Philistines, think of Lessing -without shame? He who was ruined precisely on account of your -stupidity, while struggling with your ludicrous fetiches and idols, -with the defects of your theatres, scholars, and theologists, without -once daring to attempt that eternal flight for which he had been born. -And what are your feelings when ye think of Winckelman, who, in order -to turn his eyes from your grotesque puerilities, went begging to the -Jesuits for help, and whose ignominious conversion dishonours not him, -but you? Dare ye mention Schiller's name without blushing? Look at his -portrait. See the flashing eyes that glance contemptuously over your -heads, the deadly red cheek--do these things mean nothing to you? In -him ye had such a magnificent and divine toy that ye shattered it. -Suppose, for a moment, it had been possible to deprive this harassed -and hunted life of Goethe's friendship, ye would then have been -responsible for its still earlier end. Ye have had no finger in any one -of the life-works of your great geniuses, and yet ye would make a -dogma to the effect that no one is to be helped in the future. But for -every one of them, ye were "the resistance of the obtuse world," which -Goethe calls by its name in his epilogue to the Bell; for all of them -ye were the grumbling imbeciles, or the envious bigots, or the -malicious egoists: in spite of you each of them created his works, -against you each directed his attacks, and thanks to you each -prematurely sank, while his work was still unfinished, broken and -bewildered by the stress of the battle. And now ye presume that ye are -going to be permitted, tamquam re bene gesta, to praise such men! and -with words which leave no one in any doubt as to whom ye have in your -minds when ye utter your encomiums, which therefore "spring forth with -such hearty warmth" that one must be blind not to see to whom ye are -really bowing. Even Goethe in his day had to cry: "Upon my honour, we -are in need of a Lessing, and woe unto all vain masters and to the -whole æsthetic kingdom of heaven, when the young tiger, whose -restless strength will be visible in his every distended muscle and -his every glance, shall sally forth to seek his prey!" - - - -V. - - -How clever it was of my friend to read no further, once he had been -enlightened (thanks to that chimerical vision) concerning the -Straussian Lessing and Strauss himself. We, however, read on further, -and even craved admission of the Doorkeeper of the New Faith to the -sanctum of music. The Master threw the door open for us, accompanied -us, and began quoting certain names, until, at last, overcome with -mistrust, we stood still and looked at him. Was it possible that we -were the victims of the same hallucination as that to which our friend -had been subjected in his dream? The musicians to whom Strauss -referred seemed to us to be wrongly designated as long as he spoke -about them, and we began to think that the talk must certainly be -about somebody else, even admitting that it did not relate to -incongruous phantoms. When, for instance, he mentioned Haydn with that -same warmth which made us so suspicious when he praised Lessing, and -when he posed as the epopt and priest of a mysterious Haydn cult; -when, in a discussion upon quartette-music, if you please, he even -likened Haydn to a "good unpretending soup" and Beethoven to -"sweetmeats" (p. 432); then, to our minds, one thing, and one thing -alone, became certain--namely, that his Sweetmeat-Beethoven is not our -Beethoven, and his Soup-Haydn is not our Haydn. The Master was -moreover of the opinion that our orchestra is too good to perform -Haydn, and that only the most unpretentious amateurs can do justice to -that music--a further proof that he was referring to some other artist -and some other work, possibly to Riehl's music for the home. - -But whoever can this Sweetmeat-Beethoven of Strauss's be? He is said -to have composed nine symphonies, of which the Pastoral is "the least -remarkable"; we are told that "each time in composing the third, he -seemed impelled to exceed his bounds, and depart on an adventurous -quest," from which we might infer that we are here concerned with a -sort of double monster, half horse and half cavalier. With regard to a -certain _Eroica_, this Centaur is very hard pressed, because he did not -succeed in making it clear "whether it is a question of a conflict on -the open field or in the deep heart of man." In the Pastoral there is -said to be "a furiously raging storm," for which it is "almost too -insignificant" to interrupt a dance of country-folk, and which, owing -to "its arbitrary connection with a trivial motive," as Strauss so -adroitly and correctly puts it, renders this symphony "the least -remarkable." A more drastic expression appears to have occurred to the -Master; but he prefers to speak here, as he says, "with becoming -modesty." But no, for once our Master is wrong; in this case he is -really a little too modest. Who, indeed, will enlighten us concerning -this Sweetmeat-Beethoven, if not Strauss himself--the only person who -seems to know anything about him? But, immediately below, a strong -judgment is uttered with becoming non-modesty, and precisely in regard -to the Ninth Symphony. It is said, for instance, that this symphony -"is naturally the favourite of a prevalent taste, which in art, and -music especially, mistakes the grotesque for the genial, and the -formless for the sublime" (p. 428). It is true that a critic as severe -as Gervinus was gave this work a hearty welcome, because it happened -to confirm one of his doctrines; but Strauss is "far from going to -these problematic productions" in search of the merits of his -Beethoven. "It is a pity," cries our Master, with a convulsive sigh, -"that one is compelled, by such reservations, to mar one's enjoyment -of Beethoven, as well as the admiration gladly accorded to him." For -our Master is a favourite of the Graces, and these have informed him -that they only accompanied Beethoven part of the way, and that he then -lost sight of them. "This is a defect," he cries, "but can you believe -that it may also appear as an advantage?" "He who is painfully and -breathlessly rolling the musical idea along will seem to be moving the -weightier one, and thus appear to be the stronger" (pp. 423-24). This -is a confession, and not necessarily one concerning Beethoven alone, -but concerning "the classical prose-writer" himself. He, the -celebrated author, is not abandoned by the Graces. From the play of -airy jests--that is to say, Straussian jests--to the heights of -solemn earnestness--that is to say, Straussian earnestness--they -remain stolidly at his elbow. He, the classical prose-writer, slides -his burden along playfully and with a light heart, whereas Beethoven -rolls his painfully and breathlessly. He seems merely to dandle his -load; this is indeed an advantage. But would anybody believe that it -might equally be a sign of something wanting? In any case, only those -could believe this who mistake the grotesque for the genial, and the -formless for the sublime--is not that so, you dandling favourite of -the Graces? We envy no one the edifying moments he may have, either in -the stillness of his little private room or in a new heaven specially -fitted out for him; but of all possible pleasures of this order, that -of Strauss's is surely one of the most wonderful, for he is even -edified by a little holocaust. He calmly throws the sublimest works of -the German nation into the flames, in order to cense his idols with -their smoke. Suppose, for a moment, that by some accident, the Eroica, -the Pastoral, and the Ninth Symphony had fallen into the hands of our -priest of the Graces, and that it had been in his power to suppress -such problematic productions, in order to keep the image of the Master -pure, who doubts but what he would have burned them? And it is -precisely in this way that the Strausses of our time demean -themselves: they only wish to know so much of an artist as is -compatible with the service of their rooms; they know only the -extremes--censing or burning. To all this they are heartily welcome; -the one surprising feature of the whole case is that public opinion, -in matters artistic, should be so feeble, vacillating, and corruptible -as contentedly to allow these exhibitions of indigent Philistinism to -go by without raising an objection; yea, that it does not even possess -sufficient sense of humour to feel tickled at the sight of an -unæsthetic little master's sitting in judgment upon Beethoven. As to -Mozart, what Aristotle says of Plato ought really to be applied here: -"Insignificant people ought not to be permitted even to praise him." -In this respect, however, all shame has vanished--from the public as -well as from the Master's mind: he is allowed, not merely to cross -himself before the greatest and purest creations of German genius, as -though he had perceived something godless and immoral in them, but -people actually rejoice over his candid confessions and admission of -sins--more particularly as he makes no mention of his own, but only of -those which great men are said to have committed. Oh, if only our -Master be in the right! his readers sometimes think, when attacked by -a paroxysm of doubt; he himself, however, stands there, smiling and -convinced, perorating, condemning, blessing, raising his hat to -himself, and is at any minute capable of saying what the Duchesse -Delaforte said to Madame de Staël, to wit: "My dear, I must confess -that I find no one but myself invariably right." - - - -VI. - - -A corpse is a pleasant thought for a worm, and a worm is a dreadful -thought for every living creature. Worms fancy their kingdom of heaven -in a fat body; professors of philosophy seek theirs in rummaging among -Schopenhauer's entrails, and as long as rodents exist, there will -exist a heaven for rodents. In this, we have the answer to our first -question: How does the believer in the new faith picture his heaven? -The Straussian Philistine harbours in the works of our great poets and -musicians like a parasitic worm whose life is destruction, whose -admiration is devouring, and whose worship is digesting. - -Now, however, our second question must be answered: How far does the -courage lent to its adherents by this new faith extend? Even this -question would already have been answered, if courage and -pretentiousness had been one; for then Strauss would not be lacking -even in the just and veritable courage of a Mameluke. At all events, -the "becoming modesty" of which Strauss speaks in the above-mentioned -passage, where he is referring to Beethoven, can only be a stylistic -and not a moral manner of speech. Strauss has his full share of the -temerity to which every successful hero assumes the right: all flowers -grow only for him--the conqueror; and he praises the sun because it -shines in at his window just at the right time. He does not even spare -the venerable old universe in his eulogies--as though it were only now -and henceforward sufficiently sanctified by praise to revolve around -the central monad David Strauss. The universe, he is happy to inform -us, is, it is true, a machine with jagged iron wheels, stamping and -hammering ponderously, but: "We do not only find the revolution of -pitiless wheels in our world-machine, but also the shedding of -soothing oil" (p. 435). The universe, provided it submit to Strauss's -encomiums, is not likely to overflow with gratitude towards this -master of weird metaphors, who was unable to discover better similes -in its praise. But what is the oil called which trickles down upon the -hammers and stampers? And how would it console a workman who chanced -to get one of his limbs caught in the mechanism to know that this oil -was trickling over him? Passing over this simile as bad, let us turn -our attention to another of Strauss's artifices, whereby he tries to -ascertain how he feels disposed towards the universe; this question of -Marguerite's, "He loves me--loves me not--loves me?" hanging on his -lips the while. Now, although Strauss is not telling flower-petals or -the buttons on his waistcoat, still what he does is not less harmless, -despite the fact that it needs perhaps a little more courage. Strauss -wishes to make certain whether his feeling for the "All" is either -paralysed or withered, and he pricks himself; for he knows that one -can prick a limb that is either paralysed or withered without causing -any pain. As a matter of fact, he does not really prick himself, but -selects another more violent method, which he describes thus: "We open -Schopenhauer, who takes every occasion of slapping our idea in the -face" (p. 167). Now, as an idea--even that of Strauss's concerning the -universe--has no face, if there be any face in the question at all it -must be that of the idealist, and the procedure may be subdivided into -the following separate actions:--Strauss, in any case, throws -Schopenhauer open, whereupon the latter slaps Strauss in the face. -Strauss then reacts religiously; that is to say, he again begins to -belabour Schopenhauer, to abuse him, to speak of absurdities, -blasphemies, dissipations, and even to allege that Schopenhauer could -not have been in his right senses. Result of the dispute: "We demand -the same piety for our Cosmos that the devout of old demanded for his -God"; or, briefly, "He loves me." Our favourite of the Graces makes -his life a hard one, but he is as brave as a Mameluke, and fears -neither the Devil nor Schopenhauer. How much "soothing oil" must he -use if such incidents are of frequent occurrence! - -On the other hand, we readily understand Strauss's gratitude to this -tickling, pricking, and slapping Schopenhauer; hence we are not so -very much surprised when we find him expressing himself in the -following kind way about him: "We need only turn over the leaves of -Arthur Schopenhauer's works (although we shall on many other accounts -do well not only to glance over but to study them), etc." (p. 166). -Now, to whom does this captain of Philistines address these words? To -him who has clearly never even studied Schopenhauer, the latter might -well have retorted, "This is an author who does not even deserve to be -scanned, much less to be studied." Obviously, he gulped Schopenhauer -down "the wrong way," and this hoarse coughing is merely his attempt -to clear his throat. But, in order to fill the measure of his -ingenuous encomiums, Strauss even arrogates to himself the right of -commending old Kant: he speaks of the latter's _General History of the -Heavens of the Year 1755_ as of "a work which has always appeared to me -not less important than his later _Critique of Pure Reason_. If in the -latter we admire the depth of insight, the breadth of observation -strikes us in the former. If in the latter we can trace the old man's -anxiety to secure even a limited possession of knowledge--so it be but -on a firm basis--in the former we encounter the mature man, full of -the daring of the discoverer and conqueror in the realm of thought." -This judgment of Strauss's concerning Kant did not strike me as being -more modest than the one concerning Schopenhauer. In the one case, we -have the little captain, who is above all anxious to express even the -most insignificant opinion with certainty, and in the other we have -the famous prose-writer, who, with all the courage of ignorance, -exudes his eulogistic secretions over Kant. It is almost incredible -that Strauss availed himself of nothing in Kant's _Critique of Pure -Reason _while compiling his Testament of modern ideas, and that he knew -only how to appeal to the coarsest realistic taste must also be -numbered among the more striking characteristics of this new gospel, -the which professes to be but the result of the laborious and -continuous study of history and science, and therefore tacitly -repudiates all connection with philosophy. For the Philistine captain -and his "We," Kantian philosophy does not exist. He does not dream of -the fundamental antinomy of idealism and of the highly relative sense -of all science and reason. And it is precisely reason that ought to -tell him how little it is possible to know of things in themselves. It -is true, however, that people of a certain age cannot possibly -understand Kant, especially when, in their youth, they understood or -fancied they understood that "gigantic mind," Hegel, as Strauss did; -and had moreover concerned themselves with Schleiermacher, who, -according to Strauss, "was gifted with perhaps too much acumen." It -will sound odd to our author when I tell him that, even now, he stands -absolutely dependent upon Hegel and Schleiermacher, and that his -teaching of the Cosmos, his way of regarding things _sub specie -biennii_, his salaams to the state of affairs now existing in Germany, -and, above all, his shameless Philistine optimism, can only be -explained by an appeal to certain impressions of youth, early habits, -and disorders; for he who has once sickened on Hegel and -Schleiermacher never completely recovers. - -There is one passage in the confession-book where the incurable -optimism referred to above bursts forth with the full joyousness of -holiday spirits (pp. 166-67). "If the universe is a thing which had -better not have existed," says Strauss, "then surely the speculation -of the philosopher, as forming part of this universe, is a speculation -which had better not have speculated. The pessimist philosopher fails -to perceive that he, above all, declares his own thought, which -declares the world to be bad, as bad also; but if the thought which -declares the world to be bad is a bad thought, then it follows -naturally that the world is good. As a rule, optimism may take things -too easily. Schopenhauer's references to the colossal part which -sorrow and evil play in the world are quite in their right place as a -counterpoise; but every true philosophy is necessarily optimistic, as -otherwise she hews down the branch on which she herself is sitting." -If this refutation of Schopenhauer is not the same as that to which -Strauss refers somewhere else as "the refutation loudly and jubilantly -acclaimed in higher spheres," then I quite fail to understand the -dramatic phraseology used by him elsewhere to strike an opponent. Here -optimism has for once intentionally simplified her task. But the -master-stroke lay in thus pretending that the refutation of -Schopenhauer was not such a very difficult task after all, and in -playfully wielding the burden in such a manner that the three Graces -attendant on the dandling optimist might constantly be delighted by -his methods. The whole purpose of the deed was to demonstrate this one -truth, that it is quite unnecessary to take a pessimist seriously; the -most vapid sophisms become justified, provided they show that, in -regard to a philosophy as "unhealthy and unprofitable" as -Schopenhauer's, not proofs but quips and sallies alone are suitable. -While perusing such passages, the reader will grasp the full meaning -of Schopenhauer's solemn utterance to the effect that, where optimism -is not merely the idle prattle of those beneath whose flat brows words -and only words are stored, it seemed to him not merely an absurd _but a -vicious attitude of mind_, and one full of scornful irony towards the -indescribable sufferings of humanity. When a philosopher like Strauss -is able to frame it into a system, it becomes more than a vicious -attitude of mind--it is then an imbecile gospel of comfort for the "I" -or for the "We," and can only provoke indignation. - -Who could read the following psychological avowal, for instance, -without indignation, seeing that it is obviously but an offshoot from -this vicious gospel of comfort?--"Beethoven remarked that he could -never have composed a text like Figaro or Don Juan. _Life had not been -so profuse of its snubs to him that he could treat it so gaily, or -deal so lightly with the foibles of men_" (p. 430). In order, however, -to adduce the most striking instance of this dissolute vulgarity of -sentiment, let it suffice, here, to observe that Strauss knows no -other means of accounting for the terribly serious negative instinct -and the movement of ascetic sanctification which characterised the -first century of the Christian era, than by supposing the existence of -a previous period of surfeit in the matter of all kinds of sexual -indulgence, which of itself brought about a state of revulsion and -disgust. - - - "The Persians call it _bidamag buden_, - Germans say '_Katzenjammer_.'"[4] - - -[4] Remorse for the previous night's excesses.--Translator's note. - -Strauss quotes this himself, and is not ashamed. As for us, we turn -aside for a moment, that we may overcome our loathing. - - - -VII. - - -As a matter of fact, our Philistine captain is brave, even audacious, -in words; particularly when he hopes by such bravery to delight his -noble colleagues--the "We," as he calls them. So the asceticism and -self-denial of the ancient anchorite and saint was merely a form of -_Katzenjammer_? Jesus may be described as an enthusiast who nowadays -would scarcely have escaped the madhouse, and the story of the -Resurrection may be termed a "world-wide deception." For once we will -allow these views to pass without raising any objection, seeing that -they may help us to gauge the amount of courage which our "classical -Philistine" Strauss is capable of. Let us first hear his confession: -"It is certainly an unpleasant and a thankless task to tell the world -those truths which it is least desirous of hearing. It prefers, in -fact, to manage its affairs on a profuse scale, receiving and spending -after the magnificent fashion of the great, as long as there is -anything left; should any person, however, add up the various items of -its liabilities, and anxiously call its attention to the sum-total, he -is certain to be regarded as an importunate meddler. And yet this has -always been the bent of my moral and intellectual nature." A moral and -intellectual nature of this sort might possibly be regarded as -courageous; but what still remains to be proved is, whether this -courage is natural and inborn, or whether it is not rather acquired -and artificial. Perhaps Strauss only accustomed himself by degrees to -the rôle of an importunate meddler, until he gradually acquired the -courage of his calling. Innate cowardice, which is the Philistine's -birthright, would not be incompatible with this mode of development, -and it is precisely this cowardice which is perceptible in the want of -logic of those sentences of Strauss's which it needed courage to -pronounce. They sound like thunder, but they do not clear the air. No -aggressive action is performed: aggressive words alone are used, and -these he selects from among the most insulting he can find. He -moreover exhausts all his accumulated strength and energy in coarse -and noisy expression, and when once his utterances have died away he -is more of a coward even than he who has always held his tongue. The -very shadow of his deeds--his morality--shows us that he is a -word-hero, and that he avoids everything which might induce him to -transfer his energies from mere verbosity to really serious things. -With admirable frankness, he announces that he is no longer a -Christian, but disclaims all idea of wishing to disturb the -contentment of any one: he seems to recognise a contradiction in the -notion of abolishing one society by instituting another--whereas there -is nothing contradictory in it at all. With a certain rude -self-satisfaction, he swathes himself in the hirsute garment of our -Simian genealogists, and extols Darwin as one of mankind's greatest -benefactors; but our perplexity is great when we find him constructing -his ethics quite independently of the question, "What is our -conception of the universe?" In this department he had an opportunity -of exhibiting native pluck; for he ought to have turned his back on -his "We," and have established a moral code for life out of _bellum -omnium contra omnes_ and the privileges of the strong. But it is to be -feared that such a code could only have emanated from a bold spirit -like that of Hobbes', and must have taken its root in a love of truth -quite different from that which was only able to vent itself in -explosive outbursts against parsons, miracles, and the "world-wide -humbug" of the Resurrection. For, whereas the Philistine remained on -Strauss's side in regard to these explosive outbursts, he would have -been against him had he been confronted with a genuine and seriously -constructed ethical system, based upon Darwin's teaching. - -Says Strauss: "I should say that all moral action arises from the -individual's acting in consonance with the idea of kind" (p. 274). Put -quite clearly and comprehensively, this means: "Live as a man, and not -as an ape or a seal." Unfortunately, this imperative is both useless -and feeble; for in the class _Man_ what a multitude of different types -are included--to mention only the Patagonian and the Master, Strauss; -and no one would ever dare to say with any right, "Live like a -Patagonian," and "Live like the Master Strauss"! Should any one, -however, make it his rule to live like a genius--that is to say, like -the ideal type of the genus Man--and should he perchance at the same -time be either a Patagonian or Strauss himself, what should we then -not have to suffer from the importunities of genius-mad eccentrics -(concerning whose mushroom growth in Germany even Lichtenberg had -already spoken), who with savage cries would compel us to listen to -the confession of their most recent belief! Strauss has not yet -learned that no "idea" can ever make man better or more moral, and -that the preaching of a morality is as easy as the establishment of it -is difficult. His business ought rather to have been, to take the -phenomena of human goodness, such--for instance--as pity, love, and -self-abnegation, which are already to hand, and seriously to explain -them and show their relation to his Darwinian first principle. But no; -he preferred to soar into the imperative, and thus escape the task of -explaining. But even in his flight he was irresponsible enough to soar -beyond the very first principles of which we speak. - -"Ever remember," says Strauss, "that thou art human, not merely a -natural production; ever remember that all others are human also, and, -with all individual differences, the same as thou, having the same -needs and claims as thyself: this is the sum and the substance of -morality" (p. 277). But where does this imperative hail from? How can -it be intuitive in man, seeing that, according to Darwin, man is -indeed a creature of nature, and that his ascent to his present stage -of development has been conditioned by quite different laws--by the -very fact that he was continually forgetting that others were -constituted like him and shared the same rights with him; by the very -fact that he regarded himself as the stronger, and thus brought about -the gradual suppression of weaker types. Though Strauss is bound to -admit that no two creatures have ever been quite alike, and that the -ascent of man from the lowest species of animals to the exalted height -of the Culture-Philistine depended upon the law of individual -distinctness, he still sees no difficulty in declaring exactly the -reverse in his law: "Behave thyself as though there were no such -things as individual distinctions." Where is the Strauss-Darwin -morality here? Whither, above all, has the courage gone? - -In the very next paragraph we find further evidence tending to show us -the point at which this courage veers round to its opposite; for -Strauss continues: "Ever remember that thou, and all that thou -beholdest within and around thee, all that befalls thee and others, is -no disjointed fragment, no wild chaos of atoms or casualties, but -that, following eternal law, it springs from the one primal source of -all life, all reason, and all good: this is the essence of religion" -(pp. 277-78). Out of that "one primal source," however, all ruin and -irrationality, all evil flows as well, and its name, according to -Strauss, is Cosmos. - -Now, how can this Cosmos, with all the contradictions and the -self-annihilating characteristics which Strauss gives it, be worthy of -religious veneration and be addressed by the name "God," as Strauss -addresses it?--"Our God does not, indeed, take us into His arms from -the outside (here one expects, as an antithesis, a somewhat miraculous -process of being "taken into His arms from the inside"), but He -unseals the well-springs of consolation within our own bosoms. He -shows us that although Chance would be an unreasonable ruler, yet -necessity, or the enchainment of causes in the world, is Reason -itself." (A misapprehension of which only the "We" can fail to -perceive the folly; because they were brought up in the Hegelian -worship of Reality as the Reasonable--that is to say, in the -canonisation of success.) "He teaches us to perceive that to demand an -exception in the accomplishment of a single natural law would be to -demand the destruction of the universe" (pp. 435-36). On the contrary, -Great Master: an honest natural scientist believes in the -unconditional rule of natural laws in the world, without, however, -taking up any position in regard to the ethical or intellectual value -of these laws. Wherever neutrality is abandoned in this respect, it is -owing to an anthropomorphic attitude of mind which allows reason to -exceed its proper bounds. But it is just at the point where the -natural scientist resigns that Strauss, to put it in his own words, -"reacts religiously," and leaves the scientific and scholarly -standpoint in order to proceed along less honest lines of his own. -Without any further warrant, he assumes that all that has happened -possesses the highest intellectual value; that it was therefore -absolutely reasonably and intentionally so arranged, and that it even -contained a revelation of eternal goodness. He therefore has to appeal -to a complete cosmodicy, and finds himself at a disadvantage in regard -to him who is contented with a theodicy, and who, for instance, -regards the whole of man's existence as a punishment for sin or a -process of purification. At this stage, and in this embarrassing -position, Strauss even suggests a metaphysical hypothesis--the driest -and most palsied ever conceived--and, in reality, but an unconscious -parody of one of Lessing's sayings. We read on page 255: "And that -other saying of Lessing's--'If God, holding truth in His right hand, -and in His left only the ever-living desire for it, although on -condition of perpetual error, left him the choice of the two, he -would, considering that truth belongs to God alone, humbly seize His -left hand, and beg its contents for Himself'--this saying of -Lessing's has always been accounted one of the most magnificent which -he has left us. It has been found to contain the general expression of -his restless love of inquiry and activity. The saying has always made -a special impression upon me; because, behind its subjective meaning, -I still seemed to hear the faint ring of an objective one of infinite -import. For does it not contain the best possible answer to the rude -speech of Schopenhauer, respecting the ill-advised God who had nothing -better to do than to transform Himself into this miserable world? if, -for example, the Creator Himself had shared Lessing's conviction of -the superiority of struggle to tranquil possession?" What!--a God who -would choose _perpetual error_, together with a striving after truth, -and who would, perhaps, fall humbly at Strauss's feet and cry to -him, "Take thou all Truth, it is thine!"? If ever a God and a man were -ill-advised, they are this Straussian God, whose hobby is to err and -to fail, and this Straussian man, who must atone for this erring and -failing. Here, indeed, one hears "a faint ring of infinite import"; -here flows Strauss's cosmic soothing oil; here one has a notion of the -_rationale_ of all becoming and all natural laws. Really? Is not our -universe rather the work of an inferior being, as Lichtenberg -suggests?--of an inferior being who did not quite understand his -business; therefore an experiment, an attempt, upon which work is -still proceeding? Strauss himself, then, would be compelled to admit -that our universe is by no means the theatre of reason, but of error, -and that no conformity to law can contain anything consoling, since -all laws have been promulgated by an erratic God who even finds -pleasure in blundering. It really is a most amusing spectacle to watch -Strauss as a metaphysical architect, building castles in the air. But -for whose benefit is this entertainment given? For the smug and noble -"We," that they may not lose conceit with themselves: they may -possibly have taken sudden fright, in the midst of the inflexible and -pitiless wheel-works of the world-machine, and are tremulously -imploring their leader to come to their aid. That is why Strauss pours -forth the "soothing oil," that is why he leads forth on a leash a God -whose passion it is to err; it is for the same reason, too, that he -assumes for once the utterly unsuitable rôle of a metaphysical -architect. He does all this, because the noble souls already referred -to are frightened, and because he is too. And it is here that we reach -the limit of his courage, even in the presence of his "We." He does -not dare to be honest, and to tell them, for instance: "I have -liberated you from a helping and pitiful God: the Cosmos is no more -than an inflexible machine; beware of its wheels, that they do not -crush you." He dare not do this. Consequently, he must enlist the help -of a witch, and he turns to metaphysics. To the Philistine, however, -even Strauss's metaphysics is preferable to Christianity's, and the -notion of an erratic God more congenial than that of one who works -miracles. For the Philistine himself errs, but has never yet performed -a miracle. Hence his hatred of the genius; for the latter is justly -famous for the working of miracles. It is therefore highly instructive -to ascertain why Strauss, in one passage alone, suddenly takes up the -cudgels for genius and the aristocracy of intellect in general. -Whatever does he do it for? He does it out of fear--fear of the social -democrat. He refers to Bismarck and Moltke, "whose greatness is the -less open to controversy as it manifests itself in the domain of -tangible external facts. No help for it, therefore; even the most -stiff-necked and obdurate of these fellows must condescend to look up -a little, if only to get a sight, be it no farther than the knees, of -those august figures" (p. 327). Do you, Master Metaphysician, perhaps -intend to instruct the social democrats in the art of getting kicks? -The willingness to bestow them may be met with everywhere, and you are -perfectly justified in promising to those who happen to be kicked a -sight of those sublime beings as far as the knee. "Also in the domain -of art and science," Strauss continues, "there will never be a dearth -of kings whose architectural undertakings will find employment for a -multitude of carters." Granted; but what if the carters should begin -building? It does happen at times, Great Master, as you know, and then -the kings must grin and bear it. - -As a matter of fact, this union of impudence and weakness, of daring -words and cowardly concessions, this cautious deliberation as to which -sentences will or will not impress the Philistine or smooth him down -the right way, this lack of character and power masquerading as -character and power, this meagre wisdom in the guise of -omniscience,--these are the features in this book which I detest. If I -could conceive of young men having patience to read it and to value -it, I should sorrowfully renounce all hope for their future. And is -this confession of wretched, hopeless, and really despicable -Philistinism supposed to be the expression of the thousands -constituting the "We" of whom Strauss speaks, and who are to be the -fathers of the coming generation? Unto him who would fain help this -coming generation to acquire what the present one does not yet -possess, namely, a genuine German culture, the prospect is a horrible -one. To such a man, the ground seems strewn with ashes, and all stars -are obscured; while every withered tree and field laid waste seems to -cry to him: Barren! Forsaken! Springtime is no longer possible here! -He must feel as young Goethe felt when he first peered into the -melancholy atheistic twilight of the _Système de la Nature_; to him this -book seemed so grey, so Cimmerian and deadly, that he could only -endure its presence with difficulty, and shuddered at it as one -shudders at a spectre. - - - -VIII. - - -We ought now to be sufficiently informed concerning the heaven and the -courage of our new believer to be able to turn to the last question: -How does he write his books? and of what order are his religious -documents? - -He who can answer this question uprightly and without prejudice will -be confronted by yet another serious problem, and that is: How this -Straussian pocket-oracle of the German Philistine was able to pass -through six editions? And he will grow more than ever suspicious when -he hears that it was actually welcomed as a pocket-oracle, not only in -scholastic circles, but even in German universities as well. Students -are said to have greeted it as a canon for strong intellects, and, -from all accounts, the professors raised no objections to this view; -while here and there people have declared it to be a _religions book -for scholars_. Strauss himself gave out that he did not intend his -profession of faith to be merely a reference-book for learned and -cultured people; but here let us abide by the fact that it was first -and foremost a work appealing to his colleagues, and was ostensibly a -mirror in which they were to see their own way of living faithfully -reflected. For therein lay the feat. The Master feigned to have -presented us with a new ideal conception of the universe, and now -adulation is being paid him out of every mouth; because each is in a -position to suppose that he too regards the universe and life in the -same way. Thus Strauss has seen fulfilled in each of his readers what -he only demanded of the future. In this way, the extraordinary success -of his book is partly explained: "Thus we live and hold on our way in -joy," the scholar cries in his book, and delights to see others -rejoicing over the announcement. If the reader happen to think -differently from the Master in regard to Darwin or to capital -punishment, it is of very little consequence; for he is too conscious -throughout of breathing an atmosphere that is familiar to him, and of -hearing but the echoes of his own voice and wants. However painfully -this unanimity may strike the true friend of German culture, it is his -duty to be unrelenting in his explanation of it as a phenomenon, and -not to shrink from making this explanation public. - -We all know the peculiar methods adopted in our own time of -cultivating the sciences: we all know them, because they form a part -of our lives. And, for this very reason, scarcely anybody seems to ask -himself what the result of such a cultivation of the sciences will -mean to culture in general, even supposing that everywhere the highest -abilities and the most earnest will be available for the promotion of -culture. In the heart of the average scientific type (quite -irrespective of the examples thereof with which we meet to-day) there -lies a pure paradox: he behaves like the veriest idler of independent -means, to whom life is not a dreadful and serious business, but a -sound piece of property, settled upon him for all eternity; and it -seems to him justifiable to spend his whole life in answering -questions which, after all is said and done, can only be of interest -to that person who believes in eternal life as an absolute certainty. -The heir of but a few hours, he sees himself encompassed by yawning -abysses, terrible to behold; and every step he takes should recall the -questions, Wherefore? Whither? and Whence? to his mind. But his soul -rather warms to his work, and, be this the counting of a floweret's -petals or the breaking of stones by the roadside, he spends his whole -fund of interest, pleasure, strength, and aspirations upon it. This -paradox--the scientific man--has lately dashed ahead at such a frantic -speed in Germany, that one would almost think the scientific world -were a factory, in which every minute wasted meant a fine. To-day the -man of science works as arduously as the fourth or slave caste: his -study has ceased to be an occupation, it is a necessity; he looks -neither to the right nor to the left, but rushes through all -things--even through the serious matters which life bears in its -train--with that semi-listlessness and repulsive need of rest so -characteristic of the exhausted labourer. _This is also his attitude -towards culture_. He behaves as if life to him were not only _otium_ but -_sine dignitate_: even in his sleep he does not throw off the yoke, but -like an emancipated slave still dreams of his misery, his forced haste -and his floggings. Our scholars can scarcely be distinguished--and, -even then, not to their advantage--from agricultural labourers, who in -order to increase a small patrimony, assiduously strive, day and -night, to cultivate their fields, drive their ploughs, and urge on -their oxen. Now, Pascal suggests that men only endeavour to work hard -at their business and sciences with the view of escaping those -questions of greatest import which every moment of loneliness or -leisure presses upon them--the questions relating to the _wherefore_, -the _whence_, and the _whither_ of life. Curiously enough, our scholars -never think of the most vital question of all--the wherefore of their -work, their haste, and their painful ecstasies. Surely their object is -not the earning of bread or the acquiring of posts of honour? No, -certainly not. But ye take as much pains as the famishing and -breadless; and, with that eagerness and lack of discernment which -characterises the starving, ye even snatch the dishes from the -sideboard of science. If, however, as scientific men, ye proceed with -science as the labourers with the tasks which the exigencies of life -impose upon them, what will become of a culture which must await the -hour of its birth and its salvation in the very midst of all this -agitated and breathless running to and fro--this sprawling -scientifically? - -For _it_ no one has time--and yet for what shall science have time if -not for culture? Answer us here, then, at least: whence, whither, -wherefore all science, if it do not lead to culture? Belike to -barbarity? And in this direction we already see the scholar caste -ominously advanced, if we are to believe that such superficial books -as this one of Strauss's meet the demand of their present degree of -culture. For precisely in him do we find that repulsive need of rest -and that incidental semi-listless attention to, and coming to terms -with, philosophy, culture, and every serious thing on earth. It will -be remembered that, at the meetings held by scholars, as soon as each -individual has had his say in his own particular department of -knowledge, signs of fatigue, of a desire for distraction at any price, -of waning memory, and of incoherent experiences of life, begin to be -noticeable. While listening to Strauss discussing any worldly -question, be it marriage, the war, or capital punishment, we are -startled by his complete lack of anything like first-hand experience, -or of any original thought on human nature. All his judgments are so -redolent of books, yea even of newspapers. Literary reminiscences do -duty for genuine ideas and views, and the assumption of a moderate and -grandfatherly tone take the place of wisdom and mature thought. How -perfectly in keeping all this is with the fulsome spirit animating the -holders of the highest places in German science in large cities! How -thoroughly this spirit must appeal to that other! for it is precisely -in those quarters that culture is in the saddest plight; it is -precisely there that its fresh growth is made impossible--so -boisterous are the preparations made by science, so sheepishly are -favourite subjects of knowledge allowed to oust questions of much -greater import. What kind of lantern would be needed here, in order to -find men capable of a complete surrender to genius, and of an intimate -knowledge of its depths--men possessed of sufficient courage and -strength to exorcise the demons that have forsaken our age? Viewed -from the outside, such quarters certainly do appear to possess the -whole pomp of culture; with their imposing apparatus they resemble -great arsenals fitted with huge guns and other machinery of war; we -see preparations in progress and the most strenuous activity, as -though the heavens themselves were to be stormed, and truth were to be -drawn out of the deepest of all wells; and yet, in war, the largest -machines are the most unwieldy. Genuine culture therefore leaves such -places as these religiously alone, for its best instincts warn it that -in their midst it has nothing to hope for, and very much to fear. For -the only kind of culture with which the inflamed eye and obtuse brain -of the scholar working-classes concern themselves is of that -Philistine order of which Strauss has announced the gospel. If we -consider for a moment the fundamental causes underlying the sympathy -which binds the learned working-classes to Culture-Philistinism, we -shall discover the road leading to Strauss the Writer, who has been -acknowledged classical, and thence to our last and principal theme. - -To begin with, that culture has contentment written in its every -feature, and will allow of no important changes being introduced into -the present state of German education. It is above all convinced of -the originality of all German educational institutions, more -particularly the public schools and universities; it does not cease -recommending these to foreigners, and never doubts that if the Germans -have become the most cultivated and discriminating people on earth, it -is owing to such institutions. Culture-Philistinism believes in -itself, consequently it also believes in the methods and means at its -disposal. Secondly, however, it leaves the highest judgment concerning -all questions of taste and culture to the scholar, and even regards -itself as the ever-increasing compendium of scholarly opinions -regarding art, literature, and philosophy. Its first care is to urge -the scholar to express his opinions; these it proceeds to mix, dilute, -and systematise, and then it administers them to the German people in -the form of a bottle of medicine. What comes to life outside this -circle is either not heard or attended at all, or if heard, is heeded -half-heartedly; until, at last, a voice (it does not matter whose, -provided it belong to some one who is strictly typical of the scholar -tribe) is heard to issue from the temple in which traditional -infallibility of taste is said to reside; and from that time forward -public opinion has one conviction more, which it echoes and re-echoes -hundreds and hundreds of times. As a matter of fact, though, the -æsthetic infallibility of any utterance emanating from the temple is -the more doubtful, seeing that the lack of taste, thought, and -artistic feeling in any scholar can be taken for granted, unless it -has previously been proved that, in his particular case, the reverse -is true. And only a few can prove this. For how many who have had a -share in the breathless and unending scurry of modern science have -preserved that quiet and courageous gaze of the struggling man of -culture--if they ever possessed it--that gaze which condemns even the -scurry we speak of as a barbarous state of affairs? That is why these -few are forced to live in an almost perpetual contradiction. What -could they do against the uniform belief of the thousands who have -enlisted public opinion in their cause, and who mutually defend each -other in this belief? What purpose can it serve when one individual -openly declares war against Strauss, seeing that a crowd have decided -in his favour, and that the masses led by this crowd have learned to -ask six consecutive times for the Master's Philistine -sleeping-mixture? - -If, without further ado, we here assumed that the Straussian -confession-book had triumphed over public opinion and had been -acclaimed and welcomed as conqueror, its author might call our -attention to the fact that the multitudinous criticisms of his work in -the various public organs are not of an altogether unanimous or even -favourable character, and that he therefore felt it incumbent upon him -to defend himself against some of the more malicious, impudent, and -provoking of these newspaper pugilists by means of a postscript. How -can there be a public opinion concerning my book, he cries to us, if -every journalist is to regard me as an outlaw, and to mishandle me as -much as he likes? This contradiction is easily explained, as soon as -one considers the two aspects of the Straussian book--the theological -and the literary, and it is only the latter that has anything to do -with German culture. Thanks to its theological colouring, it stands -beyond the pale of our German culture, and provokes the animosity of -the various theological groups--yea, even of every individual German, -in so far as he is a theological sectarian from birth, and only -invents his own peculiar private belief in order to be able to dissent -from every other form of belief. But when the question arises of -talking about Strauss _the writer_, pray listen to what the theological -sectarians have to say about him. As soon as his literary side comes -under notice, all theological objections immediately subside, and the -dictum comes plain and clear, as if from the lips of one congregation: -_In spite of it all, he is still a classical writer!_ - -Everybody--even the most bigoted, orthodox Churchman--pays the writer -the most gratifying compliments, while there is always a word or two -thrown in as a tribute to his almost Lessingesque language, his -delicacy of touch, or the beauty and accuracy of his æsthetic views. -As a book, therefore, the Straussian performance appears to meet all -the demands of an ideal example of its kind. The theological -opponents, despite the fact that their voices were the loudest of all, -nevertheless constitute but an infinitesimal portion of the great -public; and even with regard to them, Strauss still maintains that he -is right when he says: "Compared with my thousands of readers, a few -dozen public cavillers form but an insignificant minority, and they -can hardly prove that they are their faithful interpreters. It was -obviously in the nature of things that opposition should be clamorous -and assent tacit." Thus, apart from the angry bitterness which -Strauss's profession of faith may have provoked here and there, even -the most fanatical of his opponents, to whom his voice seems to rise -out of an abyss, like the voice of a beast, are agreed as to his -merits as a writer; and that is why the treatment which Strauss has -received at the hands of the literary lackeys of the theological -groups proves nothing against our contention that Culture-Philistinism -celebrated its triumph in this book. It must be admitted that the -average educated Philistine is a degree less honest than Strauss, or -is at least more reserved in his public utterances. But this fact only -tends to increase his admiration for honesty in another. At home, or -in the company of his equals, he may applaud with wild enthusiasm, but -takes care not to put on paper how entirely Strauss's words are in -harmony with his own innermost feelings. For, as we have already -maintained, our Culture-Philistine is somewhat of a coward, even in -his strongest sympathies; hence Strauss, who can boast of a trifle -more courage than he, becomes his leader, notwithstanding the fact -that even Straussian pluck has its very definite limits. If he -overstepped these limits, as Schopenhauer does in almost every -sentence, he would then forfeit his position at the head of the -Philistines, and everybody would flee from him as precipitately as -they are now following in his wake. He who would regard this artful if -not sagacious moderation and this mediocre valour as an Aristotelian -virtue, would certainly be wrong; for the valour in question is not -the golden mean between two faults, but between a virtue and a -fault--and in this mean, between virtue and fault, all Philistine -qualities are to be found. - - - -IX. - - -"In spite of it all, he is still a classical writer." Well, let us -see! Perhaps we may now be allowed to discuss Strauss the stylist and -master of language; but in the first place let us inquire whether, as -a literary man, he is equal to the task of building his house, and -whether he really understands the architecture of a book. From this -inquiry we shall be able to conclude whether he is a respectable, -thoughtful, and experienced author; and even should we be forced to -answer "No" to these questions, he may still, as a last shift, take -refuge in his fame as a classical prose-writer. This last-mentioned -talent alone, it is true, would not suffice to class him with the -classical authors, but at most with the classical improvisers and -virtuosos of style, who, however, in regard to power of expression and -the whole planning and framing of the work, reveal the awkward hand -and the embarrassed eye of the bungler. We therefore put the question, -whether Strauss really possesses the artistic strength necessary for -the purpose of presenting us with a thing that is a whole, _totum -ponere_? - -As a rule, it ought to be possible to tell from the first rough sketch -of a work whether the author conceived the thing as a whole, and -whether, in view of this original conception, he has discovered the -correct way of proceeding with his task and of fixing its proportions. -Should this most important Part of the problem be solved, and should -the framework of the building have been given its most favourable -proportions, even then there remains enough to be done: how many -smaller faults have to be corrected, how many gaps require filling in! -Here and there a temporary partition or floor was found to answer the -requirements; everywhere dust and fragments litter the ground, and no -matter where we look, we see the signs of work done and work still to -be done. The house, as a whole, is still uninhabitable and gloomy, its -walls are bare, and the wind blows in through the open windows. Now, -whether this remaining, necessary, and very irksome work has been -satisfactorily accomplished by Strauss does not concern us at present; -our question is, whether the building itself has been conceived as a -whole, and whether its proportions are good? The reverse of this, of -course, would be a compilation of fragments--a method generally -adopted by scholars. They rely upon it that these fragments are -related among themselves, and thus confound the logical and the -artistic relation between them. Now, the relation between the four -questions which provide the chapter-headings of Strauss's book cannot -be called a logical one. Are we still Christians? Have we still a -religion? What is our conception of the universe? What is our rule of -life? And it is by no means contended that the relation is illogical -simply because the third question has nothing to do with the second, -nor the fourth with the third, nor all three with the first. The -natural scientist who puts the third question, for instance, shows his -unsullied love of truth by the simple fact that he tacitly passes over -the second. And with regard to the subject of the fourth -chapter--marriage, republicanism, and capital punishment--Strauss -himself seems to have been aware that they could only have been -muddled and obscured by being associated with the Darwinian theory -expounded in the third chapter; for he carefully avoids all reference -to this theory when discussing them. But the question, "Are we still -Christians?" destroys the freedom of the philosophical standpoint at -one stroke, by lending it an unpleasant theological colouring. -Moreover, in this matter, he quite forgot that the majority of men -to-day are not Christians at all, but Buddhists. Why should one, -without further ceremony, immediately think of Christianity at the -sound of the words "old faith"? Is this a sign that Strauss has never -ceased to be a Christian theologian, and that he has therefore never -learned to be a philosopher? For we find still greater cause for -surprise in the fact that he quite fails to distinguish between belief -and knowledge, and continually mentions his "new belief" and the still -newer science in one breath. Or is "new belief" merely an ironical -concession to ordinary parlance? This almost seems to be the case; for -here and there he actually allows "new belief" and "newer science" to -be interchangeable terms, as for instance on page II, where he asks on -which side, whether on that of the ancient orthodoxy or of modern -science, "exist more of the obscurities and insufficiencies -unavoidable in human speculation." - -Moreover, according to the scheme laid down in the Introduction, his -desire is to disclose those proofs upon which the modern view of life -is based; but he derives all these proofs from science, and in this -respect assumes far more the attitude of a scientist than of a -believer. - -At bottom, therefore, the religion is not a new belief, but, being of -a piece with modern science, it has nothing to do with religion at -all. If Strauss, however, persists in his claims to be religious, the -grounds for these claims must be beyond the pale of recent science. -Only the smallest portion of the Straussian book--that is to say, but -a few isolated pages--refer to what Strauss in all justice might call -a belief, namely, that feeling for the "All" for which he demands the -piety that the old believer demanded for his God. On the pages in -question, however, he cannot claim to be altogether scientific; but if -only he could lay claim to being a little stronger, more natural, more -outspoken, more pious, we should be content. Indeed, what perhaps -strikes us most forcibly about him is the multitude of artificial -procedures of which he avails himself before he ultimately gets the -feeling that he still possesses a belief and a religion; he reaches it -by means of stings and blows, as we have already seen. How indigently -and feebly this emergency-belief presents itself to us! We shiver at -the sight of it. - -Although Strauss, in the plan laid down in his Introduction, promises -to compare the two faiths, the old and the new, and to show that the -latter will answer the same purpose as the former, even he begins to -feel, in the end, that he has promised too much. For the question -whether the new belief answers the same purpose as the old, or is -better or worse, is disposed of incidentally, so to speak, and with -uncomfortable haste, in two or three pages (p. 436 et seq.), and is -actually bolstered up by the following subterfuge: "He who cannot help -himself in this matter is beyond help, is not yet ripe for our -standpoint" (p. 436). How differently, and with what intensity of -conviction, did the ancient Stoic believe in the All and the -rationality of the All! And, viewed in this light, how does Strauss's -claim to originality appear? But, as we have already observed, it -would be a matter of indifference to us whether it were new, old, -original, or imitated, so that it were only more powerful, more -healthy, and more natural. Even Strauss himself leaves this -double-distilled emergency-belief to take care of itself as often as -he can do so, in order to protect himself and us from danger, and to -present his recently acquired biological knowledge to his "We" with a -clear conscience. The more embarrassed he may happen to be when he -speaks of faith, the rounder and fuller his mouth becomes when he -quotes the greatest benefactor to modern men--Darwin. Then he not only -exacts belief for the new Messiah, but also for himself--the new -apostle. For instance, while discussing one of the most intricate -questions in natural history, he declares with true ancient pride: "I -shall be told that I am here speaking of things about which I -understand nothing. Very well; but others will come who will -understand them, and who will also have understood me" (p. 241). - -According to this, it would almost seem as though the famous "We" were -not only in duty bound to believe in the "All," but also in the -naturalist Strauss; in this case we can only hope that in order to -acquire the feeling for this last belief, other processes are -requisite than the painful and cruel ones demanded by the first -belief. Or is it perhaps sufficient in this case that the subject of -belief himself be tormented and stabbed with the view of bringing the -believers to that "religious reaction" which is the distinguishing -sign of the "new faith." What merit should we then discover in the -piety of those whom Strauss calls "We"? - -Otherwise, it is almost to be feared that modern men will pass on in -pursuit of their business without troubling themselves overmuch -concerning the new furniture of faith offered them by the apostle: -just as they have done heretofore, without the doctrine of the -rationality of the All. The whole of modern biological and historical -research has nothing to do with the Straussian belief in the All, and -the fact that the modern Philistine does not require the belief is -proved by the description of his life given by Strauss in the -chapter,"What is our Rule of Life?" He is therefore quite right in -doubting whether the coach to which his esteemed readers have been -obliged to trust themselves "with him, fulfils every requirement." It -certainly does not; for the modern man makes more rapid progress when -he does not take his place in the Straussian coach, or rather, he got -ahead much more quickly long before the Straussian coach ever existed. -Now, if it be true that the famous "minority" which is "not to be -overlooked," and of which, and in whose name, Strauss speaks, -"attaches great importance to consistency," it must be just as -dissatisfied with Strauss the Coachbuilder as we are with Strauss the -Logician. - -Let us, however, drop the question of the logician. Perhaps, from the -artistic point of view, the book really is an example of a -well-conceived plan, and does, after all, answer to the requirements -of the laws of beauty, despite the fact that it fails to meet with the -demands of a well-conducted argument. And now, having shown that he is -neither a scientist nor a strictly correct and systematic scholar, for -the first time we approach the question: Is Strauss a capable writer? -Perhaps the task he set himself was not so much to scare people away -from the old faith as to captivate them by a picturesque and graceful -description of what life would be with the new. If he regarded -scholars and educated men as his most probable audience, experience -ought certainly to have told him that whereas one can shoot such men -down with the heavy guns of scientific proof, but cannot make them -surrender, they may be got to capitulate all the more quickly before -"lightly equipped" measures of seduction. "Lightly equipped," and -"intentionally so," thus Strauss himself speaks of his own book. Nor -do his public eulogisers refrain from using the same expression in -reference to the work, as the following passage, quoted from one of -the least remarkable among them, and in which the same expression is -merely paraphrased, will go to prove:-- - -"The discourse flows on with delightful harmony: wherever it directs -its criticism against old ideas it wields the art of demonstration, -almost playfully; and it is with some spirit that it prepares the new -ideas it brings so enticingly, and presents them to the simple as well -as to the fastidious taste. The arrangement of such diverse and -conflicting material is well thought out for every portion of it -required to be touched upon, without being made too prominent; at -times the transitions leading from one subject to another are -artistically managed, and one hardly knows what to admire most--the -skill with which unpleasant questions are shelved, or the discretion -with which they are hushed up." - -The spirit of such eulogies, as the above clearly shows, is not quite -so subtle in regard to judging of what an author is able to do as in -regard to what he wishes. What Strauss wishes, however, is best -revealed by his own emphatic and not quite harmless commendation of -Voltaire's charms, in whose service he might have learned precisely -those "lightly equipped" arts of which his admirer speaks--granting, -of course, that virtue may be acquired and a pedagogue can ever be a -dancer. - -Who could help having a suspicion or two, when reading the following -passage, for instance, in which Strauss says of Voltaire, "As a -philosopher [he] is certainly not original, but in the main a mere -exponent of English investigations: in this respect, however, he shows -himself to be completely master of his subject, which he presents with -incomparable skill, in all possible lights and from all possible -sides, and is able withal to meet the demands of thoroughness, -without, however, being over-severe in his method"? Now, all the -negative traits mentioned in this passage might be applied to Strauss. -No one would contend, I suppose, that Strauss is original, or that he -is over-severe in his method; but the question is whether we can -regard him as "master of his subject," and grant him "incomparable -skill"? The confession to the effect that the treatise was -intentionally "lightly equipped" leads us to think that it at least -aimed at incomparable skill. - -It was not the dream of our architect to build a temple, nor yet a -house, but a sort of summer-pavilion, surrounded by everything that -the art of gardening can provide. Yea, it even seems as if that -mysterious feeling for the All were only calculated to produce an -æsthetic effect, to be, so to speak, a view of an irrational element, -such as the sea, looked at from the most charming and rational of -terraces. The walk through the first chapters--that is to say, -through the theological catacombs with all their gloominess and their -involved and baroque embellishments--was also no more than an -æsthetic expedient in order to throw into greater relief the purity, -clearness, and common sense of the chapter "What is our Conception of -the Universe?" For, immediately after that walk in the gloaming and -that peep into the wilderness of Irrationalism, we step into a hall -with a skylight to it. Soberly and limpidly it welcomes us: its mural -decorations consist of astronomical charts and mathematical figures; -it is filled with scientific apparatus, and its cupboards contain -skeletons, stuffed apes, and anatomical specimens. But now, really -rejoicing for the first time, we direct our steps into the innermost -chamber of bliss belonging to our pavilion-dwellers; there we find -them with their wives, children, and newspapers, occupied in the -commonplace discussion of politics; we listen for a moment to their -conversation on marriage, universal suffrage, capital punishment, and -workmen's strikes, and we can scarcely believe it to be possible that -the rosary of public opinions can be told off so quickly. At length an -attempt is made to convince us of the classical taste of the inmates. -A moment's halt in the library, and the music-room suffices to show us -what we had expected all along, namely, that the best books lay on the -shelves, and that the most famous musical compositions were in the -music-cabinets. Some one actually played something to us, and even if -it were Haydn's music, Haydn could not be blamed because it sounded -like Riehl's music for the home. Meanwhile the host had found occasion -to announce to us his complete agreement with Lessing and Goethe, -although with the latter only up to the second part of Faust. At last -our pavilion-owner began to praise himself, and assured us that he who -could not be happy under his roof was beyond help and could not be -ripe for his standpoint, whereupon he offered us his coach, but with -the polite reservation that he could not assert that it would fulfil -every requirement, and that, owing to the stones on his road having -been newly laid down, we were not to mind if we were very much jolted. -Our Epicurean garden-god then took leave of us with the incomparable -skill which he praised in Voltaire. - -Who could now persist in doubting the existence of this incomparable -skill? The complete master of his subject is revealed; the lightly -equipped artist-gardener is exposed, and still we hear the voice of -the classical author saying, "As a writer I shall for once cease to be -a Philistine: I will not be one; I refuse to be one! But a -Voltaire--the German Voltaire--or at least the French Lessing." - -With this we have betrayed a secret. Our Master does not always know -which he prefers to be--Voltaire or Lessing; but on no account will he -be a Philistine. At a pinch he would not object to being both Lessing -and Voltaire--that the word might be fulfilled that is written, "He -had no character, but when he wished to appear as if he had, he -assumed one." - - - -X. - - -If we have understood Strauss the Confessor correctly, he must be a -genuine Philistine, with a narrow, parched soul and scholarly and -common-place needs; albeit no one would be more indignant at the title -than David Strauss the Writer. He would be quite happy to be regarded -as mischievous, bold, malicious, daring; but his ideal of bliss would -consist in finding himself compared with either Lessing or -Voltaire--because these men were undoubtedly anything but Philistines. -In striving after this state of bliss, he often seems to waver between -two alternatives--either to mimic the brave and dialectical petulance -of Lessing, or to affect the manner of the faun-like and free-spirited -man of antiquity that Voltaire was. When taking up his pen to write, -he seems to be continually posing for his portrait; and whereas at -times his features are drawn to look like Lessing's, anon they are -made to assume the Voltairean mould. While reading his praise of -Voltaire's manner, we almost seem to see him abjuring the consciences -of his contemporaries for not having learned long ago what the modern -Voltaire had to offer them. "Even his excellences are wonderfully -uniform," he says: "simple naturalness, transparent clearness, -vivacious mobility, seductive charm. Warmth and emphasis are also not -wanting where they are needed, and Voltaire's innermost nature always -revolted against stiltedness and affectation; while, on the other -hand, if at times wantonness or passion descend to an unpleasantly low -level, the fault does not rest so much with the stylist as with the -man." According to this, Strauss seems only too well aware of the -importance of _simplicity in style_; it is ever the sign of genius, -which alone has the privilege to express itself naturally and -guilelessly. When, therefore, an author selects a simple mode of -expression, this is no sign whatever of vulgar ambition; for although -many are aware of what such an author would fain be taken for, they -are yet kind enough to take him precisely for that. The genial writer, -however, not only reveals his true nature in the plain and -unmistakable form of his utterance, but his super-abundant strength -actually dallies with the material he treats, even when it is -dangerous and difficult. Nobody treads stiffly along unknown paths, -especially when these are broken throughout their course by thousands -of crevices and furrows; but the genius speeds nimbly over them, and, -leaping with grace and daring, scorns the wistful and timorous step of -caution. - -Even Strauss knows that the problems he prances over are dreadfully -serious, and have ever been regarded as such by the philosophers who -have grappled with them; yet he calls his book _lightly equipped_! But -of this dreadfulness and of the usual dark nature of our meditations -when considering such questions as the worth of existence and the -duties of man, we entirely cease to be conscious when the genial -Master plays his antics before us, "lightly equipped, and -intentionally so." Yes, even more lightly equipped than his Rousseau, -of whom he tells us it was said that he stripped himself below and -adorned himself on top, whereas Goethe did precisely the reverse. -Perfectly guileless geniuses do not, it appears, adorn themselves at -all; possibly the words "lightly equipped" may simply be a euphemism -for "naked." The few who happen to have seen the Goddess of Truth -declare that she is naked, and perhaps, in the minds of those who have -never seen her, but who implicitly believe those few, nakedness or -light equipment is actually a proof, or at least a feature, of truth. -Even this vulgar superstition turns to the advantage of the author's -ambition. Some one sees something naked, and he exclaims: "What if -this were the truth!" Whereupon he grows more solemn than is his wont. -By this means, however, the author scores a tremendous advantage; for -he compels his reader to approach him with greater solemnity than -another and perhaps more heavily equipped writer. This is -unquestionably the best way to become a classical author; hence -Strauss himself is able to tell us: "I even enjoy the unsought honour -of being, in the opinion of many, a classical writer of prose. "He has -therefore achieved his aim. Strauss the Genius goes gadding about the -streets in the garb of lightly equipped goddesses as a classic, while -Strauss the Philistine, to use an original expression of this -genius's, must, at all costs, be "declared to be on the decline," or -"irrevocably dismissed." - -But, alas! in spite of all declarations of decline and dismissal, the -Philistine still returns, and all too frequently. Those features, -contorted to resemble Lessing and Voltaire, must relax from time to -time to resume their old and original shape. The mask of genius falls -from them too often, and the Master's expression is never more sour -and his movements never stiffer than when he has just attempted to -take the leap, or to glance with the fiery eye, of a genius. Precisely -owing to the fact that he is too lightly equipped for our zone, he -runs the risk of catching cold more often and more severely than -another. It may seem a terrible hardship to him that every one should -notice this; but if he wishes to be cured, the following diagnosis of -his case ought to be publicly presented to him:--Once upon a time -there lived a Strauss, a brave, severe, and stoutly equipped scholar, -with whom we sympathised as wholly as with all those in Germany who -seek to serve truth with earnestness and energy, and to rule within -the limits of their powers. He, however, who is now publicly famous as -David Strauss, is another person. The theologians may be to blame for -this metamorphosis; but, at any rate, his present toying with the mask -of genius inspires us with as much hatred and scorn as his former -earnestness commanded respect and sympathy. When, for instance, he -tells us, "it would also argue ingratitude towards _my genius_ if I were -not to rejoice that to the faculty of an incisive, analytical -criticism was added the innocent pleasure in artistic production," it -may astonish him to hear that, in spite of this self-praise, there are -still men who maintain exactly the reverse, and who say, not only that -he has never possessed the gift of artistic production, but that the -"innocent" pleasure he mentions is of all things the least innocent, -seeing that it succeeded in gradually undermining and ultimately -destroying a nature as strongly and deeply scholarly and critical as -Strauss's--in fact, the _real Straussian Genius_. In a moment of -unlimited frankness, Strauss himself indeed adds: "Merck was always in -my thoughts, calling out, 'Don't produce such child's play again; -others can do that too!'" That was the voice of the real Straussian -genius, which also asked him what the worth of his newest, innocent, -and lightly equipped modern Philistine's testament was. Others can do -that too! And many could do it better. And even they who could have -done it best, _i.e._ those thinkers who are more widely endowed than -Strauss, could still only have made nonsense of it. - -I take it that you are now beginning to understand the value I set on -Strauss the Writer. You are beginning to realise that I regard him as -a mummer who would parade as an artless genius and classical writer. -When Lichtenberg said, "A simple manner of writing is to be -recommended, if only in view of the fact that no honest man trims and -twists his expressions," he was very far from wishing to imply that a -simple style is a proof of literary integrity. I, for my part, only -wish that Strauss the Writer had been more upright, for then he would -have written more becomingly and have been less famous. Or, if he -would be a mummer at all costs, how much more would he not have -pleased me if he had been a better mummer--one more able to ape the -guileless genius and classical author! For it yet remains to be said -that Strauss was not only an inferior actor but a very worthless -stylist as well. - - - -XI. - - -Of course, the blame attaching to Strauss for being a bad writer is -greatly mitigated by the fact that it is extremely difficult in -Germany to become even a passable or moderately good writer, and that -it is more the exception than not, to be a really good one. In this -respect the natural soil is wanting, as are also artistic values and -the proper method of treating and cultivating oratory. This latter -accomplishment, as the various branches of it, _i.e._ drawing-room, -ecclesiastical and Parliamentary parlance, show, has not yet reached -the level of a national style; indeed, it has not yet shown even a -tendency to attain to a style at all, and all forms of language in -Germany do not yet seem to have passed a certain experimental stage. -In view of these facts, the writer of to-day, to some extent, lacks an -authoritative standard, and he is in some measure excused if, in the -matter of language, he attempts to go ahead of his own accord. As to -the probable result which the present dilapidated condition of the -German language will bring about, Schopenhauer, perhaps, has spoken -most forcibly. "If the existing state of affairs continues," he says, -"in the year 1900 German classics will cease to be understood, for the -simple reason that no other language will be known, save the trumpery -jargon of the noble present, the chief characteristic of which is -impotence." And, in truth, if one turn to the latest periodicals, one -will find German philologists and grammarians already giving -expression to the view that our classics can no longer serve us as -examples of style, owing to the fact that they constantly use words, -modes of speech, and syntactic arrangements which are fast dropping -out of currency. Hence the need of collecting specimens of the finest -prose that has been produced by our best modern writers, and of -offering them as examples to be followed, after the style of Sander's -pocket dictionary of bad language. In this book, that repulsive -monster of style Gutzkow appears as a classic, and, according to its -injunctions, we seem to be called upon to accustom ourselves to quite -a new and wondrous crowd of classical authors, among which the first, -or one of the first, is David Strauss: he whom we cannot describe more -aptly than we have already--that is to say, as a worthless stylist. -Now, the notion which the Culture-Philistine has of a classic and -standard author speaks eloquently for his pseudo-culture--he who only -shows his strength by opposing a really artistic and severe style, and -who, thanks to the persistence of his opposition, finally arrives at a -certain uniformity of expression, which again almost appears to -possess unity of genuine style. In view, therefore, of the right which -is granted to every one to experiment with the language, how is it -possible at all for individual authors to discover a generally -agreeable tone? What is so generally interesting in them? In the first -place, a negative quality--the total lack of offensiveness: but _every -really productive thing is offensive_. The greater part of a German's -daily reading matter is undoubtedly sought either in the pages of -newspapers, periodicals, or reviews. The language of these journals -gradually stamps itself on his brain, by means of its steady drip, -drip, drip of similar phrases and similar words. And, since he -generally devotes to reading those hours of the day during which his -exhausted brain is in any case not inclined to offer resistance, his -ear for his native tongue so slowly but surely accustoms itself to -this everyday German that it ultimately cannot endure its absence -without pain. But the manufacturers of these newspapers are, by virtue -of their trade, most thoroughly inured to the effluvia of this -journalistic jargon; they have literally lost all taste, and their -palate is rather gratified than not by the most corrupt and arbitrary -innovations. Hence the _tutti unisono_ with which, despite the general -lethargy and sickliness, every fresh solecism is greeted; it is with -such impudent corruptions of the language that her hirelings are -avenged against her for the incredible boredom she imposes ever more -and more upon them. I remember having read "an appeal to the German -nation," by Berthold Auerbach, in which every sentence was un-German, -distorted and false, and which, as a whole, resembled a soulless -mosaic of words cemented together with international syntax. As to the -disgracefully slipshod German with which Edward Devrient solemnised -the death of Mendelssohn, I do not even wish to do more than refer to -it. A grammatical error--and this is the most extraordinary feature of -the case--does not therefore seem an offence in any sense to our -Philistine, but a most delightful restorative in the barren wilderness -of everyday German. He still, however, considers all _really_ productive -things to be offensive. The wholly bombastic, distorted, and -threadbare syntax of the modern standard author--yea, even his -ludicrous neologisms--are not only tolerated, but placed to his credit -as the spicy element in his works. But woe to the stylist with -character, who seeks as earnestly and perseveringly to avoid the trite -phrases of everyday parlance, as the "yester-night monster blooms of -modern ink-flingers," as Schopenhauer says! When platitudes, -hackneyed, feeble, and vulgar phrases are the rule, and the bad and -the corrupt become refreshing exceptions, then all that is strong, -distinguished, and beautiful perforce acquires an evil odour. From -which it follows that, in Germany, the well-known experience which -befell the normally built traveller in the land of hunchbacks is -constantly being repeated. It will be remembered that he was so -shamefully insulted there, owing to his quaint figure and lack of -dorsal convexity, that a priest at last had to harangue the people on -his behalf as follows: "My brethren, rather pity this poor stranger, -and present thank-offerings unto the gods, that ye are blessed with -such attractive gibbosities." - -If any one attempted to compose a positive grammar out of the -international German style of to-day, and wished to trace the -unwritten and unspoken laws followed by every one, he would get the -most extraordinary notions of style and rhetoric. He would meet with -laws which are probably nothing more than reminiscences of bygone -schooldays, vestiges of impositions for Latin prose, and results -perhaps of choice readings from French novelists, over whose -incredible crudeness every decently educated Frenchman would have the -right to laugh. But no conscientious native of Germany seems to have -given a thought to these extraordinary notions under the yoke of which -almost every German lives and writes. - -As an example of what I say, we may find an injunction to the effect -that a metaphor or a simile must be introduced from time to time, and -that it must be new; but, since to the mind of the shallow-pated -writer newness and modernity are identical, he proceeds forthwith to -rack his brain for metaphors in the technical vocabularies of the -railway, the telegraph, the steamship, and the Stock Exchange, and is -proudly convinced that such metaphors must be new because they are -modern. In Strauss's confession-book we find liberal tribute paid to -modern metaphor. He treats us to a simile, covering a page and a half, -drawn from modern road-improvement work; a few pages farther back he -likens the world to a machine, with its wheels, stampers, hammers, and -"soothing oil" (p. 432); "A repast that begins with champagne" (p. -384); "Kant is a cold-water cure" (p. 309); "The Swiss constitution is -to that of England as a watermill is to a steam-engine, as a -waltz-tune or a song to a fugue or symphony" (p. 301); "In every -appeal, the sequence of procedure must be observed. Now the mean -tribunal between the individual and humanity is the nation" (p. 165); -"If we would know whether there be still any life in an organism which -appears dead to us, we are wont to test it by a powerful, even painful -stimulus, as for example a stab" (p. 161); "The religious domain in -the human soul resembles the domain of the Red Indian in America" (p. -160); "Virtuosos in piety, in convents" (p. 107); "And place the -sum-total of the foregoing in round numbers under the account" (p. -205); "Darwin's theory resembles a railway track that is just marked -out ... where the flags are fluttering joyfully in the breeze." In this -really highly modern way, Strauss has met the Philistine injunction to -the effect that a new simile must be introduced from time to time. - -Another rhetorical rule is also very widespread, namely, that didactic -passages should be composed in long periods, and should be drawn out -into lengthy abstractions, while all persuasive passages should -consist of short sentences followed by striking contrasts. On page 154 -in Strauss's book we find a standard example of the didactic and -scholarly style--a passage blown out after the genuine Schleiermacher -manner, and made to stumble along at a true tortoise pace: "The reason -why, in the earlier stages of religion, there appear many instead of -this single Whereon, a plurality of gods instead of the one, is -explained in this deduction of religion, from the fact that the -various forces of nature, or relations of life, which inspire man with -the sentiment of unqualified dependence, still act upon him in the -commencement with the full force of their distinctive characteristics; -that he has not as yet become conscious how, in regard to his -unmitigated dependence upon them, there is no distinction between -them, and that therefore the Whereon of this dependence, or the Being -to which it conducts in the last instance, can only be one." - -On pages 7 and 8 we find an example of the other kind of style, that -of the short sentences containing that affected liveliness which so -excited certain readers that they cannot mention Strauss any more -without coupling his name with Lessing's. "I am well aware that what I -propose to delineate in the following pages is known to multitudes as -well as to myself, to some even much better. A few have already spoken -out on the subject. Am I therefore to keep silence? I think not. For -do we not all supply each other's deficiencies? If another is better -informed as regards some things, I may perhaps be so as regards -others; while yet others are known and viewed by me in a different -light. Out with it, then! let my colours be displayed that it may be -seen whether they are genuine or not.'" - -It is true that Strauss's style generally maintains a happy medium -between this sort of merry quick-march and the other funereal and -indolent pace; but between two vices one does not invariably find a -virtue; more often rather only weakness, helpless paralysis, and -impotence. As a matter of fact, I was very disappointed when I glanced -through Strauss's book in search of fine and witty passages; for, not -having found anything praiseworthy in the Confessor, I had actually -set out with the express purpose of meeting here and there with at -least some opportunities of praising Strauss the Writer. I sought and -sought, but my purpose remained unfulfilled. Meanwhile, however, -another duty seemed to press itself strongly on my mind--that of -enumerating the solecisms, the strained metaphors, the obscure -abbreviations, the instances of bad taste, and the distortions which I -encountered; and these were of such a nature that I dare do no more -than select a few examples of them from among a collection which is -too bulky to be given in full. By means of these examples I may -succeed in showing what it is that inspires, in the hearts of modern -Germans, such faith in this great and seductive stylist Strauss: I -refer to his eccentricities of expression, which, in the barren waste -and dryness of his whole book, jump out at one, not perhaps as -pleasant but as painfully stimulating, surprises. When perusing such -passages, we are at least assured, to use a Straussian metaphor, that -we are not quite dead, but still respond to the test of a stab. For -the rest of the book is entirely lacking in offensiveness--that -quality which alone, as we have seen, is productive, and which our -classical author has himself reckoned among the positive virtues. When -the educated masses meet with exaggerated dulness and dryness, when -they are in the presence of really vapid commonplaces, they now seem -to believe that such things are the signs of health; and in this -respect the words of the author of the _dialogus de oratoribus_ are very -much to the point: "_illam ipsam quam jactant sanitatem non firmitate -sed jejunio consequuntur_." That is why they so unanimously hate every -firmitas, because it bears testimony to a kind of health quite -different from theirs; hence their one wish to throw suspicion upon -all austerity and terseness, upon all fiery and energetic movement, -and upon every full and delicate play of muscles. They have conspired -to twist nature and the names of things completely round, and for the -future to speak of health only there where we see weakness, and to -speak of illness and excitability where for our part we see genuine -vigour. From which it follows that David Strauss is to them a -classical author. - -If only this dulness were of a severely logical order! but simplicity -and austerity in thought are precisely what these weaklings have lost, -and in their hands even our language has become illogically tangled. -As a proof of this, let any one try to translate Strauss's style into -Latin: in the case of Kant, be it remembered, this is possible, while -with Schopenhauer it even becomes an agreeable exercise. The reason -why this test fails with Strauss's German is not owing to the fact -that it is more Teutonic than theirs, but because his is distorted and -illogical, whereas theirs is lofty and simple. Moreover, he who knows -how the ancients exerted themselves in order to learn to write and -speak correctly, and how the moderns omit to do so, must feel, as -Schopenhauer says, a positive relief when he can turn from a German -book like the one under our notice, to dive into those other works, -those ancient works which seem to him still to be written in a new -language. "For in these books," says Schopenhauer, "I find a regular -and fixed language which, throughout, faithfully follows the laws of -grammar and orthography, so that I can give up my thoughts completely -to their matter; whereas in German I am constantly being disturbed by -the author's impudence and his continual attempts to establish his own -orthographical freaks and absurd ideas--the swaggering foolery of -which disgusts me. It is really a painful sight to see a fine old -language, possessed of classical literature, being botched by asses -and ignoramuses!" - -Thus Schopenhauer's holy anger cries out to us, and you cannot say -that you have not been warned. He who turns a deaf ear to such -warnings, and who absolutely refuses to relinquish his faith in -Strauss the classical author, can only be given this last word of -advice--to imitate his hero. In any case, try it at your own risk; but -you will repent it, not only in your style but in your head, that it -may be fulfilled which was spoken by the Indian prophet, saying, "He -who gnaweth a cow's horn gnaweth in vain and shorteneth his life; for -he grindeth away his teeth, yet his belly is empty." - - - -XII. - - -By way of concluding, we shall proceed to give our classical -prose-writer the promised examples of his style which we have -collected. Schopenhauer would probably have classed the whole lot as -"new documents serving to swell the trumpery jargon of the present -day"; for David Strauss may be comforted to hear (if what follows can -be regarded as a comfort at all) that everybody now writes as he does; -some, of course, worse, and that among the blind the one-eyed is king. -Indeed, we allow him too much when we grant him one eye; but we do -this willingly, because Strauss does not write so badly as the most -infamous of all corrupters of German--the Hegelians and their crippled -offspring. Strauss at least wishes to extricate himself from the mire, -and he is already partly out of it; still, he is very far from being -on dry land, and he still shows signs of having stammered Hegel's -prose in youth. In those days, possibly, something was sprained in -him, some muscle must have been overstrained. His ear, perhaps, like -that of a boy brought up amid the beating of drums, grew dull, and -became incapable of detecting those artistically subtle and yet mighty -laws of sound, under the guidance of which every writer is content to -remain who has been strictly trained in the study of good models. But -in this way, as a stylist, he has lost his most valuable possessions, -and stands condemned to remain reclining, his life long, on the -dangerous and barren shifting sand of newspaper style--that is, if he -do not wish to fall back into the Hegelian mire. Nevertheless, he has -succeeded in making himself famous for a couple of hours in our time, -and perhaps in another couple of hours people will remember that he -was once famous; then, however, night will come, and with her -oblivion; and already at this moment, while we are entering his sins -against style in the black book, the sable mantle of twilight is -falling upon his fame. For he who has sinned against the German -language has desecrated the mystery of all our Germanity. Throughout -all the confusion and the changes of races and of customs, the German -language alone, as though possessed of some supernatural charm, has -saved herself; and with her own salvation she has wrought that of the -spirit of Germany. She alone holds the warrant for this spirit in -future ages, provided she be not destroyed at the sacrilegious hands -of the modern world. "But _Di meliora!_ Avaunt, ye pachyderms, avaunt! -This is the German language, by means of which men express themselves, -and in which great poets have sung and great thinkers have written. -Hands off!" [5] - -[5] Translator's note.--Nietzsche here proceeds to quote those passages -he has culled from _The Old and the New Faith_ with which he undertakes -to substantiate all he has said relative to Strauss's style; as, -however, these passages, with his comments upon them, lose most of -their point when rendered into English, it was thought best to omit -them altogether. - -To put it in plain words, what we have seen have been feet of clay, -and what appeared to be of the colour of healthy flesh was only -applied paint. Of course, Culture-Philistinism in Germany will be very -angry when it hears its one living God referred to as a series of -painted idols. He, however, who dares to overthrow its idols will not -shrink, despite all indignation, from telling it to its face that it -has forgotten how to distinguish between the quick and the dead, the -genuine and the counterfeit, the original and the imitation, between a -God and a host of idols; that it has completely lost the healthy and -manly instinct for what is real and right. It alone deserves to be -destroyed; and already the manifestations of its power are sinking; -already are its purple honours falling from it; but when the purple -falls, its royal wearer soon follows. - -Here I come to the end of my confession of faith. This is the -confession of an individual; and what can such an one do against a -whole world, even supposing his voice were heard everywhere! In order -for the last time to use a precious Straussism, his judgment only -possesses "_that amount of subjective truth which is compatible with a -complete lack of objective demonstration_"--is not that so, my dear -friends? Meanwhile, be of good cheer. For the time being let the -matter rest at this "amount which is compatible with a complete lack"! -For the time being! That is to say, for as long as that is held to be -out of season which in reality is always in season, and is now more -than ever pressing; I refer to ... speaking the truth.[6] - -[6] Translator's note.--All quotations from _The Old Faith and the New_ -which appear in the above translation have either been taken bodily -out of Mathilde Blind's translation (Asher and Co., 1873), or are -adaptations from that translation. - - - - -RICHARD WAGNER IN BAYREUTH. - - -I. - - -For an event to be great, two things must be united--the lofty -sentiment of those who accomplish it, and the lofty sentiment of those -who witness it. No event is great in itself, even though it be the -disappearance of whole constellations, the destruction of several -nations, the establishment of vast empires, or the prosecution of wars -at the cost of enormous forces: over things of this sort the breath of -history blows as if they were flocks of wool. But it often happens, -too, that a man of might strikes a blow which falls without effect -upon a stubborn stone; a short, sharp report is heard, and all is -over. History is able to record little or nothing of such abortive -efforts. Hence the anxiety which every one must feel who, observing -the approach of an event, wonders whether those about to witness it -will be worthy of it. This reciprocity between an act and its -reception is always taken into account when anything great or small is -to be accomplished; and he who would give anything away must see to it -that he find recipients who will do justice to the meaning of his -gift. This is why even the work of a great man is not necessarily -great when it is short, abortive, or fruitless; for at the moment when -he performed it he must have failed to perceive that it was really -necessary; he must have been careless in his aim, and he cannot have -chosen and fixed upon the time with sufficient caution. Chance thus -became his master; for there is a very intimate relation between -greatness and the instinct which discerns the proper moment at which -to act. - -We therefore leave it to those who doubt Wagner's power of discerning -the proper time for action, to be concerned and anxious as to whether -what is now taking place in Bayreuth is really opportune and -necessary. To us who are more confident, it is clear that he believes -as strongly in the greatness of his feat as in the greatness of -feeling in those who are to witness it. Be their number great or -small, therefore, all those who inspire this faith in Wagner should -feel extremely honoured; for that it was not inspired by everybody, or -by the whole age, or even by the whole German people, as they are now -constituted, he himself told us in his dedicatory address of the 22nd -of May 1872, and not one amongst us could, with any show of -conviction, assure him of the contrary. "I had only you to turn to," -he said, "when I sought those who I thought would be in sympathy with -my plans,--you who are the most personal friends of my own particular -art, my work and activity: only you could I invite to help me in my -work, that it might be presented pure and whole to those who manifest -a genuine interest in my art, despite the fact that it has hitherto -made its appeal to them only in a disfigured and adulterated form." - -It is certain that in Bayreuth even the spectator is a spectacle worth -seeing. If the spirit of some observant sage were to return, after the -absence of a century, and were to compare the most remarkable -movements in the present world of culture, he would find much to -interest him there. Like one swimming in a lake, who encounters a -current of warm water issuing from a hot spring, in Bayreuth he would -certainly feel as though he had suddenly plunged into a more temperate -element, and would tell himself that this must rise out of a distant -and deeper source: the surrounding mass of water, which at all events -is more common in origin, does not account for it. In this way, all -those who assist at the Bayreuth festival will seem like men out of -season; their _raison-d'être_ and the forces which would seem to account -for them are elsewhere, and their home is not in the present age. I -realise ever more clearly that the scholar, in so far as he is -entirely the man of his own day, can only be accessible to all that -Wagner does and thinks by means of parody,--and since everything is -parodied nowadays, he will even get the event of Bayreuth reproduced -for him, through the very un-magic lanterns of our facetious -art-critics. And one ought to be thankful if they stop at parody; for -by means of it a spirit of aloofness and animosity finds a vent which -might otherwise hit upon a less desirable mode of expression. Now, the -observant sage already mentioned could not remain blind to this -unusual sharpness and tension of contrasts. They who hold by gradual -development as a kind of moral law must be somewhat shocked at the -sight of one who, in the course of a single lifetime, succeeds in -producing something absolutely new. Being dawdlers themselves, and -insisting upon slowness as a principle, they are very naturally vexed -by one who strides rapidly ahead, and they wonder how on earth he does -it. No omens, no periods of transition, and no concessions preceded -the enterprise at Bayreuth; no one except Wagner knew either the goal -or the long road that was to lead to it. In the realm of art it -signifies, so to speak, the first circumnavigation of the world, and -by this voyage not only was there discovered an apparently new art, -but Art itself. In view of this, all modern arts, as arts of luxury -which have degenerated through having been insulated, have become -almost worthless. And the same applies to the nebulous and -inconsistent reminiscences of a genuine art, which we as modern -Europeans derive from the Greeks; let them rest in peace, unless they -are now able to shine of their own accord in the light of a new -interpretation. The last hour has come for a good many things; this -new art is a clairvoyante that sees ruin approaching--not for art -alone. Her warning voice must strike the whole of our prevailing -civilisation with terror the instant the laughter which its parodies -have provoked subsides. Let it laugh and enjoy itself for yet a while -longer! - -And as for us, the disciples of this revived art, we shall have time -and inclination for thoughtfulness, deep thoughtfulness. All the talk -and noise about art which has been made by civilisation hitherto must -seem like shameless obtrusiveness; everything makes silence a duty -with us--the quinquennial silence of the Pythagoreans. Which of us has -not soiled his hands and heart in the disgusting idolatry of modern -culture? Which of us can exist without the waters of purification? Who -does not hear the voice which cries, "Be silent and cleansed"? Be -silent and cleansed! Only the merit of being included among those who -give ear to this voice will grant even us the _lofty_ look necessary to -view the event at Bayreuth; and only upon this look depends the _great -future_ of the event. - -When on that dismal and cloudy day in May 1872, after the foundation -stone had been laid on the height of Bayreuth, amid torrents of rain, -and while Wagner was driving back to the town with a small party of -us, he was exceptionally silent, and there was that indescribable look -in his eyes as of one who has turned his gaze deeply inwards. The day -happened to be the first of his sixtieth year, and his whole past now -appeared as but a long preparation for this great moment. It is almost -a recognised fact that in times of exceptional danger, or at all -decisive and culminating points in their lives, men see the remotest -and most recent events of their career with singular vividness, and in -one rapid inward glance obtain a sort of panorama of a whole span of -years in which every event is faithfully depicted. What, for instance, -must Alexander the Great have seen in that instant when he caused Asia -and Europe to be drunk out of the same goblet? But what went through -Wagner's mind on that day--how he became what he is, and what he will -be--we only can imagine who are nearest to him, and can follow him, up -to a certain point, in his self-examination; but through his eyes -alone is it possible for us to understand his grand work, and by the -help of this understanding vouch for its fruitfulness. - - - -II. - - -It were strange if what a man did best and most liked to do could not -be traced in the general outline of his life, and in the case of those -who are remarkably endowed there is all the more reason for supposing -that their life will present not only the counterpart of their -character, as in the case of every one else, but that it will present -above all the counterpart of their intellect and their most individual -tastes. The life of the epic poet will have a dash of the Epos in -it--as from all accounts was the case with Goethe, whom the Germans -very wrongly regarded only as a lyrist--and the life of the dramatist -will probably be dramatic. - -The dramatic element in Wagner's _development_ cannot be ignored, from -the time when his ruling passion became self-conscious and took -possession of his whole being. From that time forward there is an end -to all groping, straying, and sprouting of offshoots, and over his -most tortuous deviations and excursions, over the often eccentric -disposition of his plans, a single law and will are seen to rule, in -which we have the explanation of his actions, however strange this -explanation may sometimes appear. There was, however, an ante-dramatic -period in Wagner's life--his childhood and youth--which it is -impossible to approach without discovering innumerable problems. At -this period there seems to be no promise yet of himself, and what one -might now, in a retrospect, regard as a pledge for his future -greatness, amounts to no more than a juxta-position of traits which -inspire more dismay than hope; a restless and excitable spirit, -nervously eager to undertake a hundred things at the same time, -passionately fond of almost morbidly exalted states of mind, and ready -at any moment to veer completely round from calm and profound -meditation to a state of violence and uproar. In his case there were -no hereditary or family influences at work to constrain him to the -sedulous study of one particular art. Painting, versifying, acting, -and music were just as much within his reach as the learning and the -career of a scholar; and the superficial inquirer into this stage of -his life might even conclude that he was born to be a dilettante. The -small world within the bounds of which he grew up was not of the kind -we should choose to be the home of an artist. He ran the constant risk -of becoming infected by that dangerously dissipated attitude of mind -in which a person will taste of everything, as also by that condition -of slackness resulting from the fragmentary knowledge of all things, -which is so characteristic of University towns. His feelings were -easily roused and but indifferently satisfied; wherever the boy turned -he found himself surrounded by a wonderful and would-be learned -activity, to which the garish theatres presented a ridiculous -contrast, and the entrancing strains of music a perplexing one. Now, -to the observer who sees things relatively, it must seem strange that -the modern man who happens to be gifted with exceptional talent should -as a child and a youth so seldom be blessed with the quality of -ingenuousness and of simple individuality, that he is so little able -to have these qualities at all. As a matter of fact, men of rare -talent, like Goethe and Wagner, much more often attain to -ingenuousness in manhood than during the more tender years of -childhood and youth. And this is especially so with the artist, who, -being born with a more than usual capacity for imitating, succumbs to -the morbid multiformity of modern life as to a virulent disease of -infancy. As a child he will more closely resemble an old man. The -wonderfully accurate and original picture of youth which Wagner gives -us in the Siegfried of the Nibelungen Ring could only have been -conceived by a man, and by one who had discovered his youthfulness but -late in life. Wagner's maturity, like his adolesence, was also late in -making its appearance, and he is thus, in this respect alone, the very -reverse of the precocious type. - -The appearance of his moral and intellectual strength was the prelude -to the drama of his soul. And how different it then became! His nature -seems to have been simplified at one terrible stroke, and divided -against itself into two instincts or spheres. From its innermost -depths there gushes forth a passionate will which, like a rapid -mountain torrent, endeavours to make its way through all paths, -ravines, and crevices, in search of light and power. Only a force -completely free and pure was strong enough to guide this will to all -that is good and beneficial. Had it been combined with a narrow -intelligence, a will with such a tyrannical and boundless desire might -have become fatal; in any case, an exit into the open had to be found -for it as quickly as possible, whereby it could rush into pure air and -sunshine. Lofty aspirations, which continually meet with failure, -ultimately turn to evil. The inadequacy of means for obtaining success -may, in certain circumstances, be the result of an inexorable fate, -and not necessarily of a lack of strength; but he who under such -circumstances cannot abandon his aspirations, despite the inadequacy -of his means, will only become embittered, and consequently irritable -and intolerant. He may possibly seek the cause of his failure in other -people; he may even, in a fit of passion, hold the whole world guilty; -or he may turn defiantly down secret byways and secluded lanes, or -resort to violence. In this way, noble natures, on their road to the -most high, may turn savage. Even among those who seek but their own -personal moral purity, among monks and anchorites, men are to be found -who, undermined and devoured by failure, have become barbarous and -hopelessly morbid. There was a spirit full of love and calm belief, -full of goodness and infinite tenderness, hostile to all violence and -self-deterioration, and abhorring the sight of a soul in bondage. And -it was this spirit which manifested itself to Wagner. It hovered over -him as a consoling angel, it covered him with its wings, and showed -him the true path. At this stage we bring the other side of Wagner's -nature into view: but how shall we describe this other side? - -The characters an artist creates are not himself, but the succession -of these characters, to which it is clear he is greatly attached, must -at all events reveal something of his nature. Now try and recall -Rienzi, the Flying Dutchman and Senta, Tannhäuser and Elizabeth, -Lohengrin and Elsa, Tristan and Marke, Hans Sachs, Woden and -Brunhilda,--all these characters are correlated by a secret current of -ennobling and broadening morality which flows through them and becomes -ever purer and clearer as it progresses. And at this point we enter -with respectful reserve into the presence of the most hidden -development in Wagner's own soul. In what other artist do we meet with -the like of this, in the same proportion? Schiller's characters, from -the Robbers to Wallenstein and Tell, do indeed pursue an ennobling -course, and likewise reveal something of their author's development; -but in Wagner the standard is higher and the distance covered is much -greater. In the Nibelungen Ring, for instance, where Brunhilda is -awakened by Siegfried, I perceive the most moral music I have ever -heard. Here Wagner attains to such a high level of sacred feeling that -our mind unconsciously wanders to the glistening ice- and snow-peaks of -the Alps, to find a likeness there;--so pure, isolated, inaccessible, -chaste, and bathed in love-beams does Nature here display herself, -that clouds and tempests--yea, and even the sublime itself--seem to -lie beneath her. Now, looking down from this height upon Tannhauser -and the Flying Dutchman, we begin to perceive how the man in Wagner -was evolved: how restlessly and darkly he began; how tempestuously he -strove to gratify his desires, to acquire power and to taste those -rapturous delights from which he often fled in disgust; how he wished -to throw off a yoke, to forget, to be negative, and to renounce -everything. The whole torrent plunged, now into this valley, now into -that, and flooded the most secluded chinks and crannies. In the night -of these semi-subterranean convulsions a star appeared and glowed high -above him with melancholy vehemence; as soon as he recognised it, he -named it _Fidelity--unselfish fidelity_. Why did this star seem to him -the brightest and purest of all? What secret meaning had the word -"fidelity" to his whole being? For he has graven its image and -problems upon all his thoughts and compositions. His works contain -almost a complete series of the rarest and most beautiful examples of -fidelity: that of brother to sister, of friend to friend, of servant -to master; of Elizabeth to Tannhauser, of Senta to the Dutchman, of -Elsa to Lohengrin, of Isolde, Kurvenal, and Marke to Tristan, of -Brunhilda to the most secret vows of Woden--and many others. It is -Wagner's most personal and most individual experience, which he -reveres like a religious mystery, and which he calls Fidelity; he -never wearies of breathing it into hundreds of different characters, -and of endowing it with the sublimest that in him lies, so overflowing -is his gratitude. It is, in short, the recognition of the fact that -the two sides of his nature remained faithful to each other, that out -of free and unselfish love, the creative, ingenuous, and brilliant -side kept loyally abreast of the dark, the intractable, and the -tyrannical side. - - - -III. - - -The relation of the two constituent forces to each other, and the -yielding of the one to the other, was the great requisite by which -alone he could remain wholly and truly himself. At the same time, this -was the only thing he could not control, and over which he could only -keep a watch, while the temptations to infidelity and its threatening -dangers beset him more and more. The uncertainty derived therefrom is -an overflowing source of suffering for those in process of -development. Each of his instincts made constant efforts to attain to -unmeasured heights, and each of the capacities he possessed for -enjoying life seemed to long to tear itself away from its companions -in order to seek satisfaction alone; the greater their exuberance the -more terrific was the tumult, and the more bitter the competition -between them. In addition, accident and life fired the desire for -power and splendour in him; but he was more often tormented by the -cruel necessity of having to live at all, while all around him lay -obstacles and snares. How is it possible for any one to remain -faithful here, to be completely steadfast? This doubt often depressed -him, and he expresses it, as an artist expressed his doubt, in -artistic forms. Elizabeth, for instance, can only suffer, pray, and -die; she saves the fickle and intemperate man by her loyalty, though -not for this life. In the path of every true artist, whose lot is cast -in these modern days, despair and danger are strewn. He has many means -whereby he can attain to honour and might; peace and plenty -persistently offer themselves to him, but only in that form recognised -by the modern man, which to the straightforward artist is no better -than choke-damp. In this temptation, and in the act of resisting it, -lie the dangers that threaten him--dangers arising from his disgust at -the means modernity offers him of acquiring pleasure and esteem, and -from the indignation provoked by the selfish ease of modern society. -Imagine Wagner's filling an official position, as for instance that of -bandmaster at public and court theatres, both of which positions he -has held: think how he, a serious artist, must have struggled in order -to enforce seriousness in those very places which, to meet the demands -of modern conventions, are designed with almost systematic frivolity -to appeal only to the frivolous. Think how he must have partially -succeeded, though only to fail on the whole. How constantly disgust -must have been at his heels despite his repeated attempts to flee it, -how he failed to find the haven to which he might have repaired, and -how he had ever to return to the Bohemians and outlaws of our society, -as one of them. If he himself broke loose from any post or position, -he rarely found a better one in its stead, while more than once -distress was all that his unrest brought him. Thus Wagner changed his -associates, his dwelling-place and country, and when we come to -comprehend the nature of the circles into which he gravitated, we can -hardly realise how he was able to tolerate them for any length of -time. The greater half of his past seems to be shrouded in heavy mist; -for a long time he appears to have had no general hopes, but only -hopes for the morrow, and thus, although he reposed no faith in the -future, he was not driven to despair. He must have felt like a -nocturnal traveller, broken with fatigue, exasperated from want of -sleep, and tramping wearily along beneath a heavy burden, who, far -from fearing the sudden approach of death, rather longs for it as -something exquisitely charming. His burden, the road and the -night--all would disappear! The thought was a temptation to him. Again -and again, buoyed up by his temporary hopes, he plunged anew into the -turmoil of life, and left all apparatus behind him. But his method of -doing this, his lack of moderation in the doing, betrayed what a -feeble hold his hopes had upon him; how they were only stimulants to -which he had recourse in an extremity. The conflict between his -aspirations and his partial or total inability to realise them, -tormented him like a thorn in the flesh. Infuriated by constant -privations, his imagination lapsed into the dissipated, whenever the -state of want was momentarily relieved. Life grew ever more and more -complicated for him; but the means and artifices that he discovered in -his art as a dramatist became evermore resourceful and daring. Albeit, -these were little more than palpable dramatic makeshifts and -expedients, which deceived, and were invented, only for the moment. In -a flash such means occurred to his mind and were used up. Examined -closely and without prepossession, Wagner's life, to recall one of -Schopenhauer's expressions, might be said to consist largely of -comedy, not to mention burlesque. And what the artist's feelings must -have been, conscious as he was, during whole periods of his life, of -this undignified element in it,--he who more than any one else, -perhaps, breathed freely only in sublime and more than sublime -spheres,--the thinker alone can form any idea. - -In the midst of this mode of life, a detailed description of which is -necessary in order to inspire the amount of pity, awe, and admiration -which are its due, he developed a _talent for acquiring knowledge_, -which even in a German--a son of the nation learned above all -others--was really extraordinary. And with this talent yet another -danger threatened Wagner--a danger more formidable than that involved -in a life which was apparently without either a stay or a rule, borne -hither and thither by disturbing illusions. From a novice trying his -strength, Wagner became a thorough master of music and of the theatre, -as also a prolific inventor in the preliminary technical conditions -for the execution of art. No one will any longer deny him the glory of -having given us the supreme model for lofty artistic execution on a -large scale. But he became more than this, and in order so to develop, -he, no less than any one else in like circumstances, had to reach the -highest degree of culture by virtue of his studies. And wonderfully he -achieved this end! It is delightful to follow his progress. From all -sides material seemed to come unto him and into him, and the larger -and heavier the resulting structure became, the more rigid was the -arch of the ruling and ordering thought supporting it. And yet access -to the sciences and arts has seldom been made more difficult for any -man than for Wagner; so much so that he had almost to break his own -road through to them. The reviver of the simple drama, the discoverer -of the position due to art in true human society, the poetic -interpreter of bygone views of life, the philosopher, the historian, -the æsthete and the critic, the master of languages, the mythologist -and the myth poet, who was the first to include all these wonderful -and beautiful products of primitive times in a single Ring, upon which -he engraved the runic characters of his thoughts--what a wealth of -knowledge must Wagner have accumulated and commanded, in order to have -become all that! And yet this mass of material was just as powerless -to impede the action of his will as a matter of detail--however -attractive--was to draw his purpose from its path. For the exceptional -character of such conduct to be appreciated fully, it should be -compared with that of Goethe,--he who, as a student and as a sage, -resembled nothing so much as a huge river-basin, which does not pour -all its water into the sea, but spends as much of it on its way there, -and at its various twists and turns, as it ultimately disgorges at its -mouth. True, a nature like Goethe's not only has, but also engenders, -more pleasure than any other; there is more mildness and noble -profligacy in it; whereas the tenor and tempo of Wagner's power at -times provoke both fear and flight. But let him fear who will, we -shall only be the more courageous, in that we shall be permitted to -come face to face with a hero who, in regard to modern culture, "has -never learned the meaning of fear." - -But neither has he learned to look for repose in history and -philosophy, nor to derive those subtle influences from their study -which tend to paralyse action or to soften a man unduly. Neither the -creative nor the militant artist in him was ever diverted from his -purpose by learning and culture. The moment his constructive powers -direct him, history becomes yielding clay in his hands. His attitude -towards it then differs from that of every scholar, and more nearly -resembles the relation of the ancient Greek to his myths; that is to -say, his subject is something he may fashion, and about which he may -write verses. He will naturally do this with love and a certain -becoming reverence, but with the sovereign right of the creator -notwithstanding. And precisely because history is more supple and more -variable than a dream to him, he can invest the most individual case -with the characteristics of a whole age, and thus attain to a -vividness of narrative of which historians are quite incapable. In -what work of art, of any kind, has the body and soul of the Middle -Ages ever been so thoroughly depicted as in Lohengrin? And will not -the Meistersingers continue to acquaint men, even in the remotest ages -to come, with the nature of Germany's soul? Will they not do more than -acquaint men of it? Will they not represent its very ripest fruit--the -fruit of that spirit which ever wishes to reform and not to overthrow, -and which, despite the broad couch of comfort on which it lies, has -not forgotten how to endure the noblest discomfort when a worthy and -novel deed has to be accomplished? - -And it is just to this kind of discomfort that Wagner always felt -himself drawn by his study of history and philosophy: in them he not -only found arms and coats of mail, but what he felt in their presence -above all was the inspiring breath which is wafted from the graves of -all great fighters, sufferers, and thinkers. Nothing distinguishes a -man more from the general pattern of the age than the use he makes of -history and philosophy. According to present views, the former seems -to have been allotted the duty of giving modern man breathing-time, in -the midst of his panting and strenuous scurry towards his goal, so -that he may, for a space, imagine he has slipped his leash. What -Montaigne was as an individual amid the turmoil of the -Reformation--that is to say, a creature inwardly coming to peace with -himself, serenely secluded in himself and taking breath, as his best -reader, Shakespeare, understood him,--this is what history is to the -modern spirit to-day. The fact that the Germans, for a whole century, -have devoted themselves more particularly to the study of history, -only tends to prove that they are the stemming, retarding, and -becalming force in the activity of modern society--a circumstance -which some, of course, will place to their credit. On the whole, -however, it is a dangerous symptom when the mind of a nation turns -with preference to the study of the past. It is a sign of flagging -strength, of decline and degeneration; it denotes that its people are -perilously near to falling victims to the first fever that may happen -to be rif--the political fever among others. Now, in the history of -modern thought, our scholars are an example of this condition of -weakness as opposed to all reformative and revolutionary activity. The -mission they have chosen is not of the noblest; they have rather been -content to secure smug happiness for their kind, and little more. -Every independent and manly step leaves them halting in the -background, although it by no means outstrips history. For the latter -is possessed of vastly different powers, which only natures like -Wagner have any notion of; but it requires to be written in a much -more earnest and severe spirit, by much more vigorous students, and -with much less optimism than has been the case hitherto. In fact, it -requires to be treated quite differently from the way German scholars -have treated it until now. In all their works there is a continual -desire to embellish, to submit and to be content, while the course of -events invariably seems to have their approbation. It is rather the -exception for one of them to imply that he is satisfied only because -things might have turned out worse; for most of them believe, almost -as a matter of course, that everything has been for the best simply -because it has only happened once. Were history not always a disguised -Christian theodicy, were it written with more justice and fervent -feeling, it would be the very last thing on earth to be made to serve -the purpose it now serves, namely, that of an opiate against -everything subversive and novel. And philosophy is in the same plight: -all that the majority demand of it is, that it may teach them to -understand approximate facts--very approximate facts--in order that -they may then become adapted to them. And even its noblest exponents -press its soporific and comforting powers so strongly to the fore, -that all lovers of sleep and of loafing must think that their aim and -the aim of philosophy are one. For my part, the most important -question philosophy has to decide seems to be, how far things have -acquired an unalterable stamp and form, and, once this question has -been answered, I think it the duty of philosophy unhesitatingly and -courageously to proceed with the task of _improving that part of the -world which has been recognised as still susceptible to change_. But -genuine philosophers do, as a matter of fact, teach this doctrine -themselves, inasmuch as they work at endeavouring to alter the very -changeable views of men, and do not keep their opinions to themselves. -Genuine disciples of genuine philosophies also teach this doctrine; -for, like Wagner, they understand the art of deriving a more decisive -and inflexible will from their master's teaching, rather than an -opiate or a sleeping draught. Wagner is most philosophical where he is -most powerfully active and heroic. It was as a philosopher that he -went, not only through the fire of various philosophical systems -without fear, but also through the vapours of science and scholarship, -while remaining ever true to his highest self. And it was this highest -self which exacted _from his versatile spirit works as complete as his -were_, which bade him suffer and learn, that he might accomplish such -works. - - - -IV. - - -The history of the development of culture since the time of the Greeks -is short enough, when we take into consideration the actual ground it -covers, and ignore the periods during which man stood still, went -backwards, hesitated or strayed. The Hellenising of the world--and to -make this possible, the Orientalising of Hellenism--that double -mission of Alexander the Great, still remains the most important -event: the old question whether a foreign civilisation may be -transplanted is still the problem that the peoples of modern times are -vainly endeavouring to solve. The rhythmic play of those two factors -against each other is the force that has determined the course of -history heretofore. Thus Christianity appears, for instance, as a -product of Oriental antiquity, which was thought out and pursued to -its ultimate conclusions by men, with almost intemperate thoroughness. -As its influence began to decay, the power of Hellenic culture was -revived, and we are now experiencing phenomena so strange that they -would hang in the air as unsolved problems, if it were not possible, -by spanning an enormous gulf of time, to show their relation to -analogous phenomena in Hellenistic culture. Thus, between Kant and the -Eleatics, Schopenhauer and Empedocles, Æschylus and Wagner, there is -so much relationship, so many things in common, that one is vividly -impressed with the very relative nature of all notions of time. It -would even seem as if a whole diversity of things were really all of a -piece, and that time is only a cloud which makes it hard for our eyes -to perceive the oneness of them. In the history of the exact sciences -we are perhaps most impressed by the close bond uniting us with the -days of Alexander and ancient Greece. The pendulum of history seems -merely to have swung back to that point from which it started when it -plunged forth into unknown and mysterious distance. The picture -represented by our own times is by no means a new one: to the student -of history it must always seem as though he were merely in the -presence of an old familiar face, the features of which he recognises. -In our time the spirit of Greek culture is scattered broadcast. While -forces of all kinds are pressing one upon the other, and the fruits of -modern art and science are offering themselves as a means of exchange, -the pale outline of Hellenism is beginning to dawn faintly in the -distance. The earth which, up to the present, has been more than -adequately Orientalised, begins to yearn once more for Hellenism. He -who wishes to help her in this respect will certainly need to be -gifted for speedy action and to have wings on his heels, in order to -synthetise the multitudinous and still undiscovered facts of science -and the many conflicting divisions of talent so as to reconnoitre and -rule the whole enormous field. It is now necessary that a generation -of _anti-Alexanders_ should arise, endowed with the supreme strength -necessary for gathering up, binding together, and joining the -individual threads of the fabric, so as to prevent their being -scattered to the four winds. The object is not to cut the Gordian knot -of Greek culture after the manner adopted by Alexander, and then to -leave its frayed ends fluttering in all directions; it is rather to -_bind it after it has been loosed_. That is our task to-day. In the -person of Wagner I recognise one of these anti-Alexanders: he rivets -and locks together all that is isolated, weak, or in any way -defective; if I may be allowed to use a medical expression, he has an -_astringent_ power. And in this respect he is one of the greatest -civilising forces of his age. He dominates art, religion, and -folklore, yet he is the reverse of a polyhistor or of a mere -collecting and classifying spirit; for he constructs with the -collected material, and breathes life into it, and is a _Simplifier of -the Universe_. We must not be led away from this idea by comparing the -general mission which his genius imposed upon him with the much -narrower and more immediate one which we are at present in the habit -of associating with the name of Wagner. He is expected to effect a -reform in the theatre world; but even supposing he should succeed in -doing this, what would then have been done towards the accomplishment -of that higher, more distant mission? - -But even with this lesser theatrical reform, modern man would also be -altered and reformed; for everything is so intimately related in this -world, that he who removes even so small a thing as a rivet from the -framework shatters and destroys the whole edifice. And what we here -assert, with perhaps seeming exaggeration, of Wagner's activity would -hold equally good of any other genuine reform. It is quite impossible -to reinstate the art of drama in its purest and highest form without -effecting changes everywhere in the customs of the people, in the -State, in education, and in social intercourse. When love and justice -have become powerful in one department of life, namely in art, they -must, in accordance with the law of their inner being, spread their -influence around them, and can no more return to the stiff stillness -of their former pupal condition. In order even to realise how far the -attitude of the arts towards life is a sign of their decline, and how -far our theatres are a disgrace to those who build and visit them, -everything must be learnt over again, and that which is usual and -commonplace should be regarded as something unusual and complicated. -An extraordinary lack of clear judgment, a badly-concealed lust of -pleasure, of entertainment at any cost, learned scruples, assumed airs -of importance, and trifling with the seriousness of art on the part of -those who represent it; brutality of appetite and money-grubbing on -the part of promoters; the empty-mindedness and thoughtlessness of -society, which only thinks of the people in so far as these serve or -thwart its purpose, and which attends theatres and concerts without -giving a thought to its duties,--all these things constitute the -stifling and deleterious atmosphere of our modern art conditions: -when, however, people like our men of culture have grown accustomed to -it, they imagine that it is a condition of their healthy existence, -and would immediately feel unwell if, for any reason, they were -compelled to dispense with it for a while. In point of fact, there is -but one speedy way of convincing oneself of the vulgarity, weirdness, -and confusion of our theatrical institutions, and that is to compare -them with those which once flourished in ancient Greece. If we knew -nothing about the Greeks, it would perhaps be impossible to assail our -present conditions at all, and objections made on the large scale -conceived for the first time by Wagner would have been regarded as the -dreams of people who could only be at home in outlandish places. "For -men as we now find them," people would have retorted, "art of this -modern kind answers the purpose and is fitting--and men have never -been different." But they have been very different, and even now there -are men who are far from satisfied with the existing state of -affairs--the fact of Bayreuth alone demonstrates this point. Here you -will find prepared and initiated spectators, and the emotion of men -conscious of being at the very zenith of their happiness, who -concentrate their whole being on that happiness in order to strengthen -themselves for a higher and more far-reaching purpose. Here you will -find the most noble self-abnegation on the part of the artist, and the -finest of all spectacles--that of a triumphant creator of works which -are in themselves an overflowing treasury of artistic triumphs. Does -it not seem almost like a fairy tale, to be able to come face to face -with such a personality? Must not they who take any part whatsoever, -active or passive, in the proceedings at Bayreuth, already feel -altered and rejuvenated, and ready to introduce reforms and to effect -renovations in other spheres of life? Has not a haven been found for -all wanderers on high and desert seas, and has not peace settled over -the face of the waters? Must not he who leaves these spheres of ruling -profundity and loneliness for the very differently ordered world with -its plains and lower levels, cry continually like Isolde: "Oh, how -could I bear it? How can I still bear it?" And should he be unable to -endure his joy and his sorrow, or to keep them egotistically to -himself, he will avail himself from that time forward of every -opportunity of making them known to all. "Where are they who are -suffering under the yoke of modern institutions?" he will inquire. -"Where are my natural allies, with whom I may struggle against the -ever waxing and ever more oppressive pretensions of modern erudition?" -For at present, at least, we have but one enemy--at present!--and it -is that band of æsthetes, to whom the word Bayreuth means the -completest rout--they have taken no share in the arrangements, they -were rather indignant at the whole movement, or else availed -themselves effectively of the deaf-ear policy, which has now become -the trusty weapon of all very superior opposition. But this proves -that their animosity and knavery were ineffectual in destroying -Wagner's spirit or in hindering the accomplishment of his plans; it -proves even more, for it betrays their weakness and the fact that all -those who are at present in possession of power will not be able to -withstand many more attacks. The time is at hand for those who would -conquer and triumph; the vastest empires lie at their mercy, a note of -interrogation hangs to the name of all present possessors of power, so -far as possession may be said to exist in this respect. Thus -educational institutions are said to be decaying, and everywhere -individuals are to be found who have secretly deserted them. If only -it were possible to invite those to open rebellion and public -utterances, who even now are thoroughly dissatisfied with the state of -affairs in this quarter! If only it were possible to deprive them of -their faint heart and lukewarmness! I am convinced that the whole -spirit of modern culture would receive its deadliest blow if the tacit -support which these natures give it could in any way be cancelled. -Among scholars, only those would remain loyal to the old order of -things who had been infected with the political mania or who were -literary hacks in any form whatever. The repulsive organisation which -derives its strength from the violence and injustice upon which it -relies--that is to say, from the State and Society--and which sees its -advantage in making the latter ever more evil and unscrupulous,--this -structure which without such support would be something feeble and -effete, only needs to be despised in order to perish. He who is -struggling to spread justice and love among mankind must regard this -organisation as the least significant of the obstacles in his way; for -he will only encounter his real opponents once he has successfully -stormed and conquered modern culture, which is nothing more than their -outworks. - -For us, Bayreuth is the consecration of the dawn of the combat. No -greater injustice could be done to us than to suppose that we are -concerned with art alone, as though it were merely a means of healing -or stupefying us, which we make use of in order to rid our -consciousness of all the misery that still remains in our midst. In -the image of this tragic art work at Bayreuth, we see, rather, the -struggle of individuals against everything which seems to oppose them -with invincible necessity, with power, law, tradition, conduct, and -the whole order of things established. Individuals cannot choose a -better life than that of holding themselves ready to sacrifice -themselves and to die in their fight for love and justice. The gaze -which the mysterious eye of tragedy vouchsafes us neither lulls nor -paralyses. Nevertheless, it demands silence of us as long as it keeps -us in view; for art does not serve the purposes of war, but is merely -with us to improve our hours of respite, before and during the course -of the contest,--to improve those few moments when, looking back, yet -dreaming of the future, we seem to understand the symbolical, and are -carried away into a refreshing reverie when fatigue overtakes us. Day -and battle dawn together, the sacred shadows vanish, and Art is once -more far away from us; but the comfort she dispenses is with men from -the earliest hour of day, and never leaves them. Wherever he turns, -the individual realises only too clearly his own shortcomings, his -insufficiency and his incompetence; what courage would he have left -were he not previously rendered impersonal by this consecration! The -greatest of all torments harassing him, the conflicting beliefs and -opinions among men, the unreliability of these beliefs and opinions, -and the unequal character of men's abilities--all these things make -him hanker after art. We cannot be happy so long as everything about -us suffers and causes suffering; we cannot be moral so long as the -course of human events is determined by violence, treachery, and -injustice; we cannot even be wise, so long as the whole of mankind -does not compete for wisdom, and does not lead the individual to the -most sober and reasonable form of life and knowledge. How, then, would -it be possible to endure this feeling of threefold insufficiency if -one were not able to recognise something sublime and valuable in one's -struggles, strivings, and defeats, if one did not learn from tragedy -how to delight in the rhythm of the great passions, and in their -victim? Art is certainly no teacher or educator of practical conduct: -the artist is never in this sense an instructor or adviser; the things -after which a tragic hero strives are not necessarily worth striving -after. As in a dream so in art, the valuation of things only holds -good while we are under its spell. What we, for the time being, regard -as so worthy of effort, and what makes us sympathise with the tragic -hero when he prefers death to renouncing the object of his desire, -this can seldom retain the same value and energy when transferred to -everyday life: that is why art is the business of the man who is -recreating himself. The strife it reveals to us is a simplification of -life's struggle; its problems are abbreviations of the infinitely -complicated phenomena of man's actions and volitions. But from this -very fact--that it is the reflection, so to speak, of a simpler world, -a more rapid solution of the riddle of life--art derives its greatness -and indispensability. No one who suffers from life can do without this -reflection, just as no one can exist without sleep. The more difficult -the science of natural laws becomes, the more fervently we yearn for -the image of this simplification, if only for an instant; and the -greater becomes the tension between each man's general knowledge of -things and his moral and spiritual faculties. Art is with us _to -prevent the bow from snapping_. - -The individual must be consecrated to something impersonal--that is -the aim of tragedy: he must forget the terrible anxiety which death -and time tend to create in him; for at any moment of his life, at any -fraction of time in the whole of his span of years, something sacred -may cross his path which will amply compensate him for all his -struggles and privations. This means having _a sense for the tragic_. -And if all mankind must perish some day--and who could question this! ---it has been given its highest aim for the future, namely, to -increase and to live in such unity that it may confront its final -extermination as a whole, with one spirit--with a common sense of the -tragic: in this one aim all the ennobling influences of man lie -locked; its complete repudiation by humanity would be the saddest blow -which the soul of the philanthropist could receive. That is how I feel -in the matter! There is but one hope and guarantee for the future of -man, and that is _that his sense for the tragic may not die out_. If he -ever completely lost it, an agonised cry, the like of which has never -been heard, would have to be raised all over the world; for there is -no more blessed joy than that which consists in knowing what we -know--how tragic thought was born again on earth. For this joy is -thoroughly impersonal and general: it is the wild rejoicing of -humanity, anent the hidden relationship and progress of all that is -human. - - - -V. - - -Wagner concentrated upon life, past and present, the light of an -intelligence strong enough to embrace the most distant regions in its -rays. That is why he is a simplifier of the universe; for the -simplification of the universe is only possible to him whose eye has -been able to master the immensity and wildness of an apparent chaos, -and to relate and unite those things which before had lain hopelessly -asunder. Wagner did this by discovering a connection between two -objects which seemed to exist apart from each other as though in -separate spheres--that between music and life, and similarly between -music and the drama. Not that he invented or was the first to create -this relationship, for they must always have existed and have been -noticeable to all; but, as is usually the case with a great problem, -it is like a precious stone which thousands stumble over before one -finally picks it up. Wagner asked himself the meaning of the fact that -an art such as music should have become so very important a feature of -the lives of modern men. It is not necessary to think meanly of life -in order to suspect a riddle behind this question. On the contrary, -when all the great forces of existence are duly considered, and -struggling life is regarded as striving mightily after conscious -freedom and independence of thought, only then does music seem to be a -riddle in this world. Should one not answer: Music could not have been -born in our time? What then does its presence amongst us signify? An -accident? A single great artist might certainly be an accident, but -the appearance of a whole group of them, such as the history of modern -music has to show, a group only once before equalled on earth, that is -to say in the time of the Greeks,--a circumstance of this sort leads -one to think that perhaps necessity rather than accident is at the -root of the whole phenomenon. The meaning of this necessity is the -riddle which Wagner answers. - -He was the first to recognise an evil which is as widespread as -civilisation itself among men; language is everywhere diseased, and -the burden of this terrible disease weighs heavily upon the whole of -man's development. Inasmuch as language has retreated ever more and -more from its true province--the expression of strong feelings, which -it was once able to convey in all their simplicity--and has always had -to strain after the practically impossible achievement of -communicating the reverse of feeling, that is to say thought, its -strength has become so exhausted by this excessive extension of its -duties during the comparatively short period of modern civilisation, -that it is no longer able to perform even that function which alone -justifies its existence, to wit, the assisting of those who suffer, in -communicating with each other concerning the sorrows of existence. Man -can no longer make his misery known unto others by means of language; -hence he cannot really express himself any longer. And under these -conditions, which are only vaguely felt at present, language has -gradually become a force in itself which with spectral arms coerces -and drives humanity where it least wants to go. As soon as they would -fain understand one another and unite for a common cause, the -craziness of general concepts, and even of the ring of modern words, -lays hold of them. The result of this inability to communicate with -one another is that every product of their co-operative action bears -the stamp of discord, not only because it fails to meet their real -needs, but because of the very emptiness of those all-powerful words -and notions already mentioned. To the misery already at hand, man thus -adds the curse of convention--that is to say, the agreement between -words and actions without an agreement between the feelings. Just as, -during the decline of every art, a point is reached when the morbid -accumulation of its means and forms attains to such tyrannical -proportions that it oppresses the tender souls of artists and converts -these into slaves, so now, in the period of the decline of language, -men have become the slaves of words. Under this yoke no one is able to -show himself as he is, or to express himself artlessly, while only few -are able to preserve their individuality in their fight against a -culture which thinks to manifest its success, not by the fact that it -approaches definite sensations and desires with the view of educating -them, but by the fact that it involves the individual in the snare of -"definite notions," and teaches him to think correctly: as if there -were any value in making a correctly thinking and reasoning being out -of man, before one has succeeded in making him a creature that feels -correctly. If now the strains of our German masters' music burst upon -a mass of mankind sick to this extent, what is really the meaning of -these strains? Only _correct feeling_, the enemy of all convention, of -all artificial estrangement and misunderstandings between man and man: -this music signifies a return to nature, and at the same time a -purification and remodelling of it; for the need of such a return took -shape in the souls of the most loving of men, and, _through their art, -nature transformed into love makes its voice heard_. - -Let us regard this as _one_ of Wagner's answers to the question, What -does music mean in our time? for he has a second. The relation between -music and life is not merely that existing between one kind of -language and another; it is, besides, the relation between the perfect -world of sound and that of sight. Regarded merely as a spectacle, and -compared with other and earlier manifestations of human life, the -existence of modern man is characterised by indescribable indigence -and exhaustion, despite the unspeakable garishness at which only the -superficial observer rejoices. If one examines a little more closely -the impression which this vehement and kaleidoscopic play of colours -makes upon one, does not the whole seem to blaze with the shimmer and -sparkle of innumerable little stones borrowed from former -civilisations? Is not everything one sees merely a complex of -inharmonious bombast, aped gesticulations, arrogant superficiality?--a -ragged suit of motley for the naked and the shivering? A seeming dance -of joy enjoined upon a sufferer? Airs of overbearing pride assumed by -one who is sick to the backbone? And the whole moving with such -rapidity and confusion that it is disguised and masked--sordid -impotence, devouring dissension, assiduous ennui, dishonest distress! -The appearance of present-day humanity is all appearance, and nothing -else: in what he now represents man himself has become obscured and -concealed; and the vestiges of the creative faculty in art, which -still cling to such countries as France and Italy, are all -concentrated upon this one task of concealing. Wherever form is still -in demand in society, conversation, literary style, or the relations -between governments, men have unconsciously grown to believe that it -is adequately met by a kind of agreeable dissimulation, quite the -reverse of genuine form conceived as a necessary relation between the -proportions of a figure, having no concern whatever with the notions -"agreeable" or "disagreeable," simply because it is necessary and not -optional. But even where form is not openly exacted by civilised -people, there is no greater evidence of this requisite relation of -proportions; a striving after the agreeable dissimulation, already -referred to, is on the contrary noticeable, though it is never so -successful even if it be more eager than in the first instance. How -far this dissimulation is _agreeable_ at times, and why it must please -everybody to see how modern men at least endeavour to dissemble, every -one is in a position to judge, according to, the extent to which he -himself may happen to be modern. "Only galley slaves know each other," -says Tasso, "and if we _mistake_ others, it is only out of courtesy, and -with the hope that they, in their turn, should mistake us." - -Now, in this world of forms and intentional misunderstandings, what -purpose is served by the appearance of souls overflowing with music? -They pursue the course of grand and unrestrained rhythm with noble -candour--with a passion more than personal; they glow with the mighty -and peaceful fire of music, which wells up to the light of day from -their unexhausted depths--and all this to what purpose? - -By means of these souls music gives expression to the longing that it -feels for the company of its natural ally, _gymnastics_--that is to say, -its necessary form in the order of visible phenomena. In its search -and craving for this ally, it becomes the arbiter of the whole visible -world and the world of mere lying appearance of the present day. This -is Wagner's second answer to the question, What is the meaning of -music in our times? "Help me," he cries to all who have ears to hear, -"help me to discover that culture of which my music, as the -rediscovered language of correct feeling, seems to foretell the -existence. Bear in mind that the soul of music now wishes to acquire a -body, that, by means of you all, it would find its way to visibleness -in movements, deeds, institutions, and customs!" There are some men -who understand this summons, and their number will increase; they have -also understood, for the first time, what it means to found the State -upon music. It is something that the ancient Hellenes not only -understood but actually insisted upon; and these enlightened creatures -would just as soon have sentenced the modern State to death as modern -men now condemn the Church. The road to such a new though not -unprecedented goal would lead to this: that we should be compelled to -acknowledge where the worst faults of our educational system lie, and -why it has failed hitherto to elevate us out of barbarity: in reality, -it lacks the stirring and creative soul of music; its requirements and -arrangements are moreover the product of a period in which the music, -to which We seem to attach so much importance, had not yet been born. -Our education is the most antiquated factor of our present conditions, -and it is so more precisely in regard to the one new educational force -by which it makes men of to-day in advance of those of bygone -centuries, or by which it would make them in advance of their remote -ancestors, provided only they did not persist so rashly in hurrying -forward in meek response to the scourge of the moment. Through not -having allowed the soul of music to lodge within them, they have no -notion of gymnastics in the Greek and Wagnerian sense; and that is why -their creative artists are condemned to despair, as long as they wish -to dispense with music as a guide in a new world of visible phenomena. -Talent may develop as much as may be desired: it either comes too late -or too soon, and at all events out of season; for it is in the main -superfluous and abortive, just as even the most perfect and the -highest products of earlier times which serve modern artists as models -are superfluous and abortive, and add not a stone to the edifice -already begun. If their innermost consciousness can perceive no new -forms, but only the old ones belonging to the past, they may certainly -achieve something for history, but not for life; for they are already -dead before having expired. He, however, who feels genuine and -fruitful life in him, which at present can only be described by the -one term "Music," could he allow himself to be deceived for one moment -into nursing solid hopes by this something which exhausts all its -energy in producing figures, forms, and styles? He stands above all -such vanities, and as little expects to meet with artistic wonders -outside his ideal world of sound as with great writers bred on our -effete and discoloured language. Rather than lend an ear to illusive -consolations, he prefers to turn his unsatisfied gaze stoically upon -our modern world, and if his heart be not warm enough to feel pity, -let it at least feel bitterness and hate! It were better for him to -show anger and scorn than to take cover in spurious contentment or -steadily to drug himself, as our "friends of art" are wont to do. But -if he can do more than condemn and despise, if he is capable of -loving, sympathising, and assisting in the general work of -construction, he must still condemn, notwithstanding, in order to -prepare the road for his willing soul. In order that music may one day -exhort many men to greater piety and make them privy to her highest -aims, an end must first be made to the whole of the pleasure-seeking -relations which men now enjoy with such a sacred art. Behind all our -artistic pastimes--theatres, museums, concerts, and the like--that -aforementioned "friend of art" is to be found, and he it is who must -be suppressed: the favour he now finds at the hands of the State must -be changed into oppression; public opinion, which lays such particular -stress upon the training of this love of art, must be routed by better -judgment. Meanwhile we must reckon the _declared enemy of art_ as our -best and most useful ally; for the object of his animosity is -precisely art as understood by the "friend of art,"--he knows of no -other kind! Let him be allowed to call our "friend of art" to account -for the nonsensical waste of money occasioned by the building of his -theatres and public monuments, the engagement of his celebrated -singers and actors, and the support of his utterly useless schools of -art and picture-galleries--to say nothing of all the energy, time, and -money which every family squanders in pretended "artistic interests." -Neither hunger nor satiety is to be noticed here, but a dead-and-alive -game is played--with the semblance of each, a game invented by the -idle desire to produce an effect and to deceive others. Or, worse -still, art is taken more or less seriously, and then it is itself -expected to provoke a kind of hunger and craving, and to fulfil its -mission in this artificially induced excitement. It is as if people -were afraid of sinking beneath the weight of their loathing and -dulness, and invoked every conceivable evil spirit to scare them and -drive them about like wild cattle. Men hanker after pain, anger, hate, -the flush of passion, sudden flight, and breathless suspense, and they -appeal to the artist as the conjurer of this demoniacal host. In the -spiritual economy of our cultured classes art has become a spurious or -ignominious and undignified need--a nonentity or a something evil. The -superior and more uncommon artist must be in the throes of a -bewildering nightmare in order to be blind to all this, and like a -ghost, diffidently and in a quavering voice, he goes on repeating -beautiful words which he declares descend to him from higher spheres, -but whose sound he can hear only very indistinctly. The artist who -happens to be moulded according to the modern pattern, however, -regards the dreamy gropings and hesitating speech of his nobler -colleague with contempt, and leads forth the whole brawling mob of -assembled passions on a leash in order to let them loose upon modern -men as he may think fit. For these modern creatures wish rather to be -hunted down, wounded, and torn to shreds, than to live alone with -themselves in solitary calm. Alone with oneself!--this thought -terrifies the modern soul; it is his one anxiety, his one ghastly -fear. - -When I watch the throngs that move and linger about the streets of a -very populous town, and notice no other expression in their faces than -one of hunted stupor, I can never help commenting to myself upon the -misery of their condition. For them all, art exists only that they may -be still more wretched, torpid, insensible, or even more flurried and -covetous. For _incorrect feeling_ governs and drills them unremittingly, -and does not even give them time to become aware of their misery. -Should they wish to speak, convention whispers their cue to them, and -this makes them forget what they originally intended to say; should -they desire to understand one another, their comprehension is maimed -as though by a spell: they declare that to be their joy which in -reality is but their doom, and they proceed to collaborate in wilfully -bringing about their own damnation. Thus they have become transformed -into perfectly and absolutely different creatures, and reduced to the -state of abject slaves of incorrect feeling. - - - -VI. - - -I shall only give two instances showing how utterly the sentiment of -our time has been perverted, and how completely unconscious the -present age is of this perversion. Formerly financiers were looked -down upon with honest scorn, even though they were recognised as -needful; for it was generally admitted that every society must have -its viscera. Now, however, they are the ruling power in the soul of -modern humanity, for they constitute the most covetous portion -thereof. In former times people were warned especially against taking -the day or the moment too seriously: the _nil admirari_ was recommended -and the care of things eternal. Now there is but one kind of -seriousness left in the modern mind, and it is limited to the news -brought by the newspaper and the telegraph. Improve each shining hour, -turn it to some account and judge it as quickly as possible!--one -would think modern men had but one virtue left--presence of mind. -Unfortunately, it much more closely resembles the omnipresence of -disgusting and insatiable cupidity, and spying inquisitiveness become -universal. For the question is whether mind is _present at all -to-day_;--but we shall leave this problem for future judges to solve; -they, at least, are bound to pass modern men through a sieve. But that -this age is vulgar, even we can see now, and it is so because it -reveres precisely what nobler ages contemned. If, therefore, it loots -all the treasures of bygone wit and wisdom, and struts about in this -richest of rich garments, it only proves its sinister consciousness of -its own vulgarity in so doing; for it does not don this garb for -warmth, but merely in order to mystify its surroundings. The desire to -dissemble and to conceal himself seems stronger than the need of -protection from the cold in modern man. Thus scholars and philosophers -of the age do not have recourse to Indian and Greek wisdom in order to -become wise and peaceful: the only purpose of their work seems to be -to earn them a fictitious reputation for learning in their own time. -The naturalists endeavour to classify the animal outbreaks of -violence, ruse and revenge, in the present relations between nations -and individual men, as immutable laws of nature. Historians are -anxiously engaged in proving that every age has its own particular -right and special conditions,--with the view of preparing the -groundwork of an apology for the day that is to come, when our -generation will be called to judgment. The science of government, of -race, of commerce, and of jurisprudence, all have that _preparatorily -apologetic_ character now; yea, it even seems as though the small -amount of intellect which still remains active to-day, and is not used -up by the great mechanism of gain and power, has as its sole task the -defending--and excusing of the present - -Against what accusers? one asks, surprised. - -Against its own bad conscience. - -And at this point we plainly discern the task assigned to modern -art--that of stupefying or intoxicating, of lulling to sleep or -bewildering. By hook or by crook to make conscience unconscious! To -assist the modern soul over the sensation of guilt, not to lead it -back to innocence! And this for the space of moments only! To defend -men against themselves, that their inmost heart may be silenced, that -they may turn a deaf ear to its voice! The souls of those few who -really feel the utter ignominy of this mission and its terrible -humiliation of art, must be filled to the brim with sorrow and pity, -but also with a new and overpowering yearning. He who would fain -emancipate art, and reinstall its sanctity, now desecrated, must first -have freed himself from all contact with modern souls; only as an -innocent being himself can he hope to discover the innocence of art, -for he must be ready to perform the stupendous tasks of -self-purification and self-consecration. If he succeeded, if he were -ever able to address men from out his enfranchised soul and by means -of his emancipated art, he would then find himself exposed to the -greatest of dangers and involved in the most appalling of struggles. -Man would prefer to tear him and his art to pieces, rather than -acknowledge that he must die of shame in presence of them. It is just -possible that the emancipation of art is the only ray of hope -illuminating the future, an event intended only for a few isolated -souls, while the many remain satisfied to gaze into the flickering and -smoking flame of their art and can endure to do so. For they do not -_want_ to be enlightened, but dazzled. They rather _hate_ light--more -particularly when it is thrown on themselves. - -That is why they evade the new messenger of light; but he follows -them--the love which gave him birth compels him to follow them and to -reduce them to submission. "Ye must go through my mysteries," he cries -to them; "ye need to be purified and shaken by them. Dare to submit to -this for your own salvation, and abandon the gloomily lighted corner -of life and nature which alone seems familiar to you. I lead you into -a kingdom which is also real, and when I lead you out of my cell into -your daylight, ye will be able to judge which life is more real, -which, in fact, is day and which night. Nature is much richer, more -powerful, more blessed and more terrible below the surface; ye cannot -divine this from the way in which ye live. O that ye yourselves could -learn to become natural again, and then suffer yourselves to be -transformed through nature, and into her, by the charm of my ardour -and love!" - -It is the voice _of Wagner's art_ which thus appeals to men. And that -we, the children of a wretched age, should be the first to hear it, -shows how deserving of pity this age must be: it shows, moreover, that -real music is of a piece with fate and primitive law; for it is quite -impossible to attribute its presence amongst us precisely at the -present time to empty and meaningless chance. Had Wagner been an -accident, he would certainly have been crushed by the superior -strength of the other elements in the midst of which he was placed, -out in the coming of Wagner there seems to have been a necessity which -both justifies it and makes it glorious. Observed from its earliest -beginnings, the development of his art constitutes a most magnificent -spectacle, and--even though it was attended with great -suffering--reason, law, and intention mark its course throughout. -Under the charm of such a spectacle the observer will be led to take -pleasure even in this painful development itself, and will regard it -as fortunate. He will see how everything necessarily contributes to -the welfare and benefit of talent and a nature foreordained, however -severe the trials may be through which it may have to pass. He will -realise how every danger gives it more heart, and every triumph more -prudence; how it partakes of poison and sorrow and thrives upon them. -The mockery and perversity of the surrounding world only goad and spur -it on the more. Should it happen to go astray, it but returns from its -wanderings and exile loaded with the most precious spoil; should it -chance to slumber, "it does but recoup its strength." It tempers the -body itself and makes it tougher; it does not consume life, however -long it lives; it rules over man like a pinioned passion, and allows -him to fly just in the nick of time, when his foot has grown weary in -the sand or has been lacerated by the stones on his way. It can do -nought else but impart; every one must share in its work, and it is no -stinted giver. When it is repulsed it is but more prodigal in its -gifts; ill used by those it favours, it does but reward them with the -richest treasures it possesses,--and, according to the oldest and most -recent experience, its favoured ones have never been quite worthy of -its gifts. That is why the nature foreordained, through which music -expresses itself to this world of appearance, is one of the most -mysterious things under the sun--an abyss in which strength and -goodness lie united, a bridge between self and non-self. Who would -undertake to name the object of its existence with any -certainty?--even supposing the sort of purpose which it would be -likely to have could be divined at all. But a most blessed foreboding -leads one to ask whether it is possible for the grandest things to -exist for the purpose of the meanest, the greatest talent for the -benefit of the smallest, the loftiest virtue and holiness for the sake -of the defective and faulty? Should real music make itself heard, -because mankind of all creatures _least deserves to hear it, though it -perhaps need it most_? If one ponder over the transcendental and -wonderful character of this possibility, and turn from these -considerations to look back on life, a light will then be seen to -ascend, however dark and misty it may have seemed a moment before. - - - -VII. - - -It is quite impossible otherwise: the observer who is confronted with -a nature such as Wagner's must, willy-nilly, turn his eyes from time -to time upon himself, upon his insignificance and frailty, and ask -himself, What concern is this of thine? Why, pray, art thou there at -all? Maybe he will find no answer to these questions, in which case he -will remain estranged and confounded, face to face with his own -personality. Let it then suffice him that he has experienced this -feeling; let the fact _that he has felt strange and embarrassed in the -presence of his own soul_ be the answer to his question For it is -precisely by virtue of this feeling that he shows the most powerful -manifestation of life in Wagner--the very kernel of his strength--that -demoniacal _magnetism_ and gift of imparting oneself to others, which is -peculiar to his nature, and by which it not only conveys itself to -other beings, but also absorbs other beings into itself; thus -attaining to its greatness by giving and by taking. As the observer is -apparently subject to Wagner's exuberant and prodigally generous -nature, he partakes of its strength, and thereby becomes formidable -_through him and to him_. And every one who critically examines himself -knows that a certain mysterious antagonism is necessary to the process -of mutual study. Should his art lead us to experience all that falls -to the lot of a soul engaged upon a journey, _i.e._ feeling sympathy -with others and sharing their fate, and seeing the world through -hundreds of different eyes, we are then able, from such a distance, -and under such strange influences, to contemplate him, once we have -lived his life. We then feel with the utmost certainty that in Wagner -the whole visible world desires to be spiritualised, absorbed, and -lost in the world of sounds. In Wagner, too, the world of sounds seeks -to manifest itself as a phenomenon for the sight; it seeks, as it -were, to incarnate itself. His art always leads him into two distinct -directions, from the world of the play of sound to the mysterious and -yet related world of visible things, and _vice versâ_. He is continually -forced--and the observer with him--to re-translate the visible into -spiritual and primeval life, and likewise to perceive the most hidden -interstices of the soul as something concrete and to lend it a visible -body. This constitutes the nature of the _dithyrambic dramatist_, if the -meaning given to the term includes also the actor, the poet, and the -musician; a conception necessarily borrowed from Æschylus and the -contemporary Greek artists--the only perfect examples of the -dithyrambic dramatist before Wagner. If attempts have been made to -trace the most wonderful developments to inner obstacles or -deficiencies, if, for instance, in Goethe's case, poetry was merely -the refuge of a foiled talent for painting; if one may speak of -Schiller's dramas as of vulgar eloquence directed into uncommon -channels; if Wagner himself tries to account for the development of -music among the Germans by showing that, inasmuch as they are devoid -of the entrancing stimulus of a natural gift for singing, they were -compelled to take up instrumental music with the same profound -seriousness as that with which their reformers took up -Christianity,--if, on the same principle, it were sought to associate -Wagner's development with an inner barrier of the same kind, it would -then be necessary to recognise in him a primitive dramatic talent, -which had to renounce all possibility of satisfying its needs by the -quickest and most methods, and which found its salvation and its means -of expression in drawing all arts to it for one great dramatic -display. But then one would also have to assume that the most powerful -musician, owing to his despair at having to appeal to people who were -either only semi-musical or not musical at all, violently opened a -road for himself to the other arts, in order to acquire that capacity -for diversely communicating himself to others, by which he compelled -them to understand him, by which he compelled the masses to understand -him. However the development of the born dramatist may be pictured, in -his ultimate expression he is a being free from all inner barriers and -voids: the real, emancipated artist cannot help himself, he must think -in the spirit of all the arts at once, as the mediator and intercessor -between apparently separated spheres, the one who reinstalls the unity -and wholeness of the artistic faculty, which cannot be divined or -reasoned out, but can only be revealed by deeds themselves. But he in -whose presence this deed is performed will be overcome by its gruesome -and seductive charm: in a flash he will be confronted with a power -which cancels both resistance and reason, and makes every detail of -life appear irrational and incomprehensible. Carried away from -himself, he seems to be suspended in a mysterious fiery element; he -ceases to understand himself, the standard of everything has fallen -from his hands; everything stereotyped and fixed begins to totter; -every object seems to acquire a strange colour and to tell us its tale -by means of new symbols;--one would need to be a Plato in order to -discover, amid this confusion of delight and fear, how he accomplishes -the feat, and to say to the dramatist: "Should a man come into our -midst who possessed sufficient knowledge to simulate or imitate -anything, we would honour him as something wonderful and holy; we -would even anoint him and adorn his brow with a sacred diadem; but we -would urge him to leave our circle for another, notwithstanding." It -may be that a member of the Platonic community would have been able to -chasten himself to such conduct: we, however, who live in a very -different community, long for, and earnestly desire, the charmer to -come to us, although we may fear him already,--and we only desire his -presence in order that our society and the mischievous reason and -might of which it is the incarnation may be confuted. A state of human -civilisation, of human society, morality, order, and general -organisation which would be able to dispense with the services of an -imitative artist or mimic, is not perhaps so utterly inconceivable; -but this Perhaps is probably the most daring that has ever been -posited, and is equivalent to the gravest expression of doubt. The -only man who ought to be at liberty to speak of such a possibility is -he who could beget, and have the presentiment of, the highest phase of -all that is to come, and who then, like Faust, would either be obliged -to turn blind, or be permitted to become so. For we have no right to -this blindness; whereas Plato, after he had cast that one glance into -the ideal Hellenic, had the right to be blind to all Hellenism. For -this reason, we others are in much greater need of art; because it was -_in the presence of the realistic that our eyes began to see_, and we -require the complete dramatist in order that he may relieve us, if -only for an hour or so, of the insufferable tension arising from our -knowledge of the chasm which lies between our capabilities and the -duties we have to perform. With him we ascend to the highest pinnacle -of feeling, and only then do we fancy we have returned to nature's -unbounded freedom, to the actual realm of liberty. From this point of -vantage we can see ourselves and our fellows emerge as something -sublime from an immense mirage, and we see the deep meaning in our -struggles, in our victories and defeats; we begin to find pleasure in -the rhythm of passion and in its victim in the hero's every footfall -we distinguish the hollow echo of death, and in its proximity we -realise the greatest charm of life: thus transformed into tragic men, -we return again to life with comfort in our souls. We are conscious of -a new feeling of security, as if we had found a road leading out of -the greatest dangers, excesses, and ecstasies, back to the limited and -the familiar: there where our relations with our fellows seem to -partake of a superior benevolence, and are at all events more noble -than they were. For here, everything seemingly serious and needful, -which appears to lead to a definite goal, resembles only detached -fragments when compared with the path we ourselves have trodden, even -in our dreams,--detached fragments of that complete and grand -experience whereof we cannot even think without a thrill. Yes, we -shall even fall into danger and be tempted to take life too easily, -simply because in art we were in such deadly earnest concerning it, as -Wagner says somewhere anent certain incidents in his own life. For if -we who are but the spectators and not the creators of this display of -dithyrambic dramatic art, can almost imagine a dream to be more real -than the actual experiences of our wakeful hours, how much more keenly -must the creator realise this contrast! There he stands amid all the -clamorous appeals and importunities of the day, and of the necessities -of life; in the midst of Society and State--and as what does he stand -there? Maybe he is the only wakeful one, the only being really and -truly conscious, among a host of confused and tormented sleepers, -among a multitude of deluded and suffering people. He may even feel -like a victim of chronic insomnia, and fancy himself obliged to bring -his clear, sleepless, and conscious life into touch with somnambulists -and ghostly well-intentioned creatures. Thus everything that others -regard as commonplace strikes him as weird, and he is tempted to meet -the whole phenomenon with haughty mockery. But how peculiarly this -feeling is crossed, when another force happens to join his quivering -pride, the craving of the heights for the depths, the affectionate -yearning for earth, for happiness and for fellowship--then, when he -thinks of all he misses as a hermit-creator, he feels as though he -ought to descend to the earth like a god, and bear all that is weak, -human, and lost, "in fiery arms up to heaven," so as to obtain love -and no longer worship only, and to be able to lose himself completely -in his love. But it is just this contradiction which is the miraculous -fact in the soul of the dithyrambic dramatist, and if his nature can -be understood at all, surely it must be here. For his creative moments -in art occur when the antagonism between his feelings is at its height -and when his proud astonishment and wonder at the world combine with -the ardent desire to approach that same world as a lover. The glances -he then bends towards the earth are always rays of sunlight which -"draw up water," form mist, and gather storm-clouds. _Clear-sighted and -prudent, loving and unselfish at the same time_, his glance is -projected downwards; and all things that are illumined by this double -ray of light, nature conjures to discharge their strength, to reveal -their most hidden secret, and this through bashfulness. It is more -than a mere figure of speech to say that he surprised Nature with that -glance, that he caught her naked; that is why she would conceal her -shame by seeming precisely the reverse. What has hitherto been -invisible, the inner life, seeks its salvation in the region of the -visible; what has hitherto been only visible, repairs to the dark -ocean of sound: _thus Nature, in trying to conceal herself, unveils the -character of her contradictions_. In a dance, wild, rhythmic and -gliding, and with ecstatic movements, the born dramatist makes known -something of what is going on within him, of what is taking place in -nature: the dithyrambic quality of his movements speaks just as -eloquently of quivering comprehension and of powerful penetration as -of the approach of love and self-renunciation. Intoxicated speech -follows the course of this rhythm; melody resounds coupled with -speech, and in its turn melody projects its sparks into the realm of -images and ideas. A dream-apparition, like and unlike the image of -Nature and her wooer, hovers forward; it condenses into more human -shapes; it spreads out in response to its heroically triumphant will, -and to a most delicious collapse and cessation of will:--thus tragedy -is born; thus life is presented with its grandest knowledge--that of -tragic thought; thus, at last, the greatest charmer and benefactor -among mortals--the dithyrambic dramatist--is evolved. - - - -VIII. - - -Wagner's actual life--that is to say, the gradual evolution of the -dithyrambic dramatist in him--was at the same time an uninterrupted -struggle with himself, a struggle which never ceased until his -evolution was complete. His fight with the opposing world was grim and -ghastly, only because it was this same world--this alluring -enemy--which he heard speaking out of his own heart, and because he -nourished a violent demon in his breast--the demon of resistance. When -the ruling idea of his life gained ascendancy over his mind--the idea -that drama is, of all arts, the one that can exercise the greatest -amount of influence over the world--it aroused the most active -emotions in his whole being. It gave him no very clear or luminous -decision, at first, as to what was to be done and desired in the -future; for the idea then appeared merely as a form of -temptation--that is to say, as the expression of his gloomy, selfish, -and insatiable will, eager for _power and glory_. Influence--the -greatest amount of influence--how? over whom?--these were henceforward -the questions and problems which did not cease to engage his head and -his heart. He wished to conquer and triumph as no other artist had -ever done before, and, if possible, to reach that height of tyrannical -omnipotence at one stroke for which all his instincts secretly craved. -With a jealous and cautious eye, he took stock of everything -successful, and examined with special care all that upon which this -influence might be brought to bear. With the magic sight of the -dramatist, which scans souls as easily as the most familiar book, he -scrutinised the nature of the spectator and the listener, and although -he was often perturbed by the discoveries he made, he very quickly -found means wherewith he could enthral them. These means were ever -within his reach: everything that moved him deeply he desired and -could also produce; at every stage in his career he understood just as -much of his predecessors as he himself was able to create, and he -never doubted that he would be able to do what they had done. In this -respect his nature is perhaps more presumptuous even than Goethe's, -despite the fact that the latter said of himself: "I always thought I -had mastered everything; and even had I been crowned king, I should -have regarded the honour as thoroughly deserved." Wagner's ability, -his taste and his aspirations--all of which have ever been as closely -related as key to lock--grew and attained to freedom together; but -there was a time when it was not so. What did he care about the feeble -but noble and egotistically lonely feeling which that friend of art -fosters, who, blessed with a literary and æsthetic education, takes -his stand far from the common mob! But those violent spiritual -tempests which are created by the crowd when under the influence of -certain climactic passages of dramatic song, that sudden bewildering -ecstasy of the emotions, thoroughly honest and selfless--they were but -echoes of his own experiences and sensations, and filled him with -glowing hope for the greatest possible power and effect. Thus he -recognised _grand opera_ as the means whereby he might express his -ruling thoughts; towards it his passions impelled him; his eyes turned -in the direction of its home. The larger portion of his life, his most -daring wanderings, and his plans, studies, sojourns, and acquaintances -are only to be explained by an appeal to these passions and the -opposition of the outside world, which the poor, restless, -passionately ingenuous German artist had to face. Another artist than -he knew better how to become master of this calling, and now that it -has gradually become known by means of what ingenious artifices of all -kinds Meyerbeer succeeded in preparing and achieving every one of his -great successes, and how scrupulously the sequence of "effects" was -taken into account in the opera itself, people will begin to -understand how bitterly Wagner was mortified when his eyes were opened -to the tricks of the _métier_ which were indispensable to a great public -success. I doubt whether there has ever been another great artist in -history who began his career with such extraordinary illusions and who -so unsuspectingly and sincerely fell in with the most revolting form -of artistic trickery. And yet the way in which he proceeded partook of -greatness and was therefore extraordinarily fruitful. For when he -perceived his error, despair made him understand the meaning of modern -success, of the modern public, and the whole prevaricating spirit of -modern art. And while becoming the critic of "effect," indications of -his own purification began to quiver through him. It seems as if from -that time forward the spirit of music spoke to him with an -unprecedented spiritual charm. As though he had just risen from a long -illness and had for the first time gone into the open, he scarcely -trusted his hand and his eye, and seemed to grope along his way. Thus -it was an almost delightful surprise to him to find that he was still -a musician and an artist, and perhaps then only for the first time. - -Every subsequent stage in Wagner's development may be distinguished -thus, that the two fundamental powers of his nature drew ever more -closely together: the aversion of the one to the other lessened, the -higher self no longer condescended to serve its more violent and baser -brother; it loved him and felt compelled to serve him. The tenderest -and purest thing is ultimately--that is to say, at the highest stage -of its evolution--always associated with the mightiest; the storming -instincts pursue their course as before, but along different roads, in -the direction of the higher self; and this in its turn descends to -earth and finds its likeness in everything earthly. If it were -possible, on this principle, to speak of the final aims and -unravelments of that evolution, and to remain intelligible, it might -also be possible to discover the graphic terms with which to describe -the long interval preceding that last development; but I doubt whether -the first achievement is possible at all, and do not therefore attempt -the second. The limits of the interval separating the preceding and -the subsequent ages will be described historically in two sentences: -Wagner was the _revolutionist of society_; Wagner recognised the only -artistic element that ever existed hitherto--_the poetry of the people_. -The ruling idea which in a new form and mightier than it had ever -been, obsessed Wagner, after he had overcome his share of despair and -repentance, led him to both conclusions. Influence, the greatest -possible amount of influence to be exercised by means of the stage! ---but over whom? He shuddered when he thought of those whom he had, -until then, sought to influence. His experience led him to realise the -utterly ignoble position which art and the artist adorn; how a callous -and hard-hearted community that calls itself the good, but which is -really the evil, reckons art and the artist among its slavish retinue, -and keeps them both in order to minister to its need of deception. -Modern art is a luxury; he saw this, and understood that it must stand -or fall with the luxurious society of which it forms but a part. This -society had but one idea, to use its power as hard-heartedly and as -craftily as possible in order to render the impotent--the people--ever -more and more serviceable, base and unpopular, and to rear the modern -workman out of them. It also robbed them of the greatest and purest -things which their deepest needs led them to create, and through which -they meekly expressed the genuine and unique art within their soul: -their myths, songs, dances, and their discoveries in the department of -language, in order to distil therefrom a voluptuous antidote against -the fatigue and boredom of its existence--modern art. How this -society came into being, how it learned to draw new strength for -itself from the seemingly antagonistic spheres of power, and how, for -instance, decaying Christianity allowed itself to be used, under the -cover of half measures and subterfuges, as a shield against the masses -and as a support of this society and its possessions, and finally how -science and men of learning pliantly consented to become its -drudges--all this Wagner traced through the ages, only to be convulsed -with loathing at the end of his researches. Through his compassion for -the people, he became a revolutionist. From that time forward he loved -them and longed for them, as he longed for his art; for, alas! in them -alone, in this fast disappearing, scarcely recognisable body, -artificially held aloof, he now saw the only spectators and listeners -worthy and fit for the power of his masterpieces, as he pictured them. -Thus his thoughts concentrated themselves upon the question, How do -the people come into being? How are they resuscitated? - -He always found but one answer: if a large number of people were -afflicted with the sorrow that afflicted him, that number would -constitute the people, he said to himself. And where the same sorrow -leads to the same impulses and desires, similar satisfaction would -necessarily be sought, and the same pleasure found in this -satisfaction. If he inquired into what it was that most consoled him -and revived his spirits in his sorrow, what it was that succeeded best -in counteracting his affliction, it was with joyful certainty that he -discovered this force only in music and myth, the latter of which he -had already recognised as the people's creation and their language of -distress. It seemed to him that the origin of music must be similar, -though perhaps more mysterious. In both of these elements he steeped -and healed his soul; they constituted his most urgent need:--in this -way he was able to ascertain how like his sorrow was to that of the -people, when they came into being, and how they must arise anew if -_many Wagners_ are going to appear. What part did myth and music play in -modern society, wherever they had not been actually sacrificed to it? -They shared very much the same fate, a fact which only tends to prove -their close relationship: myth had been sadly debased and usurped by -idle tales and stories; completely divested of its earnest and sacred -virility, it was transformed into the plaything and pleasing bauble of -children and women of the afflicted people. Music had kept itself -alive among the poor, the simple, and the isolated; the German -musician had not succeeded in adapting himself to the luxurious -traffic of the arts; he himself had become a fairy tale full Of -monsters and mysteries, full of the most touching omens and -auguries--a helpless questioner, something bewitched and in need of -rescue. Here the artist distinctly heard the command that concerned -him alone--to recast myth and make it virile, to break the spell lying -over music and to make music speak: he felt his strength for drama -liberated at one stroke, and the foundation of his sway established -over the hitherto undiscovered province lying between myth and music. -His new masterpiece, which included all the most powerful, effective, -and entrancing forces that he knew, he now laid before men with this -great and painfully cutting question: "Where are ye all who suffer and -think as I do? Where is that number of souls that I wish to see become -a people, that ye may share the same joys and comforts with me? In -your joy ye will reveal your misery to me." These were his questions -in Tannhauser and Lohengrin, in these operas he looked about him for -his equals--the anchorite yearned for the number. - -But what were his feelings withal? Nobody answered him. Nobody had -understood his question. Not that everybody remained silent: on the -contrary, answers were given to thousands of questions which he had -never put; people gossipped about the new masterpieces as though they -had only been composed for the express purpose of supplying subjects -for conversation. The whole mania of æsthetic scribbling and small -talk overtook the Germans like a pestilence, and with that lack of -modesty which characterises both German scholars and German -journalists, people began measuring, and generally meddling with, -these masterpieces, as well as with the person of the artist. Wagner -tried to help the comprehension of his question by writing about it; -but this only led to fresh confusion and more uproar,--for a musician -who writes and thinks was, at that time, a thing unknown. The cry -arose: "He is a theorist who wishes to remould art with his -far-fetched notions--stone him!" Wagner was stunned: his question was -not understood, his need not felt; his masterpieces seemed a message -addressed only to the deaf and blind; his people--an hallucination. -He staggered and vacillated. The feasibility of a complete upheaval of -all things then suggested itself to him, and he no longer shrank from -the thought: possibly, beyond this revolution and dissolution, there -might be a chance of a new hope; on the other hand, there might not. -But, in any case, would not complete annihilation be better than the -wretched existing state of affairs? Not very long afterwards, he was a -political exile in dire distress. - -And then only, with this terrible change in his environment and in his -soul, there begins that period of the great man's life over which as a -golden reflection there is stretched the splendour of highest mastery. -Now at last the genius of dithyrambic drama doffs its last disguise. -He is isolated; the age seems empty to him; he ceases to hope; and his -all-embracing glance descend once more into the deep, and finds the -bottom, there he sees suffering in the nature of things, and -henceforward, having become more impersonal, he accepts his portion of -sorrow more calmly. The desire for great power which was but the -inheritance of earlier conditions is now directed wholly into the -channel of creative art; through his art he now speaks only to -himself, and no longer to a public or to a people, and strives to lend -this intimate conversation all the distinction and other qualities in -keeping with such a mighty dialogue. During the preceding period -things had been different with his art; then he had concerned himself, -too, albeit with refinement and subtlety, with immediate effects: that -artistic production was also meant as a question, and it ought to have -called forth an immediate reply. And how often did Wagner not try to -make his meaning clearer to those he questioned! In view of their -inexperience in having questions put to them, he tried to meet them -half way and to conform with older artistic notions and means of -expression. When he feared that arguments couched in his own terms -would only meet with failure, he had tried to persuade and to put his -question in a language half strange to himself though familiar to his -listeners. Now there was nothing to induce him to continue this -indulgence: all he desired now was to come to terms with himself, to -think of the nature of the world in dramatic actions, and to -philosophise in music; _what desires_ he still possessed turned in the -direction of the _latest philosophical views_. He who is worthy of -knowing what took place in him at that time or what questions were -thrashed out in the darkest holy of holies in his soul--and not many -are worthy of knowing all this--must hear, observe, and experience -Tristan and Isolde, the real _opus metaphysicum_ of all art, a work upon -which rests the broken look of a dying man with his insatiable and -sweet craving for the secrets of night and death, far away from life -which throws a horribly spectral morning light, sharply, upon all that -is evil, delusive, and sundering: moreover, a drama austere in the -severity of its form, overpowering in its simple grandeur, and in -harmony with the secret of which it treats--lying dead in the midst of -life, being one in two. And yet there is something still more -wonderful than this work, and that is the artist himself, the man who, -shortly after he had accomplished it, was able to create a picture of -life so full of clashing colours as the Meistersingers of Nürnberg, -and who in both of these compositions seems merely to have refreshed -and equipped himself for the task of completing at his ease that -gigantic edifice in four parts which he had long ago planned and -begun--the ultimate result of all his meditations and poetical flights -for over twenty years, his Bayreuth masterpiece, the Ring of the -Nibelung! He who marvels at the rapid succession of the two operas, -Tristan and the Meistersingers, has failed to understand one important -side of the life and nature of all great Germans: he does not know the -peculiar soil out of which that essentially German gaiety, which -characterised Luther, Beethoven, and Wagner, can grow, the gaiety -which other nations quite fail to understand and which even seems to -be missing in the Germans of to-day--that clear golden and thoroughly -fermented mixture of simplicity, deeply discriminating love, -observation, and roguishness which Wagner has dispensed, as the most -precious of drinks, to all those who have suffered deeply through -life, but who nevertheless return to it with the smile of -convalescents. And, as he also turned upon the world the eyes of one -reconciled, he was more filled with rage and disgust than with sorrow, -and more prone to renounce the love of power than to shrink in awe -from it. As he thus silently furthered his greatest work and gradually -laid score upon score, something happened which caused him to stop and -listen: _friends_ were coming, a kind of subterranean movement of many -souls approached with a message for him--it was still far from being -the people that constituted this movement and which wished to bear him -news, but it may have been the nucleus and first living source of a -really human community which would reach perfection in some age still -remote. For the present they only brought him the warrant that his -great work could be entrusted to the care and charge of faithful men, -men who would watch and be worthy to watch over this most magnificent -of all legacies to posterity. In the love of friends his outlook began -to glow with brighter colours; his noblest care--the care that his -work should be accomplished and should find a refuge before the -evening of his life--was not his only preoccupation, something -occurred which he could only understand as a symbol: it was as much as -a new comfort and a new token of happiness to him. A great German war -caused him to open his eyes, and he observed that those very Germans -whom he considered so thoroughly degenerate and so inferior to the -high standard of real Teutonism, of which he had formed an ideal both -from self-knowledge and the conscientious study of other great Germans -in history; he observed that those very Germans were, in the midst of -terrible circumstances, exhibiting two virtues of the highest -order--simple bravery and prudence; and with his heart bounding with -delight he conceived the hope that he might not be the last German, -and that some day a greater power would perhaps stand by his works -than that devoted yet meagre one consisting of his little band of -friends--a power able to guard it during that long period preceding -its future glory, as the masterpiece of this future. Perhaps it was -not possible to steel this belief permanently against doubt, more -particularly when it sought to rise to hopes of immediate results: -suffice it that he derived a tremendous spur from his environment, -which constantly reminded him of a lofty duty ever to be fulfilled. - -His work would not have been complete had he handed it to the world -only in the form of silent manuscript. He must make known to the world -what it could not guess in regard to his productions, what was his -alone to reveal--the new style for the execution and presentation of -his works, so that he might set that example which nobody else could -set, and thus establish a _tradition of style_, not on paper, not by -means of signs, but through impressions made upon the very souls of -men. This duty had become all the more pressing with him, seeing that -precisely in regard to the style of their execution his other works -had meanwhile succumbed to the most insufferable and absurd of fates: -they were famous and admired, yet no one manifested the slightest sign -of indignation when they were mishandled. For, strange to say, whereas -he renounced ever more and more the hope of success among his -contemporaries, owing to his all too thorough knowledge of them, and -disclaimed all desire for power, both "success" and "power" came to -him, or at least everybody told him so. It was in vain that he made -repeated attempts to expose, with the utmost clearness, how worthless -and humiliating such successes were to him: people were so unused to -seeing an artist able to differentiate at all between the effects of -his works that even his most solemn protests were never entirely -trusted. Once he had perceived the relationship existing between our -system of theatres and their success, and the men of his time, his -soul ceased to be attracted by the stage at all. He had no further -concern with æsthetic ecstasies and the exultation of excited crowds, -and he must even have felt angry to see his art being gulped down -indiscriminately by the yawning abyss of boredom and the insatiable -love of distraction. How flat and pointless every effect proved under -these circumstances--more especially as it was much more a case of -having to minister to one quite insatiable than of cloying the hunger -of a starving man--Wagner began to perceive from the following -repeated experience: everybody, even the performers and promoters, -regarded his art as nothing more nor less than any other kind of -stage-music, and quite in keeping with the repulsive style of -traditional opera; thanks to the efforts of cultivated conductors, his -works were even cut and hacked about, until, after they had been -bereft of all their spirit, they were held to be nearer the -professional singer's plane. But when people tried to follow Wagner's -instructions to the letter, they proceeded so clumsily and timidly -that they were not incapable of representing the midnight riot in the -second act of the Meistersingers by a group of ballet-dancers. They -seemed to do all this, however, in perfectly good faith--without the -smallest evil intention. Wagner's devoted efforts to show, by means of -his own example, the correct and complete way of performing his works, -and his attempts at training individual singers in the new style, were -foiled time after time, owing only to the thoughtlessness and iron -tradition that ruled all around him. Moreover, he was always induced -to concern himself with that class of theatricals which he most -thoroughly loathed. Had not even Goethe, in his time, once grown tired -of attending the rehearsals of his Iphigenia? "I suffer unspeakably," -he explained, "when I have to tumble about with these spectres, which -never seem to act as they should." Meanwhile Wagner's "success" in the -kind of drama which he most disliked steadily increased; so much so, -indeed, that the largest theatres began to subsist almost entirely -upon the receipts which Wagner's art, in the guise of operas, brought -into them. This growing passion on the part of the theatre-going -public bewildered even some of Wagner's friends; but this man who had -endured so much, had still to endure the bitterest pain of all--he had -to see his friends intoxicated with his "successes" and "triumphs" -everywhere where his highest ideal was openly belied and shattered. It -seemed almost as though a people otherwise earnest and reflecting had -decided to maintain an attitude of systematic levity only towards its -most serious artist, and to make him the privileged recipient of all -the vulgarity, thoughtlessness, clumsiness, and malice of which the -German nature is capable. When, therefore, during the German War, a -current of greater magnanimity and freedom seemed to run through every -one, Wagner remembered the duty to which he had pledged himself, -namely, to rescue his greatest work from those successes and affronts -which were so largely due to misunderstandings, and to present it in -his most personal rhythm as an example for all times. Thus he -conceived _the idea of Bayreuth_. In the wake of that current of better -feeling already referred to, he expected to notice an enhanced sense -of duty even among those with whom he wished to entrust his most -precious possession. Out of this two-fold duty, that event took shape -which, like a glow of strange sunlight, will illumine the few years -that lie behind and before us, and was designed to bless that distant -and problematic future which to our time and to the men of our time -can be little more than a riddle or a horror, but which to the few -who are allowed to assist in its realisation is a foretaste of coming -joy, a foretaste of love in a higher sphere, through which they know -themselves to be blessed, blessing and fruitful, far beyond their span -of years; and which to Wagner himself is but a cloud of distress, -care, meditation, and grief, a fresh passionate outbreak of -antagonistic elements, but all bathed in the starlight of _selfless -fidelity_, and changed by this light into indescribable joy. - -It scarcely need be said that it is the breath of tragedy that fills -the lungs of the world. And every one whose innermost soul has a -presentiment of this, every one unto whom the yoke of tragic deception -concerning the aim of life, the distortion and shattering of -intentions, renunciation and purification through love, are not -unknown things, must be conscious of a vague reminiscence of Wagner's -own heroic life, in the masterpieces with which the great man now -presents us. We shall feel as though Siegfried from some place far -away were relating his deeds to us: the most blissful of touching -recollections are always draped in the deep mourning of waning summer, -when all nature lies still in the sable twilight. - - - -IX. - - -All those to whom the thought of Wagner's development as a man may -have caused pain will find it both restful and healing to reflect upon -what he was as an artist, and to observe how his ability and daring -attained to such a high degree of independence. If art mean only the -faculty of communicating to others what one has oneself experienced, -and if every work of art confutes itself which does not succeed in -making itself understood, then Wagner's greatness as an artist would -certainly lie in the almost demoniacal power of his nature to -communicate with others, to express itself in all languages at once, -and to make known its most intimate and personal experience with the -greatest amount of distinctness possible. His appearance in the -history of art resembles nothing so much as a volcanic eruption of the -united artistic faculties of Nature herself, after mankind had grown -to regard the practice of a special art as a necessary rule. It is -therefore a somewhat moot point whether he ought to be classified as a -poet, a painter, or a musician, even using each these words in its -widest sense, or whether a new word ought not to be invented in order -to describe him. - -Wagner's _poetic_ ability is shown by his thinking in visible and actual -facts, and not in ideas; that is to say, he thinks mythically, as the -people have always done. No particular thought lies at the bottom of a -myth, as the children of an artificial culture would have us believe; -but it is in itself a thought: it conveys an idea of the world, but -through the medium of a chain of events, actions, and pains. The Ring -of the Nibelung is a huge system of thought without the usual -abstractness of the latter. It were perhaps possible for a philosopher -to present us with its exact equivalent in pure thought, and to purge -it of all pictures drawn from life, and of all living actions, in -which case we should be in possession of the same thing portrayed in -two completely different forms--the one for the people, and the other -for the very reverse of the people; that is to say, men of theory. But -Wagner makes no appeal to this last class, for the man of theory can -know as little of poetry or myth as the deaf man can know of music; -both of them being conscious only of movements which seem meaningless -to them. It is impossible to appreciate either one of these completely -different forms from the standpoint of the other: as long as the -poet's spell is upon one, one thinks with him just as though one were -merely a feeling, seeing, and hearing creature; the conclusions thus -reached are merely the result of the association of the phenomena one -sees, and are therefore not logical but actual causalities. - -If, therefore, the heroes and gods of mythical dramas, as understood -by Wagner, were to express themselves plainly in words, there would be -a danger (inasmuch as the language of words might tend to awaken the -theoretical side in us) of our finding ourselves transported from the -world of myth to the world of ideas, and the result would be not only -that we should fail to understand with greater ease, but that we -should probably not understand at all. Wagner thus forced language -back to a more primeval stage in its development a stage at which it -was almost free of the abstract element, and was still poetry, -imagery, and feeling; the fearlessness with which Wagner undertook -this formidable mission shows how imperatively he was led by the -spirit of poetry, as one who must follow whithersoever his phantom -leader may direct him. Every word in these dramas ought to allow of -being sung, and gods and heroes should make them their own--that was -the task which Wagner set his literary faculty. Any other person in -like circumstances would have given up all hope; for our language -seems almost too old and decrepit to allow of one's exacting what -Wagner exacted from it; and yet, when he smote the rock, he brought -forth an abundant flow. Precisely owing to the fact that he loved his -language and exacted a great deal from it, Wagner suffered more than -any other German through its decay and enfeeblement, from its manifold -losses and mutilations of form, from its unwieldy particles and clumsy -construction, and from its unmusical auxiliary verbs. All these are -things which have entered the language through sin and depravity. On -the other hand, he was exceedingly proud to record the number of -primitive and vigorous factors still extant in the current speech; and -in the tonic strength of its roots he recognised quite a wonderful -affinity and relation to real music, a quality which distinguished it -from the highly evolved and artificially rhetorical Latin languages. -Wagner's poetry is eloquent of his affection for the German language, -and there is a heartiness and candour in his treatment of it which are -scarcely to be met with in any other German writer, save perhaps -Goethe. Forcibleness of diction, daring brevity, power and variety in -rhythm, a remarkable wealth of strong and striking words, simplicity -in construction, an almost unique inventive faculty in regard to -fluctuations of feeling and presentiment, and therewithal a perfectly -pure and overflowing stream of colloquialisms--these are the qualities -that have to be enumerated, and even then the greatest and most -wonderful of all is omitted. Whoever reads two such poems as Tristan -and the Meistersingers consecutively will be just as astonished and -doubtful in regard to the language as to the music; for he will wonder -how it could have been possible for a creative spirit to dominate so -perfectly two worlds as different in form, colour, and arrangement, as -in soul. This is the most wonderful achievement of Wagner's talent; -for the ability to give every work its own linguistic stamp and to -find a fresh body and a new sound for every thought is a task which -only the great master can successfully accomplish. Where this rarest -of all powers manifests itself, adverse criticism can be but petty and -fruitless which confines itself to attacks upon certain excesses and -eccentricities in the treatment, or upon the more frequent obscurities -of expression and ambiguity of thought. Moreover, what seemed to -electrify and scandalise those who were most bitter in their criticism -was not so much the language as the spirit of the Wagnerian -operas--that is to say, his whole manner of feeling and suffering. It -were well to wait until these very critics have acquired another -spirit themselves; they will then also speak a different tongue, and, -by that time, it seems to me things will go better with the German -language than they do at present. - -In the first place, however, no one who studies Wagner the poet and -word-painter should forget that none of his dramas were meant to be -read, and that it would therefore be unjust to judge them from the -same standpoint as the spoken drama. The latter plays upon the -feelings by means of words and ideas, and in this respect it is under -the dominion of the laws of rhetoric. But in real life passion is -seldom eloquent: in spoken drama it perforce must be, in order to be -able to express itself at all. When, however, the language of a people -is already in a state of decay and deterioration, the word-dramatist -is tempted to impart an undue proportion of new colour and form both -to his medium and to his thoughts; he would elevate the language in -order to make it a vehicle capable of conveying lofty feelings, and by -so doing he runs the risk of becoming abstruse. By means of sublime -phrases and conceits he likewise tries to invest passion with some -nobility, and thereby runs yet another risk, that of appearing false -and artificial. For in real life passions do not speak in sentences, -and the poetical element often draws suspicion upon their genuineness -when it departs too palpably from reality. Now Wagner, who was the -first to detect the essential feeling in spoken drama, presents every -dramatic action threefold: in a word, in a gesture, and in a sound. -For, as a matter of fact, music succeeds in conveying the deepest -emotions of the dramatic performers direct to the spectators, and -while these see the evidence of the actors' states of soul in their -bearing and movements, a third though more feeble confirmation of -these states, translated into conscious will, quickly follows in the -form of the spoken word. All these effects fulfil their purpose -simultaneously, without disturbing one another in the least, and urge -the spectator to a completely new understanding and sympathy, just as -if his senses had suddenly grown more spiritual and his spirit more -sensual, and as if everything which seeks an outlet in him, and which -makes him thirst for knowledge, were free and joyful in exultant -perception. Because every essential factor in a Wagnerian drama is -conveyed to the spectator with the utmost clearness, illumined and -permeated throughout by music as by an internal flame, their author -can dispense with the expedients usually employed by the writer of the -spoken play in order to lend light and warmth to the action. The whole -of the dramatist's stock in trade could be more simple, and the -architect's sense of rhythm could once more dare to manifest itself in -the general proportions of the edifice; for there was no more need of -"the deliberate confusion and involved variety of styles, whereby the -ordinary playwright strove in the interests of his work to produce -that feeling of wonder and thrilling suspense which he ultimately -enhanced to one of delighted amazement. The impression of ideal -distance and height was no more to be induced by means of tricks and -artifices. Language withdrew itself from the length and breadth of -rhetoric into the strong confines of the speech of the feelings, and -although the actor spoke much less about all he did and felt in the -performance, his innermost sentiments, which the ordinary playwright -had hitherto ignored for fear of being undramatic, was now able to -drive the spectators to passionate sympathy, while the accompanying -language of gestures could be restricted to the most delicate -modulations. Now, when passions are rendered in song, they require -rather more time than when conveyed by speech; music prolongs, so to -speak, the duration of the feeling, from which it follows, as a rule, -that the actor who is also a singer must overcome the extremely -unplastic animation from which spoken drama suffers. He feels himself -incited all the more to a certain nobility of bearing, because music -envelopes his feelings in a purer atmosphere, and thus brings them -closer to beauty. - -The extraordinary tasks which Wagner set his actors and singers will -provoke rivalry between them for ages to come, in the personification -of each of his heroes with the greatest possible amount of clearness, -perfection, and fidelity, according to that perfect incorporation -already typified by the music of drama. Following this leader, the eye -of the plastic artist will ultimately behold the marvels of another -visible world, which, previous to him, was seen for the first time -only by the creator of such works as the Ring of the Nibelung--that -creator of highest rank, who, like Æschylus, points the way to a -coming art. Must not jealousy awaken the greatest talent, if the -plastic artist ever compares the effect of his productions with that -of Wagnerian music, in which there is so much pure and sunny happiness -that he who hears it feels as though all previous music had been but -an alien, faltering, and constrained language; as though in the past -it had been but a thing to sport with in the presence of those who -were not deserving of serious treatment, or a thing with which to -train and instruct those who were not even deserving of play? In the -case of this earlier kind of music, the joy we always experience while -listening to Wagner's compositions is ours only for a short space of -time, and it would then seem as though it were overtaken by certain -rare moments of forgetfulness, during which it appears to be communing -with its inner self and directing its eyes upwards, like Raphael's -Cecilia, away from the listeners and from all those who demand -distraction, happiness, or instruction from it. - -In general it may be said of Wagner the Musician, that he endowed -everything in nature which hitherto had had no wish to speak with the -power of speech: he refuses to admit that anything must be dumb, and, -resorting to the dawn, the forest, the mist, the cliffs, the hills, -the thrill of night and the moonlight, he observes a desire common to -them all--they too wish to sing their own melody. If the philosopher -says it is will that struggles for existence in animate and inanimate -nature, the musician adds: And this will wherever it manifests itself, -yearns for a melodious existence. - -Before Wagner's time, music for the most part moved in narrow limits: -it concerned itself with the permanent states of man, or with what the -Greeks call ethos. And only with Beethoven did it begin to find the -language of pathos, of passionate will, and of the dramatic -occurrences in the souls of men. Formerly, what people desired was to -interpret a mood, a stolid, merry, reverential, or penitential state -of mind, by means of music; the object was, by means of a certain -striking uniformity of treatment and the prolonged duration of this -uniformity, to compel the listener to grasp the meaning of the music -and to impose its mood upon him. To all such interpretations of mood -or atmosphere, distinct and particular forms of treatment were -necessary: others were established by convention. The question of -length was left to the discretion of the musician, whose aim was not -only to put the listener into a certain mood, but also to avoid -rendering that mood monotonous by unduly protracting it. A further -stage was reached when the interpretations of contrasted moods were -made to follow one upon the other, and the charm of light and shade -was discovered; and yet another step was made when the same piece of -music was allowed to contain a contrast of the ethos--for instance, -the contest between a male and a female theme. All these, however, are -crude and primitive stages in the development of music. The fear of -passion suggested the first rule, and the fear of monotony the second; -all depth of feeling and any excess thereof were regarded as -"unethical." Once, however, the art of the ethos had repeatedly been -made to ring all the changes on the moods and situations which -convention had decreed as suitable, despite the most astounding -resourcefulness on the part of its masters, its powers were exhausted. -Beethoven was the first to make music speak a new language--till then -forbidden--the language of passion; but as his art was based upon the -laws and conventions of the ETHOS, and had to attempt to justify -itself in regard to them, his artistic development was beset with -peculiar difficulties and obscurities. An inner dramatic factor--and -every passion pursues a dramatic course--struggled to obtain a new -form, but the traditional scheme of "mood music" stood in its way, and -protested--almost after the manner in which morality opposes -innovations and immorality. It almost seemed, therefore, as if -Beethoven had set himself the contradictory task of expressing pathos -in the terms of the ethos. This view does not, however, apply to -Beethoven's latest and greatest works; for he really did succeed in -discovering a novel method of expressing the grand and vaulting arch -of passion. He merely selected certain portions of its curve; imparted -these with the utmost clearness to his listeners, and then left it to -them to divine its whole span. Viewed superficially, the new form -seemed rather like an aggregation of several musical compositions, of -which every one appeared to represent a sustained situation, but was -in reality but a momentary stage in the dramatic course of a passion. -The listener might think that he was hearing the old "mood" music over -again, except that he failed to grasp the relation of the various -parts to one another, and these no longer conformed with the canon of -the law. Even among minor musicians, there flourished a certain -contempt for the rule which enjoined harmony in the general -construction of a composition and the sequence of the parts in their -works still remained arbitrary. Then, owing to a misunderstanding, the -discovery of the majestic treatment of passion led back to the use of -the single movement with an optional setting, and the tension between -the parts thus ceased completely. That is why the symphony, as -Beethoven understood it, is such a wonderfully obscure production, -more especially when, here and there, it makes faltering attempts at -rendering Beethoven's pathos. The means ill befit the intention, and -the intention is, on the whole, not sufficiently clear to the -listener, because it was never really clear, even in the mind of the -composer. But the very injunction that something definite must be -imparted, and that this must be done as distinctly as possible, -becomes ever more and more essential, the higher, more difficult, and -more exacting the class of work happens to be. - -That is why all Wagner's efforts were concentrated upon the one object -of discovering those means which best served the purpose of -_distinctness_, and to this end it was above all necessary for him to -emancipate himself from all the prejudices and claims of the old -"mood" music, and to give his compositions--the musical -interpretations of feelings and passion--a perfectly unequivocal mode -of expression. If we now turn to what he has achieved, we see that his -services to music are practically equal in rank to those which that -sculptor-inventor rendered to sculpture who introduced "sculpture in -the round." All previous music seems stiff and uncertain when compared -with Wagner's, just as though it were ashamed and did not wish to be -inspected from all sides. With the most consummate skill and -precision, Wagner avails himself of every degree and colour in the -realm of feeling; without the slightest hesitation or fear of its -escaping him, he seizes upon the most delicate, rarest, and mildest -emotion, and holds it fast, as though it had hardened at his touch, -despite the fact that it may seem like the frailest butterfly to every -one else. His music is never vague or dreamy; everything that is -allowed to speak through it, whether it be of man or of nature, has a -strictly individual passion; storm and fire acquire the ruling power -of a personal will in his hands. Over all the clamouring characters -and the clash of their passions, over the whole torrent of contrasts, -an almighty and symphonic understanding hovers with perfect serenity, -and continually produces concord out of war. Taken as a whole, -Wagner's music is a reflex of the world as it was understood by the -great Ephesian poet--that is to say, a harmony resulting from strife, -as the union of justice and enmity. I admire the ability which could -describe the grand line of universal passion out of a confusion of -passions which all seem to be striking out in different directions: -the fact that this was a possible achievement I find demonstrated in -every individual act of a Wagnerian drama, which describes the -individual history of various characters side by side with a general -history of the whole company. Even at the very beginning we know we -are watching a host of cross currents dominated by one great violent -stream; and though at first this stream moves unsteadily over hidden -reefs, and the torrent seems to be torn asunder as if it were -travelling towards different points, gradually we perceive the central -and general movement growing stronger and more rapid, the convulsive -fury of the contending waters is converted into one broad, steady, and -terrible flow in the direction of an unknown goal; and suddenly, at -the end, the whole flood in all its breadth plunges into the depths, -rejoicing demoniacally over the abyss and all its uproar. Wagner is -never more himself than when he is overwhelmed with difficulties and -can exercise power on a large scale with all the joy of a law-giver. To -bring restless and contending masses into simple rhythmic movement, -and to exercise one will over a bewildering host of claims and -desires--these are the tasks for which he feels he was born, and in -the performance of which he finds freedom. And he never loses his -breath withal, nor does he ever reach his goal panting. He strove just -as persistently to impose the severest laws upon himself as to lighten -the burden of others in this respect. Life and art weigh heavily upon -him when he cannot play wit their most difficult questions. If one -considers the relation between the melody of song and that of speech, -one will perceive how he sought to adopt as his natural model the -pitch, strength, and tempo of the passionate man's voice in order to -transform it into art; and if one further considers the task of -introducing this singing passion into the general symphonic order of -music, one gets some idea of the stupendous difficulties he had to -overcome. In this behalf, his inventiveness in small things as in -great, his omniscience and industry are such, that at the sight of one -of Wagner's scores one is almost led to believe that no real work or -effort had ever existed before his time. It seems almost as if he too -could have said, in regard to the hardships of art, that the real -virtue of the dramatist lies in self-renunciation. But he would -probably have added, There is but one kind of hardship--that of the -artist who is not yet free: virtue and goodness are trivial -accomplishments. - -Viewing him generally as an artist, and calling to mind a more famous -type, we see that Wagner is not at all unlike Demosthenes: in him also -we have the terrible earnestness of purpose and that strong prehensile -mind which always obtains a complete grasp of a thing; in him, too, we -have the hand's quick clutch and the grip as of iron. Like -Demosthenes, he conceals his art or compels one to forget it by the -peremptory way he calls attention to the subject he treats; and yet, -like his great predecessor, he is the last and greatest of a whole -line of artist-minds, and therefore has more to conceal than his -forerunners: his art acts like nature, like nature recovered and -restored. Unlike all previous musicians, there is nothing bombastic -about him; for the former did not mind playing at times with their -art, and making an exhibition of their virtuosity. One associates -Wagner's art neither with interest nor with diversion, nor with Wagner -himself and art in general. All one is conscious of is of the great -_necessity_ of it all. No one will ever be able to appreciate what -severity evenness of will, and self-control the artist required during -his development, in order, at his zenith, to be able to do the -necessary thing joyfully and freely. Let it suffice if we can -appreciate how, in some respects, his music, with a certain cruelty -towards itself, determines to subserve the course of the drama, which -is as unrelenting as fate, whereas in reality his art was ever -thirsting for a free ramble in the open and over the wilderness. - - - -X. - - -An artist who has this empire over himself subjugates all other -artists, even though he may not particularly desire to do so. For him -alone there lies no danger or stemming-force in those he has -subjugated--his friends and his adherents; whereas the weaker natures -who learn to rely on their friends pay for this reliance by forfeiting -their independence. It is very wonderful to observe how carefully, -throughout his life, Wagner avoided anything in the nature of heading -a party, notwithstanding the fact that at the close of every phase in -his career a circle of adherents formed, presumably with the view of -holding him fast to his latest development He always succeeded, -however, in wringing himself free from them, and never allowed himself -to be bound; for not only was the ground he covered too vast for one -alone to keep abreast of him with any ease, but his way was so -exceptionally steep that the most devoted would have lost his breath. -At almost every stage in Wagner's progress his friends would have -liked to preach to him, and his enemies would fain have done so -too--but for other reasons. Had the purity of his artist's nature been -one degree less decided than it was, he would have attained much -earlier than he actually did to the leading position in the artistic -and musical world of his time. True, he has reached this now, but in a -much higher sense, seeing that every performance to be witnessed in -any department of art makes its obeisance, so to speak, before the -judgment-stool of his genius and of his artistic temperament. He has -overcome the most refractory of his contemporaries; there is not one -gifted musician among them but in his innermost heart would willingly -listen to him, and find Wagner's compositions more worth listening to -than his own and all other musical productions taken together. Many -who wish, by hook or by crook, to make their mark, even wrestle with -Wagner's secret charm, and unconsciously throw in their lot with the -older masters, preferring to ascribe their "independence" to Schubert -or Handel rather than to Wagner. But in vain! Thanks to their very -efforts in contending against the dictates of their own consciences, -they become ever meaner and smaller artists; they ruin their own -natures by forcing themselves to tolerate undesirable allies and -friends And in spite of all these sacrifices, they still find perhaps -in their dreams, that their ear turns attentively to Wagner. These -adversaries are to be pitied: they imagine they lose a great deal when -they lose themselves, but here they are mistaken. - -Albeit it is obviously all one to Wagner whether musicians compose in -his style, or whether they compose at all, he even does his utmost to -dissipate the belief that a school of composers should now necessarily -follow in his wake; though, in so far as he exercises a direct -influence upon musicians, he does indeed try to instruct them -concerning the art of grand execution. In his opinion, the evolution -of art seems to have reached that stage when the honest endeavour to -become an able and masterly exponent or interpreter is ever so much -more worth talking about than the longing to be a creator at all -costs. For, at the present stage of art, universal creating has this -fatal result, that inasmuch as it encourages a much larger output, it -tends to exhaust the means and artifices of genius by everyday use, -and thus to reduce the real grandeur of its effect. Even that which is -good in art is superfluous and detrimental when it proceeds from the -imitation of what is best. Wagnerian ends and means are of one piece: -to perceive this, all that is required is honesty in art matters, and -it would be dishonest to adopt his means in order to apply them to -other and less significant ends. - -If, therefore, Wagner declines to live on amid a multitude of creative -musicians, he is only the more desirous of imposing upon all men of -talent the new duty of joining him in seeking the _law of style for -dramatic performances_. He deeply feels the need of establishing a -_traditional style_ for his art, by means of which his work may continue -to live from one age to another in a pure form, until it reaches that -_future_ which its creator ordained for it. - -Wagner is impelled by an undaunted longing to make known everything -relating to that foundation of a style, mentioned above, and, -accordingly, everything relating to the continuance of his art. To -make his work--as Schopenhauer would say--a sacred depository and the -real fruit of his life, as well as the inheritance of mankind, and to -store it for the benefit of a posterity better able to appreciate -it,--these were _the supreme objects_ of his life, and for these he bore -that crown of thorns which, one day, will shoot forth leaves of bay. -Like the insect which, in its last form, concentrates all its energies -upon the one object of finding a safe depository for its eggs and of -ensuring the future welfare of its posthumous brood,--then only to die -content, so Wagner strove with equal determination to find a place of -security for his works. - -This subject, which took precedence of all others with him, constantly -incited him to new discoveries; and these he sought ever more and more -at the spring of his demoniacal gift of communicability, the more -distinctly he saw himself in conflict with an age that was both -perverse and unwilling to lend him its ear. Gradually however, even -this same age began to mark his indefatigable efforts, to respond to -his subtle advances, and to turn its ear to him. Whenever a small or a -great opportunity arose, however far away, which suggested to Wagner a -means wherewith to explain his thoughts, he availed himself of it: he -thought his thoughts anew into every fresh set of circumstances, and -would make them speak out of the most paltry bodily form. Whenever a -soul only half capable of comprehending him opened itself to him, he -never failed to implant his seed in it. He saw hope in things which -caused the average dispassionate observer merely to shrug his -shoulders; and he erred again and again, only so as to be able to -carry his point against that same observer. Just as the sage, in -reality, mixes with living men only for the purpose of increasing his -store of knowledge, so the artist would almost seem to be unable to -associate with his contemporaries at all, unless they be such as can -help him towards making his work eternal. He cannot be loved otherwise -than with the love of this eternity, and thus he is conscious only of -one kind of hatred directed at him, the hatred which would demolish -the bridges bearing his art into the future. The pupils Wagner -educated for his own purpose, the individual musicians and actors whom -he advised and whose ear he corrected and improved, the small and -large orchestras he led, the towns which witnessed him earnestly -fulfilling the duties of us calling, the princes and ladies who half -boastfully and half lovingly participated in the framing of his plans, -the various European countries to which he temporarily belonged as the -judge and evil conscience of their arts,--everything gradually became -the echo of his thought and of his indefatigable efforts to attain to -fruitfulness in the future. Although this echo often sounded so -discordant as to confuse him, still the tremendous power of his voice -repeatedly crying out into the world must in the end call forth -reverberations, and it will soon be impossible to be deaf to him or to -misunderstand him. It is this reflected sound which even now causes -the art-institutions of modern men to shake: every time the breath of -his spirit blew into these coverts, all that was overripe or withered -fell to the ground; but the general increase of scepticism in all -directions speaks more eloquently than all this trembling. Nobody any -longer dares to predict where Wagner's influence may not unexpectedly -break out. He is quite unable to divorce the salvation of art from any -other salvation or damnation: wherever modern life conceals a danger, -he, with the discriminating eye of mistrust, perceives a danger -threatening art. In his imagination he pulls the edifice of modern -civilisation to pieces, and allows nothing rotten, no unsound -timber-work to escape: if in the process he should happen to encounter -weather-tight walls or anything like solid foundations, he immediately -casts about for means wherewith he can convert them into bulwarks and -shelters for his art. He lives like a fugitive, whose will is not to -preserve his own life, but to keep a secret--like an unhappy woman -who does not wish to save her own soul, but that of the child lying in -her lap: in short, he lives like Sieglinde, "for the sake of love." - -For life must indeed be full of pain and shame to one who can find -neither rest nor shelter in this world, and who must nevertheless -appeal to it, exact things from it, contemn it, and still be unable to -dispense with the thing contemned,--this really constitutes the -wretchedness of the artist of the future, who, unlike the philosopher, -cannot prosecute his work alone in the seclusion of a study, but who -requires human souls as messengers to this future, public institutions -as a guarantee of it, and, as it were, bridges between now and -hereafter. His art may not, like the philosopher's, be put aboard the -boat of written documents: art needs _capable men_, not letters and -notes, to transmit it. Over whole periods in Wagner's life rings a -murmur of distress--his distress at not being able to meet with these -capable interpreters before whom he longed to execute examples of his -work, instead of being confined to written symbols; before whom he -yearned to practise his art, instead of showing a pallid reflection of -it to those who read books, and who, generally speaking, therefore are -not artists. - -In Wagner the man of letters we see the struggle of a brave fighter, -whose right hand has, as it were, been lopped off, and who has -continued the contest with his left. In his writings he is always the -sufferer, because a temporary and insuperable destiny deprives him of -his own and the correct way of conveying his thoughts--that is to say, -in the form of apocalyptic and triumphant examples. His writings -contain nothing canonical or severe: the canons are to be found in his -works as a whole. Their literary side represents his attempts to -understand the instinct which urged him to create his works and to get -a glimpse of himself through them. If he succeeded in transforming his -instincts into terms of knowledge, it was always with the hope that -the reverse process might take place in the souls of his readers--it -was with this intention that he wrote. Should it ultimately be proved -that, in so doing, Wagner attempted the impossible, he would still -only share the lot of all those who have meditated deeply on art; and -even so he would be ahead of most of them in this, namely, that the -strongest instinct for all arts harboured in him. I know of no written -æsthetics that give more light than those of Wagner; all that can -possibly be learnt concerning the origin of a work of art is to be -found in them. He is one of the very great, who appeared amongst us a -witness, and who is continually improving his testimony and making it -ever clearer and freer; even when he stumbles as a scientist, sparks -rise from the ground. Such tracts as "Beethoven," "Concerning the Art -of Conducting," "Concerning Actors and Singers," "State and Religion," -silence all contradiction, and, like sacred reliquaries, impose upon -all who approach them a calm, earnest, and reverential regard. Others, -more particularly the earlier ones, including "Opera and Drama," -excite and agitate one; their rhythm is so uneven that, as prose they -are bewildering. Their dialectics is constantly interrupted, and their -course is more retarded than accelerated by outbursts of feeling; a -certain reluctance on the part of the writer seems to hang over them -like a pall, just as though the artist were somewhat ashamed of -speculative discussions. What the reader who is only imperfectly -initiated will probably find most oppressive is the general tone of -authoritative dignity which is peculiar to Wagner, and which is very -difficult to describe: it always strikes me as though Wagner were -continually _addressing enemies_; for the style of all these tracts more -resembles that of the spoken than of the written language, hence they -will seem much more intelligible if heard read aloud, in the presence -of his enemies, with whom he cannot be on familiar terms, and towards -whom he must therefore show some reserve and aloofness. The entrancing -passion of his feelings, however, constantly pierces this intentional -disguise, and then the stilted and heavy periods, swollen with -accessary words, vanish, and his pen dashes off sentences, and even -whole pages, which belong to the best in German prose. But even -admitting that while he wrote such passages he was addressing friends, -and that the shadow of his enemies had been removed for a while, all -the friends and enemies that Wagner, as a man of letters, has, possess -one factor in common, which differentiates them fundamentally from the -"people" for whom he worked as an artist. Owing to the refining and -fruitless nature of their education, they are quite_ devoid of the -essential traits of the national character_, and he who would appeal to -them must speak in a way which is not of the people--that is to say, -after the manner of our best prose-writers and Wagner himself; though -that he did violence to himself in writing thus is evident. But the -strength of that almost maternal instinct of prudence in him, which is -ready to make any sacrifice, rather tends to reinstall him among the -scholars and men of learning, to whom as a creator he always longed to -bid farewell. He submits to the language of culture and all the laws -governing its use, though he was the first to recognise its profound -insufficiency as a means of communication. - -For if there is anything that distinguishes his art from every other -art of modern times, it is that it no longer speaks the language of -any particular caste, and refuses to admit the distinctions "literate" -and "illiterate." It thus stands as a contrast to every culture of the -Renaissance, which to this day still bathes us modern men in its light -and shade. Inasmuch as Wagner's art bears us, from time to time, -beyond itself, we are enabled to get a general view of its uniform -character: we see Goethe and Leopardi as the last great stragglers of -the Italian philologist-poets, Faust as the incarnation of a most -unpopular problem, in the form of a man of theory thirsting for life; -even Goethe's song is an imitation of the song of the people rather -than a standard set before them to which they are expected to attain, -and the poet knew very well how truly he spoke when he seriously -assured his adherents: "My compositions cannot become popular; he who -hopes and strives to make them so is mistaken." - -That an art could arise which would be so clear and warm as to flood -the base and the poor in spirit with its light, as well as to melt the -haughtiness of the learned--such a phenomenon had to be experienced -though it could not be guessed. But even in the mind of him who -experiences it to-day it must upset all preconceived notions -concerning education and culture; to such an one the veil will seem to -have been rent in twain that conceals a future in which no highest -good or highest joys exist that are not the common property of all. -The odium attaching to the word "common" will then be abolished. - -If presentiment venture thus into the remote future, the discerning -eye of all will recognise the dreadful social insanity of our present -age, and will no longer blind itself to the dangers besetting an art -which seems to have roots only in the remote and distant future, and -which allows its burgeoning branches to spread before our gaze when it -has not yet revealed the ground from which it draws its sap. How can -we protect this homeless art through the ages until that remote future -is reached? How can we so dam the flood of a revolution seemingly -inevitable everywhere, that the blessed prospect and guarantee of a -better future--of a freer human life--shall not also be washed away -with all that is destined to perish and deserves to perish? - -He who asks himself this question shares Wagner's care: he will feel -himself impelled with Wagner to seek those established powers that -have the goodwill to protect the noblest passions of man during the -period of earthquakes and upheavals. In this sense alone Wagner -questions the learned through his writings, whether they intend -storing his legacy to them--the precious Ring of his art--among their -other treasures. And even the wonderful confidence which he reposes in -the German mind and the aims of German politics seems to me to arise -from the fact that he grants the people of the Reformation that -strength, mildness, and bravery which is necessary in order to divert -"the torrent of revolution into the tranquil river-bed of a calmly -flowing stream of humanity": and I could almost believe that this and -only this is what he meant to express by means of the symbol of his -Imperial march. - -As a rule, though, the generous impulses of the creative artist and -the extent of his philanthropy are too great for his gaze to be -confined within the limits of a single nation. His thoughts, like -those of every good and great German, are _more_ than German, and the -language of his art does not appeal to particular races but to mankind -in general. -_ -But to the men of the future._ - -This is the belief that is proper to him; this is his torment and his -distinction. No artist, of what past soever, has yet received such a -remarkable portion of genius; no one, save him, has ever been obliged -to mix this bitterest of ingredients with the drink of nectar to which -enthusiasm helped him. It is not as one might expect, the -misunderstood and mishandled artist, the fugitive of his age, who -adopted this faith in self-defence: success or failure at the hands of -his contemporaries was unable either to create or to destroy it -Whether it glorified or reviled him, he did not belong to this -generation: that was the conclusion to which his instincts led him. -And the possibility of any generation's ever belonging to him is -something which he who disbelieves in Wagner can never be made to -admit. But even this unbeliever may at least ask, what kind of -generation it will be in which Wagner will recognise his "people," and -in which he will see the type of all those who suffer a common -distress, and who wish to escape from it by means of an art common to -them all. Schiller was certainly more hopeful and sanguine; he did not -ask what a future must be like if the instinct of the artist that -predicts it prove true; his command to every artist was rather-- - - Soar aloft in daring flight - Out of sight of thine own years! - In thy mirror, gleaming bright, - Glimpse of distant dawn appears. - - - -XI. - - -May blessed reason preserve us from ever thinking that mankind will at -any time discover a final and ideal order of things, and that -happiness will then and ever after beam down upon us uniformly, like -the rays of the sun in the tropics. Wagner has nothing to do with such -a hope; he is no Utopian. If he was unable to dispense with the belief -in a future, it only meant that he observed certain properties in -modern men which he did not hold to be essential to their nature, and -which did not seem to him to form any necessary part of their -constitution; in fact, which were changeable and transient; and that -precisely _owing to these properties_ art would find no home among them, -and he himself had to be the precursor and prophet of another epoch. -No golden age, no cloudless sky will fall to the portion of those -future generations, which his instinct led him to expect, and whose -approximate characteristics may be gleaned from the cryptic characters -of his art, in so far as it is possible to draw conclusions concerning -the nature of any pain from the kind of relief it seeks. Nor will -superhuman goodness and justice stretch like an everlasting rainbow -over this future land. Belike this coming generation will, on the -whole, seem more evil than the present one--for in good as in evil it -will be more straightforward. It is even possible, if its soul were -ever able to speak out in full and unembarrassed tones, that it might -convulse and terrify us, as though the voice of some hitherto -concealed and evil spirit had suddenly cried out in our midst. Or how -do the following propositions strike our ears?--That passion is better -than stoicism or hypocrisy; that straightforwardness, even in evil, is -better than losing oneself in trying to observe traditional morality; -that the free man is just as able to be good as evil, but that the -unemancipated man is a disgrace to nature, and has no share in -heavenly or earthly bliss; finally, that all who wish to be free must -become so through themselves, and that freedom falls to nobody's lot -as a gift from Heaven. However harsh and strange these propositions -may sound, they are nevertheless reverberations from that future -world, which _is verily in need of art_, and which expects genuine -pleasure from its presence; they are the language of nature--_reinstated_ -even in mankind; they stand for what I have already termed correct -feeling as opposed to the incorrect feeling that reigns to-day. - -But real relief or salvation exists only for nature not for that which -is contrary to nature or which arises out of incorrect feeling. When -all that is unnatural becomes self-conscious, it desires but one -thing--nonentity; the natural thing, on the other hand, yearns to be -transfigured through love: the former would fain _not_ be, the latter -would fain be _otherwise_. Let him who has understood this recall, in -the stillness of his soul, the simple themes of Wagner's art, in order -to be able to ask himself whether it were nature or nature's opposite -which sought by means of them to achieve the aims just described. - -The desperate vagabond finds deliverance from his distress in the -compassionate love of a woman who would rather die than be unfaithful -to him: the theme of the Flying Dutchman. The sweet-heart, renouncing -all personal happiness, owing to a divine transformation of Love into -Charity, becomes a saint, and saves the soul of her loved one: the -theme of Tannhauser. The sublimest and highest thing descends a -suppliant among men, and will not be questioned whence it came; when, -however, the fatal question is put, it sorrowfully returns to its -higher life: the theme of Lohengrin. The loving soul of a wife, and -the people besides, joyfully welcome the new benevolent genius, -although the retainers of tradition and custom reject and revile him: -the theme of the Meistersingers. Of two lovers, that do not know they -are loved, who believe rather that they are deeply wounded and -contemned, each demands of the other that he or she should drink a cup -of deadly poison, to all intents and purposes as an expiation of the -insult; in reality, however, as the result of an impulse which neither -of them understands: through death they wish to escape all possibility -of separation or deceit. The supposed approach of death loosens their -fettered souls and allows them a short moment of thrilling happiness, -just as though they had actually escaped from the present, from -illusions and from life: the theme of Tristan and Isolde. - -In the Ring of the Nibelung the tragic hero is a god whose heart -yearns for power, and who, since he travels along all roads in search -of it, finally binds himself to too many undertakings, loses his -freedom, and is ultimately cursed by the curse inseparable from power. -He becomes aware of his loss of freedom owing to the fact that he no -longer has the means to take possession of the golden Ring--that -symbol of all earthly power, and also of the greatest dangers to -himself as long as it lies in the hands of his enemies. The fear of -the end and the twilight of all gods overcomes him, as also the -despair at being able only to await the end without opposing it. He is -in need of the free and fearless man who, without his advice or -assistance--even in a struggle against gods--can accomplish -single-handed what is denied to the powers of a god. He fails to see -him, and just as a new hope finds shape within him, he must obey the -conditions to which he is bound: with his own hand he must murder the -thing he most loves, and purest pity must be punished by his sorrow. -Then he begins to loathe power, which bears evil and bondage in its -lap; his will is broken, and he himself begins to hanker for the end -that threatens him from afar off. At this juncture something happens -which had long been the subject of his most ardent desire: the free -and fearless man appears, he rises in opposition to everything -accepted and established, his parents atone for having been united by -a tie which was antagonistic to the order of nature and usage; they -perish, but Siegfried survives. And at the sight of his magnificent -development and bloom, the loathing leaves Wotan's soul, and he follows -the hero's history with the eye of fatherly love and anxiety. How he -forges his sword, kills the dragon, gets possession of the ring, -escapes the craftiest ruse, awakens Brunhilda; how the curse abiding -in the ring gradually overtakes him; how, faithful in faithfulness, he -wounds the thing he most loves, out of love; becomes enveloped in the -shadow and cloud of guilt, and, rising out of it more brilliantly than -the sun, ultimately goes down, firing the whole heavens with his -burning glow and purging the world of the curse,--all this is seen by -the god whose sovereign spear was broken in the contest with the -freest man, and who lost his power through him, rejoicing greatly over -his own defeat: full of sympathy for the triumph and pain of his -victor, his eye burning with aching joy looks back upon the last -events; he has become free through love, free from himself. - -And now ask yourselves, ye generation of to-day, Was all this composed -_for you_? Have ye the courage to point up to the stars of the whole of -this heavenly dome of beauty and goodness and to say, This is our -life, that Wagner has transferred to a place beneath the stars? - -Where are the men among you who are able to interpret the divine image -of Wotan in the light of their own lives, and who can become ever -greater while, like him, ye retreat? Who among you would renounce -power, knowing and having learned that power is evil? Where are they -who like Brunhilda abandon their knowledge to love, and finally rob -their lives of the highest wisdom, "afflicted love, deepest sorrow, -opened my eyes"? and where are the free and fearless, developing and -blossoming in innocent egoism? and where are the Siegfrieds, among -you? - -He who questions thus and does so in vain, will find himself compelled -to look around him for signs of the future; and should his eye, on -reaching an unknown distance, espy just that "people" which his own -generation can read out of the signs contained in Wagnerian art, he -will then also understand _what Wagner will mean to this -people_--something that he cannot be to all of us, namely, not the -prophet of the future, as perhaps he would fain appear to us, but the -interpreter and clarifier of the past. - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Thoughts out of Season, Part I, by -Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON, PART I *** - -***** This file should be named 51710-8.txt or 51710-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/7/1/51710/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Hathi Trust.) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Thoughts out of Season, Part I - David Strauss, the Confessor and the Writer - Richard - Wagner in Bayreuth. - -Author: Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche - -Editor: Oscar Levy - -Translator: Anthony M. Ludovici - -Release Date: April 9, 2016 [EBook #51710] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON, PART I *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Hathi Trust.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="550" alt="" /> -</div> - -<h2>THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON</h2> - -<h3>PART ONE</h3> - -<h3>DAVID STRAUSS, THE CONFESSOR<br /> -AND THE WRITER</h3> - -<h3>RICHARD WAGNER IN BAYREUTH</h3> - -<h3>By</h3> - -<h2>FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE</h2> - -<h4>TRANSLATED BY</h4> - -<h4>ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI</h4> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;"> -<img src="images/ludovici.png" width="150" alt="" /> -</div> - -<h4>The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche</h4> - -<h5>The First Complete and Authorised English Translation</h5> - -<h4>Edited by Dr Oscar Levy</h4> - -<h4>Volume Four</h4> - -<h5>T.N. FOULIS</h5> - -<h5>13 & 15 FREDERICK STREET</h5> - -<h5>EDINBURGH: AND LONDON</h5> - -<h5>1910</h5> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em;"> -<span class="caption">CONTENTS.</span><br /> -<a href="#Page_vii">EDITORIAL NOTE</a><br /> -<a href="#NIETZSCHE_IN_ENGLAND">NIETZSCHE IN ENGLAND (BY THE EDITOR)</a><br /> -<a href="#TRANSLATORS_PREFACE">TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE TO DAVID STRAUSS<br /> - <span style="margin-left: 1em;">AND RICHARD WAGNER IN BAYREUTH</a></span><br /> -<a href="#DAVID_STRAUSS">DAVID STRAUSS, THE CONFESSOR AND THE WRITER</a><br /> -<a href="#RICHARD_WAGNER_IN_BAYREUTH">RICHARD WAGNER IN BAYREUTH</a><br /> -</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p> -<h4>EDITORIAL NOTE.</h4> - - -<p>The Editor begs to call attention to some of the difficulties he had -to encounter in preparing this edition of the complete works of -Friedrich Nietzsche. Not being English himself, he had to rely upon -the help of collaborators, who were somewhat slow in coming forward. -They were also few in number; for, in addition to an exact knowledge -of the German language, there was also required sympathy and a certain -enthusiasm for the startling ideas of the original, as well as a -considerable feeling for poetry, and that highest form of it, -religious poetry.</p> - -<p>Such a combination—a biblical mind, yet one open to new thoughts—was -not easily found. And yet it was necessary to find translators with -such a mind, and not be satisfied, as the French are and must be, with -a free though elegant version of Nietzsche. What is impossible and -unnecessary in French—a faithful and powerful rendering of the -psalmistic grandeur of Nietzsche—is possible and necessary in -English, which is a rougher tongue of the Teutonic stamp, and -moreover, like German, a tongue influenced and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span>formed by an excellent -version of the Bible. The English would never be satisfied, as -Bible-ignorant France is, with a Nietzsche <i>à l'Eau de Cologne</i>—they -would require the natural, strong, real Teacher, and would prefer his -outspoken words to the finely-chiselled sentences of the <i>raconteur</i>. It -may indeed be safely predicted that once the English people have -recovered from the first shock of Nietzsche's thoughts, their biblical -training will enable them, more than any other nation, to appreciate -the deep piety underlying Nietzsche's Cause.</p> - -<p>As this Cause is a somewhat holy one to the Editor himself, he is -ready to listen to any suggestions as to improvements of style or -sense coming from qualified sources. The Editor, during a recent visit -to Mrs. Foerster-Nietzsche at Weimar, acquired the rights of -translation by pointing out to her that in this way her brother's -works would not fall into the hands of an ordinary publisher and his -staff of translators: he has not, therefore, entered into any -engagement with publishers, not even with the present one, which could -hinder his task, bind him down to any text found faulty, or make him -consent to omissions or the falsification or "sugaring" of the -original text to further the sale of the books. He is therefore in a -position to give every attention to a work which he considers as of no -less importance for the country of his residence than for the country -of his birth, as well as for the rest of Europe.</p> - -<p>It is the consciousness of the importance of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span>this work which makes the -Editor anxious to point out several difficulties to the younger -student of Nietzsche. The first is, of course, not to begin reading -Nietzsche at too early an age. While fully admitting that others may -be more gifted than himself, the Editor begs to state that he began to -study Nietzsche at the age of twenty-six, and would not have been able -to endure the weight of such teaching before that time. Secondly, the -Editor wishes to dissuade the student from beginning the study of -Nietzsche by reading first of all his most complicated works. Not -having been properly prepared for them, he will find the <i>Zarathustra</i> -abstruse, the <i>Ecce Homo</i> conceited, and the <i>Antichrist</i> violent. He -should rather begin with the little pamphlet on Education, the -<i>Thoughts out of Season, Beyond Good and Evil</i>, or the <i>Genealogy of -Morals</i>. Thirdly, the Editor wishes to remind students of Nietzsche's -own advice to them, namely: to read him slowly, to think over what -they have read, and not to accept too readily a teaching which they -have only half understood. By a too ready acceptance of Nietzsche it -has come to pass that his enemies are, as a rule, a far superior body -of men to those who call themselves his eager and enthusiastic -followers. Surely it is not every one who is chosen to combat a -religion or a morality of two thousand years' standing, first within -and then without himself; and whoever feels inclined to do so ought at -least to allow his attention to be drawn to the magnitude of his task.</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span></p> -<h4><a id="NIETZSCHE_IN_ENGLAND"></a>NIETZSCHE IN ENGLAND:</h4> - - -<h5>AN INTRODUCTORY ESSAY BY THE EDITOR.</h5> - - -<p><span style="font-size: 0.8em;">DEAR ENGLISHMEN</span>,—In one of my former writings I have made the remark -that the world would have seen neither the great Jewish prophets nor -the great German thinkers, if the people from among whom these eminent -men sprang had not been on the whole such a misguided, and, in their -misguidedness, such a tough and stubborn race. The arrow that is to -fly far must be discharged from a well distended bow: if, therefore, -anything is necessary for greatness, it is a fierce and tenacious -opposition, an opposition either of open contempt, or of malicious -irony, or of sly silence, or of gross stupidity, an opposition -regardless of the wounds it inflicts and of the precious lives it -sacrifices, an opposition that nobody would dare to attack who was not -prepared, like the Spartan of old, to return either with his shield or -on it.</p> - -<p>An opposition so devoid of pity is not as a rule found amongst you, -dear and fair-minded Englishmen, which may account for the fact that -you have neither produced the greatest prophets nor the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span>greatest -thinkers in this world. You would never have crucified Christ, as did -the Jews, or driven Nietzsche into madness, as did the Germans—you -would have made Nietzsche, on account of his literary faculties, -Minister of State in a Whig Ministry, you would have invited Jesus -Christ to your country houses, where he would have been worshipped by -all the ladies on account of his long hair and interesting looks, and -tolerated by all men as an amusing, if somewhat romantic, foreigner. I -know that the current opinion is to the contrary, and that your -country is constantly accused, even by yourselves, of its insularity; -but I, for my part, have found an almost feminine receptivity amongst -you in my endeavour to bring you into contact with some ideas of my -native country—a receptivity which, however, has also this in common -with that of the female mind, that evidently nothing sticks deeply, -but is quickly wiped out by what any other lecturer, or writer, or -politician has to tell you. I was prepared for indifference—I was not -prepared for receptivity and that benign lady's smile, behind which -ladies, like all people who are only clever, usually hide their inward -contempt for the foolishness of mere men! I was prepared for abuse, -and even a good fight—I was not prepared for an extremely -faint-hearted criticism; I did not expect that some of my opponents -would be so utterly inexperienced in that most necessary work of -literary execution. No, no: give me the Germans or the Jews for -executioners: they can do the hanging properly, while the English -hangman is like the Russian, to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[Pg xiii]</a></span>whom, when the rope broke, the -half-hanged revolutionary said: "What a country, where they cannot -hang a man properly!" What a country, where they do not hang -philosophers properly—which would be the proper thing to do to -them—but smile at them, drink tea with them, discuss with them, and -ask them to contribute to their newspapers!</p> - -<p>To get to the root of the matter: in spite of many encouraging signs, -remarks and criticisms, adverse or benevolent, I do not think I have -been very successful in my crusade for that European thought which -began with Goethe and has found so fine a development in Nietzsche. -True, I have made many a convert, but amongst them are very -undesirable ones, as, for instance, some enterprising publishers, who -used to be the toughest disbelievers in England, but who have now come -to understand the "value" of the new gospel—but as neither this -gospel is exactly Christian, nor I, the importer of it, I am not -allowed to count my success by the conversion of publishers and -sinners, but have to judge it by the more spiritual standard of the -quality of the converted. In this respect, I am sorry to say, my -success has been a very poor one.</p> - -<p>As an eager missionary, I have naturally asked myself the reason of my -failure. Why is there no male audience in England willing to listen to -a manly and daring philosophy? Why are there no eyes to see, no ears -to hear, no hearts to feel, no brains to understand? Why is my -trumpet, which after all I know how to blow pretty well, unable to -shatter the walls of English prejudice against a teacher whose school -cannot possibly be <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[Pg xiv]</a></span>avoided by any European with a higher purpose in -his breast?... There is plenty of time for thought nowadays for a man -who does not allow himself to be drawn into that aimless bustle of -pleasure business or politics, which is called modern life because -outside that life there is—just as outside those noisy Oriental -cities-a desert, a calmness, a true and almost majestic leisure, a -leisure unprecedented in any age, a leisure in which one may arrive at -several conclusions concerning English indifference towards the new -thought.</p> - -<p>First of all, of course, there stands in the way the terrible abuse -which Nietzsche has poured upon the heads of the innocent Britishers. -While France and the Latin countries, while the Orient and India, are -within the range of his sympathies, this most outspoken of all -philosophers, this prophet and poet-philosopher, cannot find words -enough to express his disgust at the illogical, plebeian, shallow, -utilitarian Englishman. It must certainly be disagreeable to be -treated like this, especially when one has a fairly good opinion of -one's self; but why do you take it so very, very seriously? Did -Nietzsche, perchance, spare the Germans? And aren't you accustomed to -criticism on the part of German philosophers? Is it not the ancient -and time-honoured privilege of the whole range of them from Leibnitz -to Hegel—even of German poets, like Goethe and Heine—to call you -bad names and to use unkind language towards you? Has there not always -been among the few thinking heads in Germany a silent consent and an -open contempt for you <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[Pg xv]</a></span>and your ways; the sort of contempt you -yourselves have for the even more Anglo-Saxon culture of the -Americans? I candidly confess that in my more German moments I have -felt and still feel as the German philosophers do; but I have also my -European turns and moods, and then I try to understand you and even -excuse you, and take your part against earnest and thinking Germany. -Then I feel like telling the German philosophers that if you, poor -fellows, had practised everything they preached, they would have had -to renounce the pleasure of abusing you long ago, for there would now -be no more Englishmen left to abuse! As it is, you have suffered -enough on account of the wild German ideals you luckily only partly -believed in: for what the German thinker wrote on patient paper in his -study, you always had to write the whole world over on tender human -skins, black and yellow skins, enveloping ungrateful beings who -sometimes had no very high esteem for the depth and beauty of German -philosophy. And you have never taken revenge upon the inspired masters -of the European thinking-shop, you have never reabused them, you have -never complained of their want of worldly wisdom: you have invariably -suffered in silence and agony, just as brave and staunch Sancho Panza -used to do. For this is what you are, dear Englishmen, and however -well you brave, practical, materialistic John Bulls and Sancho Panzas -may know this world, however much better you may be able to perceive, -to count, to judge, and to weigh things than your ideal <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvi" id="Page_xvi">[Pg xvi]</a></span>German Knight: -there is an eternal law in this world that the Sancho Panzas have to -follow the Don Quixotes; for matter has to follow the spirit, even the -poor spirit of a German philosopher! So it has been in the past, so it -is at present, and so it will be in the future; and you had better -prepare yourselves in time for the eventuality. For if Nietzsche were -nothing else but this customary type of German philosopher, you would -again have to pay the bill largely; and it would be very wise on your -part to study him: Sancho Panza may escape a good many sad experiences -by knowing his master's weaknesses. But as Nietzsche no longer belongs -to the Quixotic class, as Germany seems to emerge with him from her -youthful and cranky nebulosity, you will not even have the pleasure of -being thrashed in the company of your Master: no, you will be thrashed -all alone, which is an abominable thing for any right-minded human -being. "Solamen miseris socios habuisse malorum."<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - -<p>The second reason for the neglect of Nietzsche in this country is that -you do not need him yet. And you do not need him yet because you have -always possessed the British virtue of not carrying things to -extremes, which, according to the German version, is an euphemism for -the British want of logic and critical capacity. You have, for -instance, never let your religion have any great influence upon your -politics, which is something quite abhorrent to the moral German, and -makes <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvii" id="Page_xvii">[Pg xvii]</a></span>him so angry about you. For the German sees you acting as a -moral and law-abiding Christian at home, and as an unscrupulous and -Machiavellian conqueror abroad; and if he refrains from the reproach -of hypocrisy, with which the more stupid continentals invariably -charge you, he will certainly call you a "British muddlehead." Well, I -myself do not take things so seriously as that, for I know that men of -action have seldom time to think. It is probably for this reason also -that liberty of thought and speech has been granted to you, the -law-giver knowing very well all the time that you would be much too -busy to use and abuse such extraordinary freedom. Anyhow, it might now -be time to abuse it just a little bit, and to consider what an -extraordinary amalgamation is a Christian Power with imperialistic -ideas. True, there has once before been another Christian conquering -and colonising empire like yours, that of Venice—but these Venetians -were thinkers compared with you, and smuggled their gospel into the -paw of their lion.... Why don't you follow their example, in order not -to be unnecessarily embarrassed by it in your enterprises abroad? In -this manner you could also reconcile the proper Germans, who -invariably act up to their theories, their Christianity, their -democratic principles, although, on the other hand, in so doing you -would, I quite agree, be most unfaithful to your own traditions, which -are of a more democratic character than those of any other European -nation.</p> - -<p>For Democracy, as every schoolboy knows, was <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xviii" id="Page_xviii">[Pg xviii]</a></span>born in an English -cradle: individual liberty, parliamentary institutions, the sovereign -rights of the people, are ideas of British origin, and have been -propagated from this island over the whole of Europe. But as the -prophet and his words are very often not honoured in his own country, -those ideas have been embraced with much more fervour by other nations -than by that in which they originated. The Continent of Europe has -taken the desire for liberty and equality much more seriously than -their levelling but also level-headed inventors, and the fervent -imagination of France has tried to put into practice all that was -quite hidden to the more sober English eye. Every one nowadays knows -the good and the evil consequences of the French Revolution, which -swept over the whole of Europe, throwing it into a state of unrest, -shattering thrones and empires, and everywhere undermining authority -and traditional institutions. While this was going on in Europe, the -originator of the merry game was quietly sitting upon his island -smiling broadly at the excitable foreigners across the Channel, -fishing as much as he could out of the water he himself had so -cleverly disturbed, and thus in every way reaping the benefit from the -mighty fight for the apple of Eros which he himself had thrown amongst -them. As I have endeavoured above to draw a parallel between the -Germans and the Jews, I may now be allowed to follow this up with one -between the Jews and the English. It is a striking parallel, which -will specially appeal to those religious souls amongst you who -consider themselves the lost <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xix" id="Page_xix">[Pg xix]</a></span>tribes of our race (and who are perhaps -even more lost than they think),—and it is this: Just as the Jews -have brought Christianity into the world, but never accepted it -themselves, just as they, in spite of their democratic offspring, have -always remained the most conservative, exclusive, aristocratic, and -religious people, so have the English never allowed themselves to be -intoxicated by the strong drink of the natural equality of men, which -they once kindly offered to all Europe to quaff; but have, on the -contrary, remained the most sober, the most exclusive, the most -feudal, the most conservative people of our continent.</p> - -<p>But because the ravages of Democracy have been less felt here than -abroad, because there is a good deal of the mediæval building left -standing over here, because things have never been carried to that -excess which invariably brings a reaction with it—this reaction has -not set in in this country, and no strong desire for the necessity of -it, no craving for the counterbalancing influence of a Nietzsche, has -arisen yet in the British mind. I cannot help pointing out the grave -consequences of this backwardness of England, which has arisen from -the fact that you have never taken any ideas or theories, not even -your own, seriously. Democracy, dear Englishmen, is like a stream, -which all the peoples of Europe will have to cross: they will come out -of it cleaner, healthier, and stronger, but while the others are -already in the water, plunging, puffing, paddling, losing their -ground, trying to swim, and even half-drowned, you are still standing -on the other side of it, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xx" id="Page_xx">[Pg xx]</a></span>roaring unmercifully about the poor swimmers, -screamers, and fighters below,—but one day you will have to cross -this same river too, and when you enter it the others will just be out -of it, and will laugh at the poor English straggler in their turn!</p> - -<p>The third and last reason for the icy silence which has greeted -Nietzsche in this country is due to the fact that he has—as far as I -know—no literary ancestor over here whose teachings could have -prepared you for him. Germany has had her Goethe to do this; France -her Stendhal; in Russia we find that fearless curiosity for all -problems, which is the sign of a youthful, perhaps too youthful -nation; while in Spain, on the other hand, we have an old and -experienced people, with a long training away from Christianity under -the dominion of the Semitic Arabs, who undoubtedly left some of their -blood behind,—but I find great difficulty in pointing out any man -over here who could serve as a useful guide to the heights of the -Nietzschean thought, except one, who was not a Britisher. I am -alluding to a man whose politics you used to consider and whose -writings you even now consider as fantastic, but who, like another -fantast of his race, may possess the wonderful gift of resurrection, -and come again to life amongst you—to Benjamin Disraeli.</p> - -<p>The Disraelian Novels are in my opinion the best and only preparation -for those amongst you who wish gradually to become acquainted with the -Nietzschean spirit. There, and nowhere else, will you find the true -heroes of coming times, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxi" id="Page_xxi">[Pg xxi]</a></span>men of moral courage, men whose failures and -successes are alike admirable, men whose noble passions have -altogether superseded the ordinary vulgarities and moralities of lower -beings, men endowed with an extraordinary imagination, which, however, -is balanced by an equal power of reason, men already anointed with a -drop of that sacred and noble oil, without which the High -Priest-Philosopher of Modern Germany would not have crowned his Royal -Race of the Future.</p> - -<p>Both Disraeli and Nietzsche you perceive starting from the same -pessimistic diagnosis of the wild anarchy, the growing melancholy, the -threatening Nihilism of Modern Europe, for both recognised the danger -of the age behind its loud and forced "shipwreck gaiety," behind its -big-mouthed talk about progress and evolution, behind that veil of -business-bustle, which hides its fear and utter despair—but for all -that black outlook they are not weaklings enough to mourn and let -things go, nor do they belong to that cheap class of society doctors -who mistake the present wretchedness of Humanity for sinfulness, and -wish to make their patient less sinful and still more wretched. Both -Nietzsche and Disraeli have clearly recognised that this patient of -theirs is suffering from weakness and not from sinfulness, for which -latter some kind of strength may still be required; both are therefore -entirely opposed to a further dieting him down to complete moral -emaciation, but are, on the contrary, prescribing a tonic, a -roborating, a natural regime for him—advice for which both doctors -have been <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxii" id="Page_xxii">[Pg xxii]</a></span>reproached with Immorality by their contemporaries as well -as by posterity. But the younger doctor has turned the tables upon -their accusers, and has openly reproached his Nazarene colleagues with -the Immorality of endangering life itself, he has clearly demonstrated -to the world that their trustful and believing patient was shrinking -beneath their very fingers, he has candidly foretold these Christian -quacks that one day they would be in the position of the quack -skin-specialist at the fair, who, as a proof of his medical skill, -used to show to the peasants around him the skin of a completely cured -patient of his. Both Nietzsche and Disraeli know the way to health, -for they have had the disease of the age themselves, but they -have—the one partly, the other entirely—cured themselves of it, -they have resisted the spirit of their time, they have escaped the -fate of their contemporaries; they therefore, and they alone, know -their danger. This is the reason why they both speak so violently, why -they both attack with such bitter fervour the utilitarian and -materialistic attitude of English Science, why they both so ironically -brush aside the airy and fantastic ideals of German Philosophy—this -is why they both loudly declare (to use Disraeli's words) "that we are -the slaves of false knowledge; that our memories are filled with ideas -that have no origin in truth; that we believe what our fathers -credited, who were convinced without a cause; that we study human -nature in a charnel house, and, like the nations of the East, pay -divine honours to the maniac and the fool." But if these <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxiii" id="Page_xxiii">[Pg xxiii]</a></span>two great men -cannot refrain from such outspoken vituperation—they also lead the -way: they both teach the divinity of ideas and the vileness of action -without principle; they both exalt the value of personality and -character; they both deprecate the influence of society and -socialisation; they both intensely praise and love life, but they both -pour contempt and irony upon the shallow optimist, who thinks it -delightful, and the quietist, who wishes it to be calm, sweet, and -peaceful. They thus both preach a life of danger, in opposition to -that of pleasure, of comfort, of happiness, and they do not only -preach this noble life, they also act it: for both have with equal -determination staked even their lives on the fulfilment of their -ideal.</p> - -<p>It is astonishing—but only astonishing to your superficial student of -the Jewish character—that in Disraeli also we find an almost -Nietzschean appreciation of that eternal foe of the Jewish race, the -Hellenist, which makes Disraeli, just like Nietzsche, confess that the -Greek and the Hebrew are both amongst the highest types of the human -kind. It is not less astonishing—but likewise easily intelligible for -one who knows something of the great Jews of the Middle Ages—that in -Disraeli we discover that furious enmity against the doctrine of the -natural equality of men which Nietzsche combated all his life. It was -certainly the great Maimonides himself, that spiritual father of -Spinoza, who guided the pen of his Sephardic descendant, when he thus -wrote in his <i>Tancred</i>: "It is to be noted, although the Omnipotent -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxiv" id="Page_xxiv">[Pg xxiv]</a></span>Creator might have formed, had it pleased him, in the humblest of his -creations, an efficient agent for his purpose that Divine Majesty has -never thought fit to communicate except with human beings of the very -highest order."</p> - -<p>But what about Christianity, to which Disraeli was sincerely attached, -and whose creation he always considered as one of the eternal glories -of his race? Did not the Divine Majesty think it fit then to -communicate with the most humble of its creatures, with the fishermen -of Galilee, with the rabble of Corinth, with the slaves, the women, -the criminals of the Roman Empire? As I wish to be honest about -Disraeli, I must point out here, that his genius, although the most -prominent in England during his lifetime, and although violently -opposed to its current superstitions, still partly belongs to his -age—and for this very pardonable reason, that in his Jewish pride he -overrated and even misunderstood Christianity. He all but overlooked -the narrow connection between Christianity and Democracy. He did not -see that in fighting Liberalism and Nonconformity all his life, he was -really fighting Christianity, the Protestant Form of which is at the -root of British Liberalism and Individualism to this very day. And -when later in his life Disraeli complained that the disturbance in the -mind of nations has been occasioned by "the powerful assault on the -Divinity of the Semitic Literature by the Germans," he overlooked -likewise the connection of this German movement with the same -Protestantism, from the narrow and vulgar <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxv" id="Page_xxv">[Pg xxv]</a></span>middle-class of which have -sprung all those rationalising, unimaginative, and merely clever -professors, who have so successfully undermined the ancient and -venerable lore. And thirdly, and worst of all, Disraeli never -suspected that the French Revolution, which in the same breath he once -contemptuously denounced as "the Celtic Rebellion against Semitic -laws," was, in spite of its professed attack against religion, really -a profoundly Christian, because a democratic and revolutionary -movement. What a pity he did not know all this! What a shower of -splendid additional sarcasms he would have poured over those -flat-nosed Franks, had he known what I know now, that it is the -eternal way of the Christian to be a rebel, and that just as he has -once rebelled against us, he has never ceased pestering and rebelling -against any one else either of his own or any other creed.</p> - -<p>But it is so easy for me to be carried away by that favourite sport of -mine, of which I am the first inventor among the Jews—Christian -baiting. You must forgive this, however, in a Jew, who, while he has -been baited for two thousand years by you, likes to turn round now -that the opportunity has come, and tries to indulge on his part also -in a little bit of that genial pastime. I candidly confess it is -delightful, and I now quite understand your ancestors hunting mine as -much as they could—had I been a Christian, I would, probably, have -done the same; perhaps have done it even better, for no one would now -be left to write any such impudent truisms against me—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxvi" id="Page_xxvi">[Pg xxvi]</a></span>rest assured -of that! But as I am a Jew, and have had too much experience of the -other side of the question, I must try to control myself in the midst -of victory; I must judge things calmly; I must state fact honestly; I -must not allow myself to be unjust towards you. First of all, then, -this rebelling faculty of yours is a Jewish inheritance, an -inheritance, however, of which you have made a more than generous, a -truly Christian use, because you did not keep it niggardly for -yourselves, but have distributed it all over the earth, from Nazareth -to Nishni-Novgorod, from Jerusalem to Jamaica, from Palestine to -Pimlico, so that every one is a rebel and an anarchist nowadays. But, -secondly, I must not forget that in every Anarchist, and therefore in -every Christian, there is also, or may be, an aristocrat—a man who, -just like the anarchist, but with a perfectly holy right, wishes to -obey no laws but those of his own conscience; a man who thinks too -highly of his own faith and persuasion, to convert other people to it; -a man who, therefore, would never carry it to Caffres and Coolis; a -man, in short, with whom even the noblest and exclusive Hebrew could -shake hands. In Friedrich Nietzsche this aristocratic element which -may be hidden in a Christian has been brought to light, in him the -Christian's eternal claim for freedom of conscience, for his own -priesthood, for justification by his own faith, is no longer used for -purposes of destruction and rebellion, but for those of command and -creation; in him—and this is the key to the character of this -extraordinary man, who both on his father's <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxvii" id="Page_xxvii">[Pg xxvii]</a></span>and mother's side was the -descendant of a long line of Protestant Parsons—the Christian and -Protestant spirit of anarchy became so strong that he rebelled even -against his own fellow-Anarchists, and told them that Anarchy was a -low and contemptible thing, and that Revolution was an occupation fit -only for superior slaves. But with this event the circle of -Christianity has become closed, and the exclusive House of Israel is -now under the delightful obligation to make its peace with its once -lost and now reforming son.</p> - -<p>The venerable Owner of this old house is still standing on its -threshold: his face is pale, his expression careworn, his eyes -apparently scanning something far in the distance. The wind—for there -is a terrible wind blowing just now—is playing havoc with his long -white Jew-beard, but this white Jew-beard of his is growing black -again at the end, and even the sad eyes are still capable of quite -youthful flashes, as may be noticed at this very moment. For the eyes -of the old Jew, apparently so dreamy and so far away, have suddenly -become fixed upon something in the distance yonder. The old Jew looks -and looks—and then he rubs his eyes—and then he eagerly looks -again. And now he is sure of himself. His old and haggard face is -lighting up, his stooped figure suddenly becomes more erect, and a -tear of joy is seen running over his pale cheek into that long beard -of his. For the old Jew has recognised some one coming from afar—some -one whom he had missed, but never mentioned, for his Law forbade him -to do this—some one, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxviii" id="Page_xxviii">[Pg xxviii]</a></span>however, for whom he had secretly always -mourned, as only the race of the psalmists and the prophets can -mourn—and he rushes toward him, and he falls on his neck and he -kisses him, and he says to his servants: "Bring forth the best robe -and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand and shoes on his feet. -And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it and let us eat and be -merry!" <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">AMEN</span>.</p> - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em; margin-left: 70%;">OSCAR LEVY.</p> - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em;">LONDON,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;"><i>January</i> 1909.</span><br /> -</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> It is a comfort to the afflicted to have companions in -their distress.</p></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxix" id="Page_xxix">[Pg xxix]</a></p> -<h4><a id="TRANSLATORS_PREFACE"></a>TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.</h4> - - -<p>To the reader who knows Nietzsche, who has studied his <i>Zarathustra</i> and -understood it, and who, in addition, has digested the works entitled -<i>Beyond Good and Evil, The Genealogy of Morals, The Twilight of the -Idols</i>, and <i>The Antichrist</i>,—to such a reader everything in this -volume will be perfectly clear and comprehensible. In the attack on -Strauss he will immediately detect the germ of the whole of -Nietzsche's subsequent attitude towards too hasty contentment and the -foolish beatitude of the "easily pleased"; in the paper on Wagner he -will recognise Nietzsche the indefatigable borer, miner and -underminer, seeking to define his ideals, striving after -self-knowledge above all, and availing himself of any contemporary -approximation to his ideal man, in order to press it forward as the -incarnation of his thoughts. Wagner the reformer of mankind! Wagner -the dithyrambic dramatist!—The reader who knows Nietzsche will not be -misled by these expressions.</p> - -<p>To the uninitiated reader, however, some words of explanation are due, -not only in regard to the two papers before us, but in regard to -Nietzsche himself. So much in our time is learnt from hearsay -concerning prominent figures in science, art, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxx" id="Page_xxx">[Pg xxx]</a></span>religion, or philosophy, -that it is hardly possible for anybody to-day, however badly informed -he may be, to begin the study of any great writer or scientist with a -perfectly open mind. It were well, therefore, to begin the study of -Nietzsche with some definite idea as to his unaltered purpose, if he -ever possessed such a thing; as to his lifelong ideal, if he ever kept -one so long; and as to the one direction in which he always travelled, -despite apparent deviations and windings. Had he such a purpose, such -an ideal, such a direction? We have no wish to open a controversy -here, neither do we think that in replying to this question in the -affirmative we shall give rise to one; for every careful student of -Nietzsche, we know, will uphold us in our view. Nietzsche had one very -definite and unaltered purpose, ideal and direction, and this was "the -elevation of the type man." He tells us in <i>The Will to Power</i>: "All is -truth to me that tends to elevate man!" To this principle he was -already pledged as a student at Leipzig; we owe every line that he -ever wrote to his devotion to it, and it is the key to all his -complexities, blasphemies, prolixities, and terrible earnestness. All -was good to Nietzsche that tended to elevate man; all was bad that -kept man stationary or sent him backwards. Hence he wrote <i>David -Strauss, the Confessor and Writer</i> (1873).</p> - -<p>The Franco-German War had only just come to an end, and the keynote of -this polemical pamphlet is, "Beware of the intoxication of success." -When the whole of Germany was delirious with joy over her victory, at -a time when the unquestioned <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxi" id="Page_xxxi">[Pg xxxi]</a></span>triumph of her arms tended rather to -reflect unearned glory upon every department of her social -organisation, it required both courage and discernment to raise the -warning voice and to apply the wet blanket. But Nietzsche did both, -and with spirit, because his worst fears were aroused. Smug content -(<i>erbärmliches Behagen</i>) was threatening to thwart his one purpose—the -elevation of man; smug content personified in the German scholar was -giving itself airs of omniscience, omnipotence, and ubiquity, and all -the while it was a mere cover for hidden rottenness and jejune -pedantry.</p> - -<p>Nietzsche's attack on Hegelian optimism alone (pp. <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>-<a href="#Page_54">54</a>), in the -first paper, fully reveals the fundamental idea underlying this essay; -and if the personal attack on Strauss seems sometimes to throw the -main theme into the background, we must remember the author's own -attitude towards this aspect of the case. Nietzsche, as a matter of -fact, had neither the spite nor the meanness requisite for the purely -personal attack. In his <i>Ecce Homo</i>, he tells us most emphatically: "I -have no desire to attack particular persons—I do but use a -personality as a magnifying glass; I place it over the subject to -which I wish to call attention, merely that the appeal may be -stronger." David Strauss, in a letter to a friend, soon after the -publication of the first <i>Thought out of Season</i>, expresses his utter -astonishment that a total stranger should have made such a dead set at -him. The same problem may possibly face the reader on every page of -this essay: if, however, we realise Nietzsche's purpose, if we -understand his struggle to be one against <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxii" id="Page_xxxii">[Pg xxxii]</a></span>"Culture-Philistinism" in -general, as a stemming, stultifying and therefore degenerate factor, -and regard David Strauss—as the author himself did, that is to say, -simply as a glass, focusing the whole light of our understanding upon -the main theme—then the Strauss paper is seen to be one of such -enormous power, and its aim appears to us so lofty, that, whatever our -views may be concerning the nature of the person assailed, we are -forced to conclude that, to Nietzsche at least, he was but the -incarnation and concrete example of the evil and danger then -threatening to overtake his country, which it was the object of this -essay to expose.</p> - -<p>When we read that at the time of Strauss's death (February 7th, 1874) -Nietzsche was greatly tormented by the fear that the old scholar might -have been hastened to his end by the use that had been made of his -personality in the first <i>Unzeitgemässe Betrachtung</i>; when we remember -that in the midst of this torment he ejaculated, "I was indeed not -made to hate and have enemies!"—we are then in a better position to -judge of the motives which, throughout his life, led him to engage -such formidable opponents and to undertake such relentless attacks. It -was merely his ruling principle that, all is true and good that tends -to elevate man; everything is bad and false that keeps man stationary -or sends him backwards.</p> - -<p>Those who may think that his attacks were often unwarrantable and -ill-judged will do well, therefore, to bear this in mind, that -whatever his value or merits may have been as an iconoclast, at least -the aim he had was sufficiently lofty and honourable, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxiii" id="Page_xxxiii">[Pg xxxiii]</a></span>and that he -never shirked the duties which he rightly or wrongly imagined would -help him to.</p> - -<p>In the Wagner paper (1875-1876) we are faced by a somewhat different problem. -Most readers who will have heard of Nietzsche's subsequent -denunciation of Wagner's music will probably stand aghast before this -panegyric of him; those who, like Professor Saintsbury, will fail to -discover the internal evidence in this essay which points so -infallibly to Nietzsche's <i>real</i> but still subconscious opinion of his -hero, may even be content to regard his later attitude as the result -of a complete volte-face, and at any rate a flat contradiction of the -one revealed in this paper. Let us, however, examine the internal -evidence we speak of, and let us also discuss the purpose and spirit -of the essay.</p> - -<p>We have said that Nietzsche was a man with a very fixed and powerful -ideal, and we have heard what this ideal was. Can we picture him, -then,—a young and enthusiastic scholar with a cultured love of music, -and particularly of Wagner's music, eagerly scanning all his circle, -the whole city and country in which he lived—yea, even the whole -continent on which he lived—for something or some one that would set -his doubts at rest concerning the feasibility of his ideal? Can we now -picture this young man coming face to face with probably one of the -greatest geniuses of his age—with a man whose very presence must have -been electric, whose every word or movement must have imparted some -power to his surroundings—with Richard Wagner?</p> - -<p>If we can conceive of what the mere attention, even, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxiv" id="Page_xxxiv">[Pg xxxiv]</a></span>of a man like -Wagner must have meant to Nietzsche in his twenties, if we can form -any idea of the intoxicating effect produced upon him when this -attention developed into friendship, we almost refuse to believe that -Nietzsche could have been critical at all at first. In Wagner, as was -but natural, he soon began to see the ideal, or at least the means to -the ideal, which was his one obsession. All his hope for the future of -Germany and Europe cleaved, as it were, to this highest manifestation -of their people's life, and gradually he began to invest his already -great friend with all the extra greatness which he himself drew from -the depths of his own soul.</p> - -<p>The friendship which grew between them was of that rare order in which -neither can tell who influences the other more. Wagner would often -declare that the beautiful music in the third act of Siegfried was to -be ascribed to Nietzsche's influence over him; he also adopted the -young man's terminology in art matters, and the concepts implied by -the words "Dionysian" and "Apollonian" were borrowed by him from his -friend's discourses. How much Nietzsche owed to Wagner may perhaps -never be definitely known; to those who are sufficiently interested to -undertake the investigation of this matter, we would recommend Hans -Belart's book, <i>Nietzsche's Ethik</i>; in it references will be found which -give some clue as to the probable sources from which the necessary -information may be derived. In any case, however, the reciprocal -effects of their conversations will never be exactly known; and -although it would be ridiculous to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxv" id="Page_xxxv">[Pg xxxv]</a></span>assume that Nietzsche was -essentially the same when he left as when he met him, what the real -nature of the change was it is now difficult to say.</p> - -<p>For some years their friendship continued firm, and grew ever more and -more intimate. <i>The Birth Of Tragedy</i> was one of the first public -declarations of it, and after its publication many were led to -consider that Wagner's art was a sort of resurrection of the Dionysian -Grecian art. Enemies of Nietzsche began to whisper that he was merely -Wagner's "literary lackey"; many friends frowned upon the promising -young philologist, and questioned the exaggerated importance he was -beginning to ascribe to the art of music and to art in general, in -their influence upon the world; and all the while Nietzsche's one -thought and one aim was to help the cause and further the prospects of -the man who he earnestly believed was destined to be the salvation of -European culture.</p> - -<p>Every great ideal coined in his own brain he imagined to be the ideal -of his hero; all his sublimest hopes for society were presented -gratis, in his writings, to Wagner, as though products of the latter's -own mind; and just as the prophet of old never possessed the requisite -assurance to suppose that his noblest ideas were his own, but -attributed them to some higher and supernatural power, whom he thereby -learnt to worship for its fancied nobility of sentiment, so Nietzsche, -still doubting his own powers, created a fetich out of his most -distinguished friend, and was ultimately wounded and well-nigh wrecked -with disappointment when he found that the Wagner of the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxvi" id="Page_xxxvi">[Pg xxxvi]</a></span>Götterdämmerung and Parsifal was not the Wagner of his own mind.</p> - -<p>While writing <i>Ecce Homo</i>, he was so well aware of the extent to which -he had gone in idealising his friend, that he even felt able to say: -"<i>Wagner in Bayreuth</i> is a vision of my own future.... Now that I can -look back upon this work, I would not like to deny that, at bottom, it -speaks only of myself" (p. 74). And on another page of the same book -we read: "... What I heard, as a young man, in Wagnerian music, had -absolutely nothing to do with Wagner: when I described Dionysian -music, I only described what I had heard, and I thus translated and -transfigured all that I bore in my own soul into the spirit of the new -art. The strongest proof of this is my essay, <i>Wagner in Bayreuth</i>: in -all decidedly psychological passages of this book the reader may -simply read my name, or the name 'Zarathustra,' wherever the text -contains the name 'Wagner'" (p. 68).</p> - -<p>As we have already hinted, there are evidences of his having -subconsciously discerned the <i>real</i> Wagner, even in the heyday of their -friendship, behind the ideal he had formed of him; for his eyes were -too intelligent to be deceived, even though his understanding refused -at first to heed the messages they sent it: both the <i>Birth of Tragedy</i> -and <i>Wagner in Bayreuth</i> are with us to prove this, and not merely when -we read these works between the lines, but when we take such passages -as those found on pp. <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a> of this book -quite literally.</p> - -<p>Nietzsche's infatuation we have explained; the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxvii" id="Page_xxxvii">[Pg xxxvii]</a></span>consequent idealisation -of the object of his infatuation he himself has confessed; we have -also pointed certain passages which we believe show beyond a doubt -that almost everything to be found in <i>The Case of Wagner</i> and <i>Nietzsche -contra Wagner</i> was already subconscious in our author, long before he -had begun to feel even a coolness towards his hero: let those who -think our interpretation of the said passages is either strained or -unjustified turn to the literature to which we have referred and judge -for themselves. It seems to us that those distinguished critics who -complain of Nietzsche's complete <i>volte-face</i> and his uncontrollable -recantations and revulsions of feeling have completely overlooked this -aspect of the question.</p> - -<p>It were well for us to bear in mind that we are not altogether free to -dispose of Nietzsche's attitude to Wagner, at any given period in -their relationship, with a single sentence of praise or of blame. -After all, we are faced by a problem which no objectivity or -dispassionate detachment on our parts can solve. Nietzsche endowed -both Schopenhauer and Wagner with qualities and aspirations so utterly -foreign to them both, that neither of them would have recognised -himself in the images he painted of them. His love for them was -unusual; perhaps it can only be fully understood emotionally by us: -like all men who are capable of very great love, Nietzsche lent the -objects of his affection anything they might happen to lack in the way -of greatness, and when at last his eyes were opened, genuine pain, not -malice, was the motive of even the most bitter of his diatribes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxviii" id="Page_xxxviii">[Pg xxxviii]</a></span>Finally, we should just like to give one more passage from <i>Ecce Homo</i> -bearing upon the subject under discussion. It is particularly -interesting from an autobiographical standpoint, and will perhaps -afford the best possible conclusion to this preface.</p> - -<p>Nietzsche is writing about Wagner's music, and he says: "The world -must indeed be empty for him who has never been unhealthy enough for -this 'infernal voluptuousness'; it is allowable and yet almost -forbidden to use a mystical expression in this behalf. I suppose I -know better than any one the prodigies Wagner was capable of, the -fifty worlds of strange raptures to which no one save him could soar; -and as I stand to-day—strong enough to convert even the most -suspicious and dangerous phenomenon to my own use and be the stronger -for it—I declare Wagner to be the great benefactor of my life. -Something will always keep our names associated in the minds of men, -and that is, that we are two who have suffered more -excruciatingly—even at each other's hands—than most men are able to -suffer nowadays. And just as Wagner is merely a misunderstanding among -Germans, so am I and ever will be. You lack two centuries of -psychological and artistic discipline, my dear countrymen!... But it -will be impossible for you ever to recover the time now lost" (p. <a href="#Page_43">43</a>).</p> - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em; margin-left: 65%;">ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI.</p> - - -<p class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a><br /> -<a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h3><a name="DAVID_STRAUSS" id="DAVID_STRAUSS">DAVID STRAUSS,</a></h3> - -<h4>THE CONFESSOR AND THE WRITER.</h4> - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> - - -<h4>I.</h4> - - -<p>Public opinion in Germany seems strictly to forbid any allusion to the -evil and dangerous consequences of a war, more particularly when the -war in question has been a victorious one. Those writers, therefore, -command a more ready attention who, regarding this public opinion as -final, proceed to vie with each other in their jubilant praise of the -war, and of the powerful influences it has brought to bear upon -morality, culture, and art. Yet it must be confessed that a great -victory is a great danger. Human nature bears a triumph less easily -than a defeat; indeed, it might even be urged that it is simpler to -gain a victory of this sort than to turn it to such account that it -may not ultimately prove a serious rout.</p> - -<p>But of all evil results due to the last contest with France, the most -deplorable, perhaps, is that widespread and even universal error of -public opinion and of all who think publicly, that German culture was -also victorious in the struggle, and that it should now, therefore, be -decked with garlands, as a fit recognition of such <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>extraordinary -events and successes. This error is in the highest degree pernicious: -not because it is an error,—for there are illusions which are both -salutary and blessed,—but because it threatens to convert our victory -into a signal defeat. A defeat?—I should say rather, into the -uprooting of the "German Mind" for the benefit of the "German Empire."</p> - -<p>Even supposing that the fight had been between the two cultures, the -standard for the value of the victor would still be a very relative -one, and, in any case, would certainly not justify such exaggerated -triumph or self-glorification. For, in the first place, it would be -necessary to ascertain the worth of the conquered culture. This might -be very little; in which case, even if the victory had involved the -most glorious display of arms, it would still offer no warrant for -inordinate rapture.</p> - -<p>Even so, however, there can be no question, in our case, of the -victory of German culture; and for the simple reason, that French -culture remains as heretofore, and that we depend upon it as -heretofore. It did not even help towards the success of our arms. -Severe military discipline, natural bravery and sustaining power, the -superior generalship, unity and obedience in the rank and file—in -short, factors which have nothing to do with culture, were -instrumental in making us conquer an opponent in whom the most -essential of these factors were absent. The only wonder is, that -precisely what is now called "culture" in Germany did not prove an -obstacle to the military operations which seemed vitally necessary to -a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>great victory. Perhaps, though, this was only owing to the fact that -this "thing" which dubs itself "culture" saw its advantage, for once, -in keeping in the background.</p> - -<p>If however, it be permitted to grow and to spread, if it be spoilt by -the flattering and nonsensical assurance that <i>it</i> has been -victorious,—then, as I have said, it will have the power to extirpate -German mind, and, when that is done, who knows whether there will -still be anything to be made out of the surviving German body!</p> - -<p>Provided it were possible to direct that calm and tenacious bravery -which the German opposed to the pathetic and spontaneous fury of the -Frenchman, against the inward enemy, against the highly suspicious -and, at all events, unnative "cultivation" which, owing to a dangerous -misunderstanding, is called "culture" in Germany, then all hope of a -really genuine German "culture"—the reverse of that -"cultivation"—would not be entirely lost. For the Germans have never -known any lack of clear-sighted and heroic leaders, though these, -often enough, probably, have lacked Germans. But whether it be -possible to turn German bravery into a new direction seems to me to -become ever more and more doubtful; for I realise how fully convinced -every one is that such a struggle and such bravery are no longer -requisite; on the contrary, that most things are regulated as -satisfactorily as they possibly can be—or, at all events, that -everything of moment has long ago been discovered and accomplished: in -a word, that the seed of culture is already sown everywhere, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>and is -now either shooting up its fresh green blades, or, here and there, -even bursting forth into luxuriant blossom. In this sphere, not only -happiness but ecstasy reigns supreme. I am conscious of this ecstasy -and happiness, in the ineffable, truculent assurance of German -journalists and manufacturers of novels, tragedies, poems, and -histories (for it must be clear that these people belong to one -category), who seem to have conspired to improve the leisure and -ruminative hours—that is to say, "the intellectual lapses"—of the -modern man, by bewildering him with their printed paper. Since the -war, all is gladness, dignity, and self-consciousness in this merry -throng. After the startling successes of German culture, it regards -itself, not only as approved and sanctioned, but almost as sanctified. -It therefore speaks with gravity, affects to apostrophise the German -People, and issues complete works, after the manner of the classics; -nor does it shrink from proclaiming in those journals which are open -to it some few of its adherents as new German classical writers and -model authors. It might be supposed that the dangers of such <i>an abuse -of success</i> would be recognised by the more thoughtful and enlightened -among cultivated Germans; or, at least, that these would feel how -painful is the comedy that is being enacted around them: for what in -truth could more readily inspire pity than the sight of a cripple -strutting like a cock before a mirror, and exchanging complacent -glances with his reflection! But the "scholar" caste willingly allow -things to remain as they are, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>and are too much concerned with their own -affairs to busy themselves with the care of the German mind. Moreover, -the units of this caste are too thoroughly convinced that their own -scholarship is the ripest and most perfect fruit of the age—in fact, -of all ages—to see any necessity for a care of German culture in -general; since, in so far as they and the legion of their brethren are -concerned, preoccupations of this order have everywhere been, so to -speak, surpassed. The more conscientious observer, more particularly -if he be a foreigner, cannot help noticing withal that no great -disparity exists between that which the German scholar regards as his -culture and that other triumphant culture of the new German classics, -save in respect of the quantum of knowledge. Everywhere, where -knowledge and not ability, where information and not art, hold the -first rank,—everywhere, therefore, where life bears testimony to the -kind of culture extant, there is now only one specific German -culture—and this is the culture that is supposed to have conquered -France?</p> - -<p>The contention appears to be altogether too preposterous. It was -solely to the more extensive knowledge of German officers, to the -superior training of their soldiers, and to their more scientific -military strategy, that all impartial Judges, and even the French -nation, in the end, ascribed the victory. Hence, if it be intended to -regard German erudition as a thing apart, in what sense can German -culture be said to have conquered? In none whatsoever; for the moral -qualities of severe discipline, of more placid obedience, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>have nothing -in common with culture: these were characteristic of the Macedonian -army, for instance, despite the fact that the Greek soldiers were -infinitely more cultivated. To speak of German scholarship and culture -as having conquered, therefore, can only be the outcome of a -misapprehension, probably resulting from the circumstance that every -precise notion of culture has now vanished from Germany.</p> - -<p>Culture is, before all things, the unity of artistic style, in every -expression of the life of a people. Abundant knowledge and learning, -however, are not essential to it, nor are they a sign of its -existence; and, at a pinch, they might coexist much more harmoniously -with the very opposite of culture—with barbarity: that is to say, -with a complete lack of style, or with a riotous jumble of all styles. -But it is precisely amid this riotous jumble that the German of to-day -subsists; and the serious problem to be solved is: how, with all his -learning, he can possibly avoid noticing it; how, into the bargain, he -can rejoice with all his heart in his present "culture"? For -everything conduces to open his eyes for him—every glance he casts at -his clothes, his room, his house; every walk he takes through the -streets of his town; every visit he pays to his art-dealers and to his -trader in the articles of fashion. In his social intercourse he ought -to realise the origin of his manners and movements; in the heart of -our art-institutions, the pleasures of our concerts, theatres, and -museums, he ought to become apprised of the super- and juxta-position -of all imaginable styles. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>The German heaps up around him the forms, -colours, products, and curiosities of all ages and zones, and thereby -succeeds in producing that garish newness, as of a country fair, which -his scholars then proceed to contemplate and to define as "Modernism -<i>per se</i>"; and there he remains, squatting peacefully, in the midst of -this conflict of styles. But with this kind of culture, which is, at -bottom, nothing more nor less than a phlegmatic insensibility to real -culture, men cannot vanquish an enemy, least of all an enemy like the -French, who, whatever their worth may be, do actually possess a -genuine and productive culture, and whom, up to the present, we have -systematically copied, though in the majority of cases without skill.</p> - -<p>Even supposing we had really ceased copying them, it would still not -mean that we had overcome them, but merely that we had lifted their -yoke from our necks. Not before we have succeeded in forcing an -original German culture upon them can there be any question of the -triumph of German culture. Meanwhile, let us not forget that in all -matters of form we are, and must be, just as dependent upon Paris now -as we were before the war; for up to the present there has been no -such thing as a original German culture.</p> - -<p>We all ought to have become aware of this, of our own accord. Besides, -one of the few who had he right to speak to Germans in terms of -reproach Publicly drew attention to the fact. "We Germans are of -yesterday," Goethe once said to Eckermann. "True, for the last hundred -years we have diligently <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>cultivated ourselves, but a few centuries may -yet have to run their course before our fellow-countrymen become -permeated with sufficient intellectuality and higher culture to have -it said of them, <i>it is a long time since they were barbarians</i>."</p> - - - -<h4>II.</h4> - - -<p>If, however, our public and private life is so manifestly devoid of -all signs of a productive and characteristic culture; if, moreover, -our great artists, with that earnest vehemence and honesty which is -peculiar to greatness admit, and have admitted, this monstrous -fact—so very humiliating to a gifted nation; how can it still be -possible for contentment to reign to such an astonishing extent among -German scholars? And since the last war this complacent spirit has -seemed ever more and more ready to break forth into exultant cries and -demonstrations of triumph. At all events, the belief seems to be rife -that we are in possession of a genuine culture, and the enormous -incongruity of this triumphant satisfaction in the face of the -inferiority which should be patent to all, seems only to be noticed by -the few and the select. For all those who think with the public mind -have blindfolded their eyes and closed their ears. The incongruity is -not even acknowledged to exist. How is this possible? What power is -sufficiently influential to deny this existence? What species of men -must have attained to supremacy in Germany that feelings which are so -strong and simple should <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>be denied or prevented from obtaining -expression? This power, this species of men, I will name—they are the -<i>Philistines of Culture</i>.</p> - -<p>As every one knows, the word "Philistine" is borrowed from the -vernacular of student-life, and, in its widest and most popular sense, -it signifies the reverse of a son of the Muses, of an artist, and of -the genuine man of culture. The Philistine of culture, however, the -study of whose type and the hearing of whose confessions (when he -makes them) have now become tiresome duties, distinguishes himself -from the general notion of the order "Philistine" by means of a -superstition: he fancies that he is himself a son of the Muses and a -man of culture. This incomprehensible error clearly shows that he does -not even know the difference between a Philistine and his opposite. We -must not be surprised, therefore, if we find him, for the most part, -solemnly protesting that he is no Philistine. Owing to this lack of -self-knowledge, he is convinced that his "culture" is the consummate -manifestation of real German culture; and, since he everywhere meets -with scholars of his own type, since all public institutions, whether -schools, universities, or academies, are so organised as to be in -complete harmony with his education and needs, wherever he goes he -bears with him the triumphant feeling that he is the worthy champion -of prevailing German culture, and he frames his pretensions and claims -accordingly.</p> - -<p>If, however, real culture takes unity of style for granted (and even -an inferior and degenerate culture cannot be imagined in which a -certain <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>coalescence of the profusion of forms has not taken place), it -is just possible that the confusion underlying the -Culture-Philistine's error may arise from the fact that, since he -comes into contact everywhere with creatures cast in the same mould as -himself, he concludes that this uniformity among all "scholars" must -point to a certain uniformity in German education—hence to culture. -All round him, he sees only needs and views similar to his own; -wherever he goes, he finds himself embraced by a ring of tacit -conventions concerning almost everything, but more especially matters -of religion and art. This imposing sameness, this <i>tutti unisono</i> which, -though it responds to no word of command, is yet ever ready to burst -forth, cozens him into the belief that here a culture must be -established and flourishing. But Philistinism, despite its systematic -organisation and power, does not constitute a culture by virtue of its -system alone; it does not even constitute an inferior culture, but -invariably the reverse—namely, firmly established barbarity. For the -uniformity of character which is so apparent in the German scholars of -to-day is only the result of a conscious or unconscious exclusion and -negation of all the artistically productive forms and requirements of -a genuine style. The mind of the cultured Philistine must have become -sadly unhinged; for precisely what culture repudiates he regards as -culture itself; and, since he proceeds logically, he succeeds in -creating a connected group of these repudiations—a system of -non-culture, to which one might at a pinch grant a certain "unity of -style," provided of course it were <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>not nonsense to attribute style to -barbarity. If he have to choose between a stylish act and its -opposite, he will invariably adopt the latter, and, since this rule -holds good throughout, every one of his acts bears the same negative -stamp. Now, it is by means of this stamp that he is able to identify -the character of the "German culture," which is his own patent; and -all things that do not bear it are so many enemies and obstacles drawn -up against him. In the presence of these arrayed forces the -Culture-Philistine either does no more than ward off the blows, or -else he denies, holds his tongue, stops his ears, and refuses to face -facts. He is a negative creature—even in his hatred and animosity. -Nobody, however, is more disliked by him than the man who regards him -as a Philistine, and tells him what he is—namely, the barrier in the -way of all powerful men and creators, the labyrinth for all who doubt -and go astray, the swamp for all the weak and the weary, the fetters -of those who would run towards lofty goals, the poisonous mist that -chokes all germinating hopes, the scorching sand to all those German -thinkers who seek for, and thirst after, a new life. For the mind of -Germany is seeking; and ye hate it because it is seeking, and because -it will not accept your word, when ye declare that ye have found what -it is seeking. How could it have been possible for a type like that of -the Culture-Philistine to develop? and even granting its development, -how was it able to rise to the powerful position of supreme judge -concerning all questions of German culture? How could this have been -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>possible, seeing that a whole procession of grand and heroic figures -has already filed past us, whose every movement, the expression of -whose every feature, whose questioning voice and burning eye betrayed -the one fact, <i>that they were seekers</i>, and that they sought that which -the Culture-Philistine had long fancied he had found—to wit, a -genuine original German culture? Is there a soil—thus they seemed to -ask—a soil that is pure enough, unhandselled enough, of sufficient -virgin sanctity, to allow the mind of Germany to build its house upon -it? Questioning thus, they wandered through the wilderness, and the -woods of wretched ages and narrow conditions, and as seekers they -disappeared from our vision; one of them, at an advanced age, was even -able to say, in the name of all: "For half a century my life has been -hard and bitter enough; I have allowed myself no rest, but have ever -striven, sought and done, to the best and to the utmost of my -ability."</p> - -<p>What does our Culture-Philistinism say of these seekers? It regards -them simply as discoverers, and seems to forget that they themselves -only claimed to be seekers. We have our culture, say her sons; for -have we not our "classics"? Not only is the foundation there, but the -building already stands upon it—we ourselves constitute that -building. And, so saying, the Philistine raises his hand to his brow.</p> - -<p>But, in order to be able thus to misjudge, and thus to grant -left-handed veneration to our classics, people must have ceased to -know them. This, generally speaking, is precisely what has happened. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>For, otherwise, one ought to know that there is only one way of -honouring them, and that is to continue seeking with the same spirit -and with the same courage, and not to weary of the search. But to -foist the doubtful title of "classics" upon them, and to "edify" -oneself from time to time by reading their works, means to yield to -those feeble and selfish emotions which all the paying public may -purchase at concert-halls and theatres. Even the raising of monuments -to their memory, and the christening of feasts and societies with -their names—all these things are but so many ringing cash payments by -means of which the Culture-Philistine discharges his indebtedness to -them, so that in all other respects he may be rid of them, and, above -all, not bound to follow in their wake and prosecute his search -further. For henceforth inquiry is to cease: that is the Philistine -watchword.</p> - -<p>This watchword once had some meaning. In Germany, during the first -decade of the nineteenth century, for instance, when the heyday and -confusion of seeking, experimenting, destroying, promising, surmising, -and hoping was sweeping in currents and cross-currents over the land, -the thinking middle-classes were right in their concern for their own -security. It was then quite right of them to dismiss from their minds -with a shrug of their shoulders the <i>omnium gatherum</i> of fantastic and -language-maiming philosophies, and of rabid special-pleading -historical studies, the carnival of all gods and myths, and the -poetical affectations and fooleries which a drunken spirit may be -responsible for. In this respect they were quite <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>right; for the -Philistine has not even the privilege of licence. With the cunning -proper to base natures, however, he availed himself of the -opportunity, in order to throw suspicion even upon the seeking spirit, -and to invite people to join in the more comfortable pastime of -finding. His eye opened to the joy of Philistinism; he saved himself -from wild experimenting by clinging to the idyllic, and opposed the -restless creative spirit that animates the artist, by means of a -certain smug ease—the ease of self-conscious narrowness, -tranquillity, and self-sufficiency. His tapering finger pointed, -without any affectation of modesty, to all the hidden and intimate -incidents of his life, to the many touching and ingenuous joys which -sprang into existence in the wretched depths of his uncultivated -existence, and which modestly blossomed forth on the bog-land of -Philistinism.</p> - -<p>There were, naturally, a few gifted narrators who, with a nice touch, -drew vivid pictures of the happiness, the prosaic simplicity, the -bucolic robustness, and all the well-being which floods the quarters -of children, scholars, and peasants. With picture-books of this class -in their hands, these smug ones now once and for all sought to escape -from the yoke of these dubious classics and the command which they -contained—to seek further and to find. They only started the notion -of an epigone-age in order to secure peace for themselves, and to be -able to reject all the efforts of disturbing innovators summarily as -the work of epigones. With the view of ensuring their own -tranquillity, these smug ones even appropriated history, and sought to -transform <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>all sciences that threatened to disturb their wretched ease -into branches of history—more particularly philosophy and classical -philology. Through historical consciousness, they saved themselves -from enthusiasm; for, in opposition to Goethe, it was maintained that -history would no longer kindle enthusiasm. No, in their desire to -acquire an historical grasp of everything, stultification became the -sole aim of these philosophical admirers of "<i>nil admirari</i>." While -professing to hate every form of fanaticism and intolerance, what they -really hated, at bottom, was the dominating genius and the tyranny of -the real claims of culture. They therefore concentrated and utilised -all their forces in those quarters where a fresh and vigorous movement -was to be expected, and then paralysed, stupefied, and tore it to -shreds. In this way, a philosophy which veiled the Philistine -confessions of its founder beneath neat twists and flourishes of -language proceeded further to discover a formula for the canonisation -of the commonplace. It expatiated upon the rationalism of all reality, -and thus ingratiated itself with the Culture-Philistine, who also -loves neat twists and flourishes, and who, above all, considers -himself real, and regards his reality as the standard of reason for -the world. From this time forward he began to allow every one, and -even himself, to reflect, to investigate, to æstheticise, and, more -particularly, to make poetry, music, and even pictures—not to -mention systems philosophy; provided, of course, that everything were -done according to the old pattern, and that no assault were made upon -the "reasonable" and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>the "real"—that is to say, upon the Philistine. -The latter really does not at all mind giving himself up, from time to -time, to the delightful and daring transgressions of art or of -sceptical historical studies, and he does not underestimate the charm -of such recreations and entertainments; but he strictly separates "the -earnestness of life" (under which term he understands his calling, his -business, and his wife and child) from such trivialities, and among -the latter he includes all things which have any relation to culture. -Therefore, woe to the art that takes itself seriously, that has a -notion of what it may exact, and that dares to endanger his income, -his business, and his habits! Upon such an art he turns his back, as -though it were something dissolute; and, affecting the attitude of a -guardian of chastity, he cautions every unprotected virtue on no -account to look.</p> - -<p>Being such an adept at cautioning people, he is always grateful to any -artist who heeds him and listens to caution. He then assures his -protégé that things are to be made more easy for him; that, as a -kindred spirit, he will no longer be expected to make sublime -masterpieces, but that his work must be one of two kinds—either the -imitation of reality to the point of simian mimicry, in idylls or -gentle and humorous satires, or the free copying of the best-known and -most famous classical works, albeit with shamefast concessions to the -taste of the age. For, although he may only be able to appreciate -slavish copying or accurate portraiture of the present, still he knows -that the latter will but glorify him, and increase <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>the well-being of -"reality"; while the former, far from doing him any harm, rather helps -to establish his reputation as a classical judge of taste, and is not -otherwise troublesome; for he has, once and for all, come to terms -with the classics. Finally, he discovers the general and effective -formula "Health" for his habits, methods of observation, judgments, -and the objects of his patronage; while he dismisses the importunate -disturber of the peace with the epithets "hysterical" and "morbid." It -is thus that David Strauss—a genuine example of the <i>satisfait</i> in -regard to our scholastic institutions, and a typical Philistine—it is -thus that he speaks of "the philosophy of Schopenhauer" as being -"thoroughly intellectual, yet often unhealthy and unprofitable." It is -indeed a deplorable fact that intellect should show such a decided -preference for the "unhealthy" and the "unprofitable"; and even the -Philistine, if he be true to himself, will admit that, in regard to -the philosophies which men of his stamp produce, he is conscious of a -frequent lack of intellectuality, although of course they are always -thoroughly healthy and profitable.</p> - -<p>Now and again, the Philistines, provided they are by themselves, -indulge in a bottle of wine, and then they grow reminiscent, and speak -of the great deeds of the war, honestly and ingenuously. On such -occasions it often happens that a great deal comes to light which -would otherwise have been most stead-fastly concealed, and one of them -may even be heard to blurt out the most precious secrets of the whole -brotherhood. Indeed, a lapse of this sort occurred but a short while -ago, to a well-known <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>æsthete of the Hegelian school of reasoning. It -must, however, be admitted that the provocation thereto was of an -unusual character. A company of Philistines were feasting together, in -celebration of the memory of a genuine anti-Philistine—one who, -moreover, had been, in the strictest sense of the words, wrecked by -Philistinism. This man was Hölderlin, and the aforementioned æsthete -was therefore justified, under the circumstances, in speaking of the -tragic souls who had foundered on "reality"—reality being understood, -here, to mean Philistine reason. But the "reality" is now different, -and it might well be asked whether Hölderlin would be able to find his -way at all in the present great age. "I doubt," says Dr. Vischer, -"whether his delicate soul could have borne all the roughness which is -inseparable from war, and whether it had survived the amount of -perversity which, since the war, we now see flourishing in every -quarter. Perhaps he would have succumbed to despair. His was one of -the unarmed souls; he was the Werther of Greece, a hopeless lover; his -life was full of softness and yearning, but there was strength and -substance in his will, and in his style, greatness, riches and life; -here and there it is even reminiscent of Æschylus. His spirit, -however, lacked hardness. He lacked the weapon humour; he could not -grant that one may be a Philistine and still be no barbarian." Not the -sugary condolence of the post-prandial speaker, but this last sentence -concerns us. Yes, it is admitted that one is a Philistine; but, a -barbarian?—No, not at any price! Unfortunately, poor Hölderlin could -not make such <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>fine distinctions. If one reads the reverse of -civilisation, or perhaps sea-pirating, or cannibalism, into the word -"barbarian," then the distinction is justifiable enough. But what the -æsthete obviously wishes to prove to us is, that we may be -Philistines and at the same time men of culture. Therein lies the -humour which poor Hölderlin lacked and the need of which ultimately -wrecked him.<a name="FNanchor_1_2" id="FNanchor_1_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p> - -<p>On this occasion a second admission was made by the speaker: "It is -not always strength of will, but weakness, which makes us superior to -those tragic souls which are so passionately responsive to the -attractions of beauty," or words to this effect. And this was said in -the name of the assembled "We"; that is to say, the "superiors," the -"superiors through weakness." Let us content ourselves with these -admissions. We are now in possession of information concerning two -matters from one of the initiated: first, that these "We" stand beyond -the passion for beauty; secondly, that their position was reached by -means of weakness. In less confidential moments, however, it was just -this weakness which masqueraded in the guise of a much more beautiful -name: it was the famous "healthiness" of the Culture-Philistine. In -view of this very recent restatement of the case, however, it would be -as well not to speak of them any longer as the "healthy ones," but as -the "weakly," or, still better, as the "feeble." Oh, if <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>only these -feeble ones were not in power! How is it that they concern themselves -at all about what we call them! They are the rulers, and he is a poor -ruler who cannot endure to be called by a nickname. Yes, if one only -have power, one soon learns to poke fun—even at oneself. It cannot -matter so very much, therefore, even if one do give oneself away; for -what could not the purple mantle of triumph conceal? The strength of -the Culture-Philistine steps into the broad light of day when he -acknowledges his weakness; and the more he acknowledges it—the more -cynically he acknowledges it—the more completely he betrays his -consciousness of his own importance and superiority. We are living in -a period of cynical Philistine confessions. Just as Friedrich Vischer -gave us his in a word, so has David Strauss handed us his in a book; -and both that word and that book are cynical.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_2" id="Footnote_1_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Nietzsche's allusion to Hölderlin here is full of tragic -significance; for, like Hölderlin, he too was ultimately wrecked and -driven insane by the Philistinism of his age.—Translator's note.</p></div> - - -<h4>III.</h4> - - -<p>Concerning Culture-Philistinism, David Strauss makes a double -confession, by word and by deed; that is to say, by the word of the -confessor, and the act of the writer. His book entitled <i>The Old Faith -and the New</i> is, first in regard to its contents, and secondly in -regard to its being a book and a literary production, an uninterrupted -confession; while, in the very fact that he allows himself to write -confessions at all about his faith, there already lies a confession. -Presumably, every one seems to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>have the right to compile an -autobiography after his fortieth year; for the humblest amongst us may -have experienced things, and may have seen them at such close -quarters, that the recording of them may prove of use and value to the -thinker. But to write a confession of one's faith cannot but be -regarded as a thousand times more pretentious, since it takes for -granted that the writer attaches worth, not only to the experiences -and investigations of his life, but also to his beliefs. Now, what the -nice thinker will require to know, above all else, is the kind of -faith which happens to be compatible with natures of the Straussian -order, and what it is they have "half dreamily conjured up" (p. 10) -concerning matters of which those alone have the right to speak who -are acquainted with them at first hand. Whoever would have desired to -possess the confessions, say, of a Ranke or a Mommsen? And these men -were scholars and historians of a very different stamp from David -Strauss. If, however, they had ever ventured to interest us in their -faith instead of in their scientific investigations, we should have -felt that they were overstepping their limits in a most irritating -fashion. Yet Strauss does this when he discusses his faith. Nobody -wants to know anything about it, save, perhaps, a few bigoted -opponents of the Straussian doctrines, who, suspecting, as they do, a -substratum of satanic principles beneath these doctrines, hope that he -may compromise his learned utterances by revealing the nature of those -principles. These clumsy creatures may, perhaps, have found what they -sought in the last book; but we, who had no <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>occasion to suspect a -satanic substratum, discovered nothing of the sort, and would have -felt rather pleased than not had we been able to discern even a dash -of the diabolical in any part of the volume. But surely no evil spirit -could speak as Strauss speaks of his new faith. In fact, spirit in -general seems to be altogether foreign to the book—more particularly -the spirit of genius. Only those whom Strauss designates as his "We," -speak as he does, and then, when they expatiate upon their faith to -us, they bore us even more than when they relate their dreams; be they -"scholars, artists, military men, civil employés, merchants, or landed -proprietors; come they in their thousands, and not the worst people in -the land either!" If they do not wish to remain the peaceful ones in -town or county, but threaten to wax noisy, then let not the din of -their <i>unisono</i> deceive us concerning the poverty and vulgarity of the -melody they sing. How can it dispose us more favourably towards a -profession of faith to hear that it is approved by a crowd, when it is -of such an order that if any individual of that crowd attempted to -make it known to us, we should not only fail to hear him out, but -should interrupt him with a yawn? If thou sharest such a belief, we -should say unto him, in Heaven's name, keep it to thyself! Maybe, in -the past, some few harmless types looked for the thinker in David -Strauss; now they have discovered the "believer" in him, and are -disappointed. Had he kept silent, he would have remained, for these, -at least, the philosopher; whereas, now, no one regards him as such. -He no longer craved <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>the honours of the thinker, however; all he wanted -to be was a new believer, and he is proud of his new belief. In making -a written declaration of it, he fancied he was writing the catechism -of "modern thought," and building the "broad highway of the world's -future." Indeed, our Philistines have ceased to be faint-hearted and -bashful, and have acquired almost cynical assurance. There was a time, -long, long ago, when the Philistine was only tolerated as something -that did not speak, and about which no one spoke; then a period ensued -during which his roughness was smoothed, during which he was found -amusing, and people talked about him. Under this treatment he -gradually became a prig, rejoiced with all his heart over his rough -places and his wrongheaded and candid singularities, and began to -talk, on his own account, after the style of Riehl's music for the -home.</p> - -<p>"But what do I see? Is it a shadow? Is it reality? How long and broad -my poodle grows!"</p> - -<p>For now he is already rolling like a hippopotamus along "the broad -highway of the world's future," and his growling and barking have -become transformed into the proud incantations of a religious founder. -And is it your own sweet wish, Great Master, to found the religion of -the future? "The times seem to us not yet ripe (p. 7). It does not -occur to us to wish to destroy a church." But why not, Great Master? -One but needs the ability. Besides, to speak quite openly in the -latter, you yourself are convinced that you Possess this ability. Look -at the last page of your book. There you actually state, forsooth, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>that your new way "alone is the future highway of the world, which now -only requires partial completion, and especially general use, in order -also to become easy and pleasant."</p> - -<p>Make no further denials, then. The religious founder is unmasked, the -convenient and agreeable highway leading to the Straussian Paradise is -built. It is only the coach in which you wish to convey us that does -not altogether satisfy you, unpretentious man that you are! You tell -us in your concluding remarks: "Nor will I pretend that the coach to -which my esteemed readers have been obliged to trust themselves with -me fulfils every requirement,... all through one is much jolted" (p. -438). Ah! you are casting about for a compliment, you gallant old -religious founder! But let us be straightforward with you. If your -reader so regulates the perusal of the 368 pages of your religious -catechism as to read only one page a day—that is to say, if he take -it in the smallest possible doses-then, perhaps, we should be able to -believe that he might suffer some evil effect from the book—if only -as the outcome of his vexation when the results he expected fail to -make themselves felt. Gulped down more heartily, however, and as much -as possible being taken at each draught, according to the prescription -to be recommended in the case of all modern books, the drink can work -no mischief; and, after taking it, the reader will not necessarily be -either out of sorts or out of temper, but rather merry and -well-disposed, as though nothing had happened; as though no religion -had been assailed, no world's <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>highway been built, and no profession of -faith been made. And I do indeed call this a result! The doctor, the -drug, and the disease—everything forgotten! And the joyous laughter! -The continual provocation to hilarity! You are to be envied, Sir; for -you have founded the most attractive of all religions—one whose -followers do honour to its founder by laughing at him.</p> - - - -<h4>IV.</h4> - - -<p>The Philistine as founder of the religion of the future—that is the -new belief in its most emphatic form of expression. The Philistine -becomes a dreamer—that is the unheard-of occurrence which -distinguishes the German nation of to-day. But for the present, in any -case, let us maintain an attitude of caution towards this fantastic -exaltation. For does not David Strauss himself advise us to exercise -such caution, in the following profound passage, the general tone of -which leads us to think of the Founder of Christianity rather than of -our particular author? (p. 92): "We know there have been noble -enthusiasts—enthusiasts of genius; the influence of an enthusiast can -rouse, exalt, and produce prolonged historic effects; but we do not -wish to choose him as the guide of our life. He will be sure to -mislead us, if we do not subject his influence to the control of -reason." But we know something more: we know that there are -enthusiasts who are not intellectual, who do not rouse or exalt, and -who, nevertheless, not only expect to be the guides of our lives, but, -as such, to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>exercise a very lasting historical influence into the -bargain, and to rule the future;—all the more reason why we should -place their influence under the control of reason. Lichtenberg even -said: "There are enthusiasts quite devoid of ability, and these are -really dangerous people." In the first place, as regards the -above-mentioned control of reason, we should like to have candid -answers to the three following questions: First, how does the new -believer picture his heaven? Secondly, how far does the courage lent -him by the new faith extend? And, thirdly, how does he write his -books? Strauss the Confessor must answer the first and second -questions; Strauss the Writer must answer the third.</p> - -<p>The heaven of the new believer must, perforce, be a heaven upon earth; -for the Christian "prospect of an immortal life in heaven," together -with the other consolations, "must irretrievably vanish" for him who -has but "one foot" on the Straussian platform. The way in which a -religion represents its heaven is significant, and if it be true that -Christianity knows no other heavenly occupations than singing and -making music, the prospect of the Philistine, <i>à la</i> Strauss, is truly -not a very comforting one. In the book of confessions, however, there -is a page which treats of Paradise (p. 342). Happiest of Philistines, -unroll this parchment scroll before anything else, and the whole of -heaven will seem to clamber down to thee! "We would but indicate how -we act, how we have acted these many years. Besides our -profession—for we are members of the most various professions, and by -no means exclusively consist of scholars or artists, but of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>military -men and civil employés, of merchants and landed proprietors;... and -again, as I have said already, there are not a few of us, but many -thousands, and not the worst people in the country;—besides our -profession, then, I say, we are eagerly accessible to all the higher -interests of humanity; we have taken a vivid interest, during late -years, and each after his manner has participated in the great -national war, and the reconstruction of the German State; and we have -been profoundly exalted by the turn events have taken, as unexpected -as glorious, for our much tried nation. To the end of forming just -conclusions in these things, we study history, which has now been made -easy, even to the unlearned, by a series of attractively and popularly -written works; at the same time, we endeavour to enlarge our knowledge -of the natural sciences, where also there is no lack of sources of -information; and lastly, in the writings of our great poets, in the -performances of our great musicians, we find a stimulus for the -intellect and heart, for wit and imagination, which leaves nothing to -be desired. Thus we live, and hold on our way in joy."</p> - -<p>"Here is our man!" cries the Philistine exultingly, who reads this: -"for this is exactly how we live; it is indeed our daily life."<a name="FNanchor_2_3" id="FNanchor_2_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> -And how perfectly he understands the euphemism! When, for example, he -refers to the historical studies by means of which we help ourselves -in forming just conclusions regarding the political situation, what -can he be thinking of, if it be not our newspaper-reading? <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>When he -speaks of the active part we take in the reconstruction of the German -State, he surely has only our daily visits to the beer-garden in his -mind; and is not a walk in the Zoological Gardens implied by 'the -sources of information through which we endeavour to enlarge our -knowledge of the natural sciences'? Finally, the theatres and -concert-halls are referred to as places from which we take home 'a -stimulus for wit and imagination which leaves nothing to be -desired.'—With what dignity and wit he describes even the most -suspicious of our doings! Here indeed is our man; for his heaven is -our heaven!"</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_3" id="Footnote_2_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_3"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> This alludes to a German student-song.</p></div> - -<p>Thus cries the Philistine; and if we are not quite so satisfied as he, -it is merely owing to the fact that we wanted to know more. Scaliger -used to say: "What does it matter to us whether Montaigne drank red or -white wine?" But, in this more important case, how greatly ought we to -value definite particulars of this sort! If we could but learn how -many pipes the Philistine smokes daily, according to the prescriptions -of the new faith, and whether it is the <i>Spener</i> or the <i>National Gazette</i> -that appeals to him over his coffee! But our curiosity is not -satisfied. With regard to one point only do we receive more exhaustive -information, and fortunately this point relates to the heaven in -heaven—the private little art-rooms which will be consecrated to the -use of great poets and musicians, and to which the Philistine will go -to edify himself; in which, moreover, according to his own showing, he -will even get "all his stains removed and wiped away" (p. 433); so -that we are led to regard these <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>private little art-rooms as a kind of -bath-rooms. "But this is only effected for some fleeting moments; it -happens and counts only in the realms of phantasy; as soon as we -return to rude reality, and the cramping confines of actual life, we -are again on all sides assailed by the old cares,"—thus our Master -sighs. Let us, however, avail ourselves of the fleeting moments during -which we remain in those little rooms; there is just sufficient time -to get a glimpse of the apotheosis of the Philistine—that is to say, -the Philistine whose stains have been removed and wiped away, and who -is now an absolutely pure sample of his type. In truth, the -opportunity we have here may prove instructive: let no one who happens -to have fallen a victim to the confession-book lay it aside before -having read the two appendices, "Of our Great Poets" and "Of our Great -Musicians." Here the rainbow of the new brotherhood is set, and he who -can find no pleasure in it "for such an one there is no help," as -Strauss says on another occasion; and, as he might well say here, "he -is not yet ripe for our point of view." For are we not in the heaven -of heavens? The enthusiastic explorer undertakes to lead us about, and -begs us to excuse him if, in the excess of his joy at all the beauties -to be seen, he should by any chance be tempted to talk too much. "If I -should, perhaps, become more garrulous than may seem warranted in this -place, let the reader be indulgent to me; for out of the abundance of -the heart the mouth speaketh. Let him only be assured that what he is -now about to read does not consist of older materials, which I <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>take -the opportunity of inserting here, but that these remarks have been -written for their present place and purpose" (pp. 345-46). This -confession surprises us somewhat for the moment. What can it matter to -us whether or not the little chapters were freshly written? As if it -were a matter of writing! Between ourselves, I should have been glad -if they had been written a quarter of a century earlier; then, at -least, I should have understood why the thoughts seem to be so -bleached, and why they are so redolent of resuscitated antiquities. -But that a thing should have been written in 1872 and already smell of -decay in 1872 strikes me as suspicious. Let us imagine some one's -falling asleep while reading these chapters—what would he most -probably dream about? A friend answered this question for me, because -he happened to have had the experience himself. He dreamt of a -wax-work show. The classical writers stood there, elegantly -represented in wax and beads. Their arms and eyes moved, and a screw -inside them creaked an accompaniment to their movements. He saw -something gruesome among them—a misshapen figure, decked with tapes -and jaundiced paper, out of whose mouth a ticket hung, on which -"Lessing" was written. My friend went close up to it and learned the -worst: it was the Homeric Chimera; in front it was Strauss, behind it -was Gervinus, and in the middle Chimera. The <i>tout-ensemble</i> was -Lessing. This discovery caused him to shriek with terror: he waked, -and read no more. In sooth, Great Master, why have you written such -fusty little chapters?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>We do, indeed, learn something new from them; for instance, that -Gervinus made it known to the world how and why Goethe was no dramatic -genius; that, in the second part of Faust, he had only produced a -world of phantoms and of symbols; that Wallenstein is a Macbeth as -well as a Hamlet; that the Straussian reader extracts the short -stories out of the <i>Wanderjahre</i> "much as naughty children pick the -raisins and almonds out of a tough plum-cake"; that no complete effect -can be produced on the stage without the forcible element, and that -Schiller emerged from Kant as from a cold-water cure. All this is -certainly new and striking; but, even so, it does not strike us with -wonder, and so sure as it is new, it will never grow old, for it never -was young; it was senile at birth. What extraordinary ideas seem to -occur to these Blessed Ones, after the New Style, in their æsthetic -heaven! And why can they not manage to forget a few of them, more -particularly when they are of that unæsthetic, earthly, and ephemeral -order to which the scholarly thoughts of Gervinus belong, and when -they so obviously bear the stamp of puerility? But it almost seems as -though the modest greatness of a Strauss and the vain insignificance -of a Gervinus were only too well able to harmonise: then long live all -those Blessed Ones! may we, the rejected, also live long, if this -unchallenged judge of art continues any longer to teach his borrowed -enthusiasm, and the gallop of that hired steed of which the honest -Grillparzer speaks with such delightful clearness, until the whole of -heaven rings beneath the hoof of that galumphing enthusiasm. Then, at -least, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>things will be livelier and noisier than they are at the -present moment, in which the carpet-slippered rapture of our heavenly -leader and the lukewarm eloquence of his lips only succeed in the end -in making us sick and tired. I should like to know how a Hallelujah -sung by Strauss would sound: I believe one would have to listen very -carefully, lest it should seem no more than a courteous apology or a -lisped compliment. Apropos of this, I might adduce an instructive and -somewhat forbidding example. Strauss strongly resented the action of -one of his opponents who happened to refer to his reverence for -Lessing. The unfortunate man had misunderstood;—true, Strauss did -declare that one must be of a very obtuse mind not to recognise that -the simple words of paragraph 86 come from the writer's heart. Now, I -do not question this warmth in the very least; on the contrary, the -fact that Strauss fosters these feelings towards Lessing has always -excited my suspicion; I find the same warmth for Lessing raised almost -to heat in Gervinus—yea, on the whole, no great German writer is so -popular among little German writers as Lessing is; but for all that, -they deserve no thanks for their predilection; for what is it, in -sooth, that they praise in Lessing? At one moment it is his -catholicity—the fact that he was critic and poet, archæologist and -philosopher, dramatist and theologian. Anon, "it is the unity in him -of the writer and the man, of the head and the heart." The last -quality, as a rule, is just as characteristic of the great writer as -of the little one; as a rule, a narrow head agrees only too <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>fatally -with a narrow heart. And as to the catholicity; this is no -distinction, more especially when, as in Lessing's case, it was a dire -necessity. What astonishes one in regard to Lessing-enthusiasts is -rather that they have no conception of the devouring necessity which -drove him on through life and to this catholicity; no feeling for the -fact that such a man is too prone to consume himself rapidly, like a -flame; nor any indignation at the thought that the vulgar narrowness -and pusillanimity of his whole environment, especially of his learned -contemporaries, so saddened, tormented, and stifled the tender and -ardent creature that he was, that the very universality for which he -is praised should give rise to feelings of the deepest compassion. -"Have pity on the exceptional man!" Goethe cries to us; "for it was -his lot to live in such a wretched age that his life was one long -polemical effort." How can ye, my worthy Philistines, think of Lessing -without shame? He who was ruined precisely on account of your -stupidity, while struggling with your ludicrous fetiches and idols, -with the defects of your theatres, scholars, and theologists, without -once daring to attempt that eternal flight for which he had been born. -And what are your feelings when ye think of Winckelman, who, in order -to turn his eyes from your grotesque puerilities, went begging to the -Jesuits for help, and whose ignominious conversion dishonours not him, -but you? Dare ye mention Schiller's name without blushing? Look at his -portrait. See the flashing eyes that glance contemptuously over your -heads, the deadly red <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>cheek—do these things mean nothing to you? In -him ye had such a magnificent and divine toy that ye shattered it. -Suppose, for a moment, it had been possible to deprive this harassed -and hunted life of Goethe's friendship, ye would then have been -responsible for its still earlier end. Ye have had no finger in any one -of the life-works of your great geniuses, and yet ye would make a -dogma to the effect that no one is to be helped in the future. But for -every one of them, ye were "the resistance of the obtuse world," which -Goethe calls by its name in his epilogue to the Bell; for all of them -ye were the grumbling imbeciles, or the envious bigots, or the -malicious egoists: in spite of you each of them created his works, -against you each directed his attacks, and thanks to you each -prematurely sank, while his work was still unfinished, broken and -bewildered by the stress of the battle. And now ye presume that ye are -going to be permitted, <i>tamquam re bene gesta</i>, to praise such men! and -with words which leave no one in any doubt as to whom ye have in your -minds when ye utter your encomiums, which therefore "spring forth with -such hearty warmth" that one must be blind not to see to whom ye are -really bowing. Even Goethe in his day had to cry: "Upon my honour, we -are in need of a Lessing, and woe unto all vain masters and to the -whole æsthetic kingdom of heaven, when the young tiger, whose -restless strength will be visible in his every distended muscle and -his every glance, shall sally forth to seek his prey!"</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p> -<h4>V.</h4> - - -<p>How clever it was of my friend to read no further, once he had been -enlightened (thanks to that chimerical vision) concerning the -Straussian Lessing and Strauss himself. We, however, read on further, -and even craved admission of the Doorkeeper of the New Faith to the -sanctum of music. The Master threw the door open for us, accompanied -us, and began quoting certain names, until, at last, overcome with -mistrust, we stood still and looked at him. Was it possible that we -were the victims of the same hallucination as that to which our friend -had been subjected in his dream? The musicians to whom Strauss -referred seemed to us to be wrongly designated as long as he spoke -about them, and we began to think that the talk must certainly be -about somebody else, even admitting that it did not relate to -incongruous phantoms. When, for instance, he mentioned Haydn with that -same warmth which made us so suspicious when he praised Lessing, and -when he posed as the epopt and priest of a mysterious Haydn cult; -when, in a discussion upon quartette-music, if you please, he even -likened Haydn to a "good unpretending soup" and Beethoven to -"sweetmeats" (p. 432); then, to our minds, one thing, and one thing -alone, became certain—namely, that his Sweetmeat-Beethoven is not our -Beethoven, and his Soup-Haydn is not our Haydn. The Master was -moreover of the opinion that our orchestra is too good to perform -Haydn, and that <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>only the most unpretentious amateurs can do justice to -that music—a further proof that he was referring to some other artist -and some other work, possibly to Riehl's music for the home.</p> - -<p>But whoever can this Sweetmeat-Beethoven of Strauss's be? He is said -to have composed nine symphonies, of which the <i>Pastoral</i> is "the least -remarkable"; we are told that "each time in composing the third, he -seemed impelled to exceed his bounds, and depart on an adventurous -quest," from which we might infer that we are here concerned with a -sort of double monster, half horse and half cavalier. With regard to a -certain <i>Eroica</i>, this Centaur is very hard pressed, because he did not -succeed in making it clear "whether it is a question of a conflict on -the open field or in the deep heart of man." In the Pastoral there is -said to be "a furiously raging storm," for which it is "almost too -insignificant" to interrupt a dance of country-folk, and which, owing -to "its arbitrary connection with a trivial motive," as Strauss so -adroitly and correctly puts it, renders this symphony "the least -remarkable." A more drastic expression appears to have occurred to the -Master; but he prefers to speak here, as he says, "with becoming -modesty." But no, for once our Master is wrong; in this case he is -really a little too modest. Who, indeed, will enlighten us concerning -this Sweetmeat-Beethoven, if not Strauss himself—the only person who -seems to know anything about him? But, immediately below, a strong -judgment is uttered with becoming non-modesty, and precisely in regard -to the Ninth Symphony. It is said, for instance, that this <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>symphony -"is naturally the favourite of a prevalent taste, which in art, and -music especially, mistakes the grotesque for the genial, and the -formless for the sublime" (p. 428). It is true that a critic as severe -as Gervinus was gave this work a hearty welcome, because it happened -to confirm one of his doctrines; but Strauss is "far from going to -these problematic productions" in search of the merits of his -Beethoven. "It is a pity," cries our Master, with a convulsive sigh, -"that one is compelled, by such reservations, to mar one's enjoyment -of Beethoven, as well as the admiration gladly accorded to him." For -our Master is a favourite of the Graces, and these have informed him -that they only accompanied Beethoven part of the way, and that he then -lost sight of them. "This is a defect," he cries, "but can you believe -that it may also appear as an advantage?" "He who is painfully and -breathlessly rolling the musical idea along will seem to be moving the -weightier one, and thus appear to be the stronger" (pp. 423-24). This -is a confession, and not necessarily one concerning Beethoven alone, -but concerning "the classical prose-writer" himself. He, the -celebrated author, is not abandoned by the Graces. From the play of -airy jests—that is to say, Straussian jests—to the heights of -solemn earnestness—that is to say, Straussian earnestness—they -remain stolidly at his elbow. He, the classical prose-writer, slides -his burden along playfully and with a light heart, whereas Beethoven -rolls his painfully and breathlessly. He seems merely to dandle his -load; this is indeed an advantage. But would anybody believe that it -might equally be a sign of something wanting? <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>In any case, only those -could believe this who mistake the grotesque for the genial, and the -formless for the sublime—is not that so, you dandling favourite of -the Graces? We envy no one the edifying moments he may have, either in -the stillness of his little private room or in a new heaven specially -fitted out for him; but of all possible pleasures of this order, that -of Strauss's is surely one of the most wonderful, for he is even -edified by a little holocaust. He calmly throws the sublimest works of -the German nation into the flames, in order to cense his idols with -their smoke. Suppose, for a moment, that by some accident, the Eroica, -the Pastoral, and the Ninth Symphony had fallen into the hands of our -priest of the Graces, and that it had been in his power to suppress -such problematic productions, in order to keep the image of the Master -pure, who doubts but what he would have burned them? And it is -precisely in this way that the Strausses of our time demean -themselves: they only wish to know so much of an artist as is -compatible with the service of their rooms; they know only the -extremes—censing or burning. To all this they are heartily welcome; -the one surprising feature of the whole case is that public opinion, -in matters artistic, should be so feeble, vacillating, and corruptible -as contentedly to allow these exhibitions of indigent Philistinism to -go by without raising an objection; yea, that it does not even possess -sufficient sense of humour to feel tickled at the sight of an -unæsthetic little master's sitting in judgment upon Beethoven. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>As to -Mozart, what Aristotle says of Plato ought really to be applied here: -"Insignificant people ought not to be permitted even to praise him." -In this respect, however, all shame has vanished—from the public as -well as from the Master's mind: he is allowed, not merely to cross -himself before the greatest and purest creations of German genius, as -though he had perceived something godless and immoral in them, but -people actually rejoice over his candid confessions and admission of -sins—more particularly as he makes no mention of his own, but only of -those which great men are said to have committed. Oh, if only our -Master be in the right! his readers sometimes think, when attacked by -a paroxysm of doubt; he himself, however, stands there, smiling and -convinced, perorating, condemning, blessing, raising his hat to -himself, and is at any minute capable of saying what the Duchesse -Delaforte said to Madame de Staël, to wit: "My dear, I must confess -that I find no one but myself invariably right."</p> - - - -<h4>VI.</h4> - - -<p>A corpse is a pleasant thought for a worm, and a worm is a dreadful -thought for every living creature. Worms fancy their kingdom of heaven -in a fat body; professors of philosophy seek theirs in rummaging among -Schopenhauer's entrails, and as long as rodents exist, there will -exist a heaven for rodents. In this, we have the answer to our first -question: How does the believer in the new faith picture his heaven? -The Straussian Philistine <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>harbours in the works of our great poets and -musicians like a parasitic worm whose life is destruction, whose -admiration is devouring, and whose worship is digesting.</p> - -<p>Now, however, our second question must be answered: How far does the -courage lent to its adherents by this new faith extend? Even this -question would already have been answered, if courage and -pretentiousness had been one; for then Strauss would not be lacking -even in the just and veritable courage of a Mameluke. At all events, -the "becoming modesty" of which Strauss speaks in the above-mentioned -passage, where he is referring to Beethoven, can only be a stylistic -and not a moral manner of speech. Strauss has his full share of the -temerity to which every successful hero assumes the right: all flowers -grow only for him—the conqueror; and he praises the sun because it -shines in at his window just at the right time. He does not even spare -the venerable old universe in his eulogies—as though it were only now -and henceforward sufficiently sanctified by praise to revolve around -the central monad David Strauss. The universe, he is happy to inform -us, is, it is true, a machine with jagged iron wheels, stamping and -hammering ponderously, but: "We do not only find the revolution of -pitiless wheels in our world-machine, but also the shedding of -soothing oil" (p. 435). The universe, provided it submit to Strauss's -encomiums, is not likely to overflow with gratitude towards this -master of weird metaphors, who was unable to discover better similes -in its praise. But what is the oil <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>called which trickles down upon the -hammers and stampers? And how would it console a workman who chanced -to get one of his limbs caught in the mechanism to know that this oil -was trickling over him? Passing over this simile as bad, let us turn -our attention to another of Strauss's artifices, whereby he tries to -ascertain how he feels disposed towards the universe; this question of -Marguerite's, "He loves me—loves me not—loves me?" hanging on his -lips the while. Now, although Strauss is not telling flower-petals or -the buttons on his waistcoat, still what he does is not less harmless, -despite the fact that it needs perhaps a little more courage. Strauss -wishes to make certain whether his feeling for the "All" is either -paralysed or withered, and he pricks himself; for he knows that one -can prick a limb that is either paralysed or withered without causing -any pain. As a matter of fact, he does not really prick himself, but -selects another more violent method, which he describes thus: "We open -Schopenhauer, who takes every occasion of slapping our idea in the -face" (p. 167). Now, as an idea—even that of Strauss's concerning the -universe—has no face, if there be any face in the question at all it -must be that of the idealist, and the procedure may be subdivided into -the following separate actions:—Strauss, in any case, throws -Schopenhauer open, whereupon the latter slaps Strauss in the face. -Strauss then reacts religiously; that is to say, he again begins to -belabour Schopenhauer, to abuse him, to speak of absurdities, -blasphemies, dissipations, and even to allege that Schopenhauer could -not have been in his right <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>senses. Result of the dispute: "We demand -the same piety for our Cosmos that the devout of old demanded for his -God"; or, briefly, "He loves me." Our favourite of the Graces makes -his life a hard one, but he is as brave as a Mameluke, and fears -neither the Devil nor Schopenhauer. How much "soothing oil" must he -use if such incidents are of frequent occurrence!</p> - -<p>On the other hand, we readily understand Strauss's gratitude to this -tickling, pricking, and slapping Schopenhauer; hence we are not so -very much surprised when we find him expressing himself in the -following kind way about him: "We need only turn over the leaves of -Arthur Schopenhauer's works (although we shall on many other accounts -do well not only to glance over but to study them), etc." (p. 166). -Now, to whom does this captain of Philistines address these words? To -him who has clearly never even studied Schopenhauer, the latter might -well have retorted, "This is an author who does not even deserve to be -scanned, much less to be studied." Obviously, he gulped Schopenhauer -down "the wrong way," and this hoarse coughing is merely his attempt -to clear his throat. But, in order to fill the measure of his -ingenuous encomiums, Strauss even arrogates to himself the right of -commending old Kant: he speaks of the latter's <i>General History of the -Heavens of the Year 1755</i> as of "a work which has always appeared to me -not less important than his later <i>Critique of Pure Reason</i>. If in the -latter we admire the depth of insight, the breadth of observation -strikes us in the former. If in the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>latter we can trace the old man's -anxiety to secure even a limited possession of knowledge—so it be but -on a firm basis—in the former we encounter the mature man, full of -the daring of the discoverer and conqueror in the realm of thought." -This judgment of Strauss's concerning Kant did not strike me as being -more modest than the one concerning Schopenhauer. In the one case, we -have the little captain, who is above all anxious to express even the -most insignificant opinion with certainty, and in the other we have -the famous prose-writer, who, with all the courage of ignorance, -exudes his eulogistic secretions over Kant. It is almost incredible -that Strauss availed himself of nothing in Kant's <i>Critique of Pure -Reason</i> while compiling his Testament of modern ideas, and that he knew -only how to appeal to the coarsest realistic taste must also be -numbered among the more striking characteristics of this new gospel, -the which professes to be but the result of the laborious and -continuous study of history and science, and therefore tacitly -repudiates all connection with philosophy. For the Philistine captain -and his "We," Kantian philosophy does not exist. He does not dream of -the fundamental antinomy of idealism and of the highly relative sense -of all science and reason. And it is precisely reason that ought to -tell him how little it is possible to know of things in themselves. It -is true, however, that people of a certain age cannot possibly -understand Kant, especially when, in their youth, they understood or -fancied they understood that "gigantic mind," Hegel, as Strauss did; -and had <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>moreover concerned themselves with Schleiermacher, who, -according to Strauss, "was gifted with perhaps too much acumen." It -will sound odd to our author when I tell him that, even now, he stands -absolutely dependent upon Hegel and Schleiermacher, and that his -teaching of the Cosmos, his way of regarding things <i>sub specie -biennii</i>, his salaams to the state of affairs now existing in Germany, -and, above all, his shameless Philistine optimism, can only be -explained by an appeal to certain impressions of youth, early habits, -and disorders; for he who has once sickened on Hegel and -Schleiermacher never completely recovers.</p> - -<p>There is one passage in the confession-book where the incurable -optimism referred to above bursts forth with the full joyousness of -holiday spirits (pp. 166-67). "If the universe is a thing which had -better not have existed," says Strauss, "then surely the speculation -of the philosopher, as forming part of this universe, is a speculation -which had better not have speculated. The pessimist philosopher fails -to perceive that he, above all, declares his own thought, which -declares the world to be bad, as bad also; but if the thought which -declares the world to be bad is a bad thought, then it follows -naturally that the world is good. As a rule, optimism may take things -too easily. Schopenhauer's references to the colossal part which -sorrow and evil play in the world are quite in their right place as a -counterpoise; but every true philosophy is necessarily optimistic, as -otherwise she hews down the branch on which she herself is sitting." -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>If this refutation of Schopenhauer is not the same as that to which -Strauss refers somewhere else as "the refutation loudly and jubilantly -acclaimed in higher spheres," then I quite fail to understand the -dramatic phraseology used by him elsewhere to strike an opponent. Here -optimism has for once intentionally simplified her task. But the -master-stroke lay in thus pretending that the refutation of -Schopenhauer was not such a very difficult task after all, and in -playfully wielding the burden in such a manner that the three Graces -attendant on the dandling optimist might constantly be delighted by -his methods. The whole purpose of the deed was to demonstrate this one -truth, that it is quite unnecessary to take a pessimist seriously; the -most vapid sophisms become justified, provided they show that, in -regard to a philosophy as "unhealthy and unprofitable" as -Schopenhauer's, not proofs but quips and sallies alone are suitable. -While perusing such passages, the reader will grasp the full meaning -of Schopenhauer's solemn utterance to the effect that, where optimism -is not merely the idle prattle of those beneath whose flat brows words -and only words are stored, it seemed to him not merely an absurd <i>but a -vicious attitude of mind</i>, and one full of scornful irony towards the -indescribable sufferings of humanity. When a philosopher like Strauss -is able to frame it into a system, it becomes more than a vicious -attitude of mind—it is then an imbecile gospel of comfort for the "I" -or for the "We," and can only provoke indignation.</p> - -<p>Who could read the following psychological <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>avowal, for instance, -without indignation, seeing that it is obviously but an offshoot from -this vicious gospel of comfort?—"Beethoven remarked that he could -never have composed a text like Figaro or Don Juan. <i>Life had not been -so profuse of its snubs to him that he could treat it so gaily, or -deal so lightly with the foibles of men</i>" (p. 430). In order, however, -to adduce the most striking instance of this dissolute vulgarity of -sentiment, let it suffice, here, to observe that Strauss knows no -other means of accounting for the terribly serious negative instinct -and the movement of ascetic sanctification which characterised the -first century of the Christian era, than by supposing the existence of -a previous period of surfeit in the matter of all kinds of sexual -indulgence, which of itself brought about a state of revulsion and -disgust.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"The Persians call it <i>bidamag buden</i>,<br /> -The Germans say '<i>Katzenjammer</i>.'"<a name="FNanchor_3_4" id="FNanchor_3_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p>Strauss quotes this himself, and is not ashamed. As for us, we turn -aside for a moment, that we may overcome our loathing.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_4" id="Footnote_3_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_4"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Remorse for the previous night's excesses.—Translator's -note.</p></div> - - - -<h4>VII.</h4> - - -<p>As a matter of fact, our Philistine captain is brave, even audacious, -in words; particularly when <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>he hopes by such bravery to delight his -noble colleagues—the "We," as he calls them. So the asceticism and -self-denial of the ancient anchorite and saint was merely a form of -<i>Katzenjammer</i>? Jesus may be described as an enthusiast who nowadays -would scarcely have escaped the madhouse, and the story of the -Resurrection may be termed a "world-wide deception." For once we will -allow these views to pass without raising any objection, seeing that -they may help us to gauge the amount of courage which our "classical -Philistine" Strauss is capable of. Let us first hear his confession: -"It is certainly an unpleasant and a thankless task to tell the world -those truths which it is least desirous of hearing. It prefers, in -fact, to manage its affairs on a profuse scale, receiving and spending -after the magnificent fashion of the great, as long as there is -anything left; should any person, however, add up the various items of -its liabilities, and anxiously call its attention to the sum-total, he -is certain to be regarded as an importunate meddler. And yet this has -always been the bent of my moral and intellectual nature." A moral and -intellectual nature of this sort might possibly be regarded as -courageous; but what still remains to be proved is, whether this -courage is natural and inborn, or whether it is not rather acquired -and artificial. Perhaps Strauss only accustomed himself by degrees to -the rôle of an importunate meddler, until he gradually acquired the -courage of his calling. Innate cowardice, which is the Philistine's -birthright, would not be incompatible with this mode of development, -and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>it is precisely this cowardice which is perceptible in the want of -logic of those sentences of Strauss's which it needed courage to -pronounce. They sound like thunder, but they do not clear the air. No -aggressive action is performed: aggressive words alone are used, and -these he selects from among the most insulting he can find. He -moreover exhausts all his accumulated strength and energy in coarse -and noisy expression, and when once his utterances have died away he -is more of a coward even than he who has always held his tongue. The -very shadow of his deeds—his morality—shows us that he is a -word-hero, and that he avoids everything which might induce him to -transfer his energies from mere verbosity to really serious things. -With admirable frankness, he announces that he is no longer a -Christian, but disclaims all idea of wishing to disturb the -contentment of any one: he seems to recognise a contradiction in the -notion of abolishing one society by instituting another—whereas there -is nothing contradictory in it at all. With a certain rude -self-satisfaction, he swathes himself in the hirsute garment of our -Simian genealogists, and extols Darwin as one of mankind's greatest -benefactors; but our perplexity is great when we find him constructing -his ethics quite independently of the question, "What is our -conception of the universe?" In this department he had an opportunity -of exhibiting native pluck; for he ought to have turned his back on -his "We," and have established a moral code for life out of <i>bellum -omnium contra omnes</i> and the privileges of the strong. But it is to be -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>feared that such a code could only have emanated from a bold spirit -like that of Hobbes', and must have taken its root in a love of truth -quite different from that which was only able to vent itself in -explosive outbursts against parsons, miracles, and the "world-wide -humbug" of the Resurrection. For, whereas the Philistine remained on -Strauss's side in regard to these explosive outbursts, he would have -been against him had he been confronted with a genuine and seriously -constructed ethical system, based upon Darwin's teaching.</p> - -<p>Says Strauss: "I should say that all moral action arises from the -individual's acting in consonance with the idea of kind" (p. 274). Put -quite clearly and comprehensively, this means: "Live as a man, and not -as an ape or a seal." Unfortunately, this imperative is both useless -and feeble; for in the class <i>Man</i> what a multitude of different types -are included—to mention only the Patagonian and the Master, Strauss; -and no one would ever dare to say with any right, "Live like a -Patagonian," and "Live like the Master Strauss"! Should any one, -however, make it his rule to live like a genius—that is to say, like -the ideal type of the genus Man—and should he perchance at the same -time be either a Patagonian or Strauss himself, what should we then -not have to suffer from the importunities of genius-mad eccentrics -(concerning whose mushroom growth in Germany even Lichtenberg had -already spoken), who with savage cries would compel us to listen to -the confession of their most recent belief! Strauss has not yet -learned that no "idea" can ever make man better <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>or more moral, and -that the preaching of a morality is as easy as the establishment of it -is difficult. His business ought rather to have been, to take the -phenomena of human goodness, such—for instance—as pity, love, and -self-abnegation, which are already to hand, and seriously to explain -them and show their relation to his Darwinian first principle. But no; -he preferred to soar into the imperative, and thus escape the task of -explaining. But even in his flight he was irresponsible enough to soar -beyond the very first principles of which we speak.</p> - -<p>"Ever remember," says Strauss, "that thou art human, not merely a -natural production; ever remember that all others are human also, and, -with all individual differences, the same as thou, having the same -needs and claims as thyself: this is the sum and the substance of -morality" (p. 277). But where does this imperative hail from? How can -it be intuitive in man, seeing that, according to Darwin, man is -indeed a creature of nature, and that his ascent to his present stage -of development has been conditioned by quite different laws—by the -very fact that he was continually forgetting that others were -constituted like him and shared the same rights with him; by the very -fact that he regarded himself as the stronger, and thus brought about -the gradual suppression of weaker types. Though Strauss is bound to -admit that no two creatures have ever been quite alike, and that the -ascent of man from the lowest species of animals to the exalted height -of the Culture-Philistine depended upon the law of individual -distinctness, he still sees <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>no difficulty in declaring exactly the -reverse in his law: "Behave thyself as though there were no such -things as individual distinctions." Where is the Strauss-Darwin -morality here? Whither, above all, has the courage gone?</p> - -<p>In the very next paragraph we find further evidence tending to show us -the point at which this courage veers round to its opposite; for -Strauss continues: "Ever remember that thou, and all that thou -beholdest within and around thee, all that befalls thee and others, is -no disjointed fragment, no wild chaos of atoms or casualties, but -that, following eternal law, it springs from the one primal source of -all life, all reason, and all good: this is the essence of religion" -(pp. 277-78). Out of that "one primal source," however, all ruin and -irrationality, all evil flows as well, and its name, according to -Strauss, is Cosmos.</p> - -<p>Now, how can this Cosmos, with all the contradictions and the -self-annihilating characteristics which Strauss gives it, be worthy of -religious veneration and be addressed by the name "God," as Strauss -addresses it?—"Our God does not, indeed, take us into His arms from -the outside (here one expects, as an antithesis, a somewhat miraculous -process of being "taken into His arms from the inside"), but He -unseals the well-springs of consolation within our own bosoms. He -shows us that although Chance would be an unreasonable ruler, yet -necessity, or the enchainment of causes in the world, is Reason -itself." (A misapprehension of which only the "We" can fail to -perceive the folly; because they were brought up in the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>Hegelian -worship of Reality as the Reasonable—that is to say, in the -canonisation of success.) "He teaches us to perceive that to demand an -exception in the accomplishment of a single natural law would be to -demand the destruction of the universe" (pp. 435-36). On the contrary, -Great Master: an honest natural scientist believes in the -unconditional rule of natural laws in the world, without, however, -taking up any position in regard to the ethical or intellectual value -of these laws. Wherever neutrality is abandoned in this respect, it is -owing to an anthropomorphic attitude of mind which allows reason to -exceed its proper bounds. But it is just at the point where the -natural scientist resigns that Strauss, to put it in his own words, -"reacts religiously," and leaves the scientific and scholarly -standpoint in order to proceed along less honest lines of his own. -Without any further warrant, he assumes that all that has happened -possesses the highest intellectual value; that it was therefore -absolutely reasonably and intentionally so arranged, and that it even -contained a revelation of eternal goodness. He therefore has to appeal -to a complete cosmodicy, and finds himself at a disadvantage in regard -to him who is contented with a theodicy, and who, for instance, -regards the whole of man's existence as a punishment for sin or a -process of purification. At this stage, and in this embarrassing -position, Strauss even suggests a metaphysical hypothesis—the driest -and most palsied ever conceived—and, in reality, but an unconscious -parody of one of Lessing's sayings. We read on page 255: "And that -other <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>saying of Lessing's—'If God, holding truth in His right hand, -and in His left only the ever-living desire for it, although on -condition of perpetual error, left him the choice of the two, he -would, considering that truth belongs to God alone, humbly seize His -left hand, and beg its contents for Himself'—this saying of -Lessing's has always been accounted one of the most magnificent which -he has left us. It has been found to contain the general expression of -his restless love of inquiry and activity. The saying has always made -a special impression upon me; because, behind its subjective meaning, -I still seemed to hear the faint ring of an objective one of infinite -import. For does it not contain the best possible answer to the rude -speech of Schopenhauer, respecting the ill-advised God who had nothing -better to do than to transform Himself into this miserable world? if, -for example, the Creator Himself had shared Lessing's conviction of -the superiority of struggle to tranquil possession?" What!—a God who -would choose <i>perpetual error</i>, together with a striving after truth, -and who would, perhaps, fall humbly at Strauss's feet and cry to -him,"Take thou all Truth, it is thine!"? If ever a God and a man were -ill-advised, they are this Straussian God, whose hobby is to err and -to fail, and this Straussian man, who must atone for this erring and -failing. Here, indeed, one hears "a faint ring of infinite import"; -here flows Strauss's cosmic soothing oil; here one has a notion of the -<i>rationale</i> of all becoming and all natural laws. Really? Is not our -universe rather the work of an inferior <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>being, as Lichtenberg -suggests?—of an inferior being who did not quite understand his -business; therefore an experiment, an attempt, upon which work is -still proceeding? Strauss himself, then, would be compelled to admit -that our universe is by no means the theatre of reason, but of error, -and that no conformity to law can contain anything consoling, since -all laws have been promulgated by an erratic God who even finds -pleasure in blundering. It really is a most amusing spectacle to watch -Strauss as a metaphysical architect, building castles in the air. But -for whose benefit is this entertainment given? For the smug and noble -"We," that they may not lose conceit with themselves: they may -possibly have taken sudden fright, in the midst of the inflexible and -pitiless wheel-works of the world-machine, and are tremulously -imploring their leader to come to their aid. That is why Strauss pours -forth the "soothing oil," that is why he leads forth on a leash a God -whose passion it is to err; it is for the same reason, too, that he -assumes for once the utterly unsuitable rôle of a metaphysical -architect. He does all this, because the noble souls already referred -to are frightened, and because he is too. And it is here that we reach -the limit of his courage, even in the presence of his "We." He does -not dare to be honest, and to tell them, for instance: "I have -liberated you from a helping and pitiful God: the Cosmos is no more -than an inflexible machine; beware of its wheels, that they do not -crush you." He dare not do this. Consequently, he must enlist the help -of a witch, and he turns to metaphysics. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>To the Philistine, however, -even Strauss's metaphysics is preferable to Christianity's, and the -notion of an erratic God more congenial than that of one who works -miracles. For the Philistine himself errs, but has never yet performed -a miracle. Hence his hatred of the genius; for the latter is justly -famous for the working of miracles. It is therefore highly instructive -to ascertain why Strauss, in one passage alone, suddenly takes up the -cudgels for genius and the aristocracy of intellect in general. -Whatever does he do it for? He does it out of fear—fear of the social -democrat. He refers to Bismarck and Moltke, "whose greatness is the -less open to controversy as it manifests itself in the domain of -tangible external facts. No help for it, therefore; even the most -stiff-necked and obdurate of these fellows must condescend to look up -a little, if only to get a sight, be it no farther than the knees, of -those august figures" (p. 327). Do you, Master Metaphysician, perhaps -intend to instruct the social democrats in the art of getting kicks? -The willingness to bestow them may be met with everywhere, and you are -perfectly justified in promising to those who happen to be kicked a -sight of those sublime beings as far as the knee. "Also in the domain -of art and science," Strauss continues, "there will never be a dearth -of kings whose architectural undertakings will find employment for a -multitude of carters." Granted; but what if the carters should begin -building? It does happen at times, Great Master, as you know, and then -the kings must grin and bear it.</p> - -<p>As a matter of fact, this union of impudence and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>weakness, of daring -words and cowardly concessions, this cautious deliberation as to which -sentences will or will not impress the Philistine or smooth him down -the right way, this lack of character and power masquerading as -character and power, this meagre wisdom in the guise of -omniscience,—these are the features in this book which I detest. If I -could conceive of young men having patience to read it and to value -it, I should sorrowfully renounce all hope for their future. And is -this confession of wretched, hopeless, and really despicable -Philistinism supposed to be the expression of the thousands -constituting the "We" of whom Strauss speaks, and who are to be the -fathers of the coming generation? Unto him who would fain help this -coming generation to acquire what the present one does not yet -possess, namely, a genuine German culture, the prospect is a horrible -one. To such a man, the ground seems strewn with ashes, and all stars -are obscured; while every withered tree and field laid waste seems to -cry to him: Barren! Forsaken! Springtime is no longer possible here! -He must feel as young Goethe felt when he first peered into the -melancholy atheistic twilight of the <i>Système de la Nature</i>; to him this -book seemed so grey, so Cimmerian and deadly, that he could only -endure its presence with difficulty, and shuddered at it as one -shudders at a spectre.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> -<h4>VIII.</h4> - - -<p>We ought now to be sufficiently informed concerning the heaven and the -courage of our new believer to be able to turn to the last question: -How does he write his books? and of what order are his religious -documents?</p> - -<p>He who can answer this question uprightly and without prejudice will -be confronted by yet another serious problem, and that is: How this -Straussian pocket-oracle of the German Philistine was able to pass -through six editions? And he will grow more than ever suspicious when -he hears that it was actually welcomed as a pocket-oracle, not only in -scholastic circles, but even in German universities as well. Students -are said to have greeted it as a canon for strong intellects, and, -from all accounts, the professors raised no objections to this view; -while here and there people have declared it to be <i>a religious book -for scholars</i>. Strauss himself gave out that he did not intend his -profession of faith to be merely a reference-book for learned and -cultured people; but here let us abide by the fact that it was first -and foremost a work appealing to his colleagues, and was ostensibly a -mirror in which they were to see their own way of living faithfully -reflected. For therein lay the feat. The Master feigned to have -presented us with a new ideal conception of the universe, and now -adulation is being paid him out of every mouth; because each is in a -position to suppose that he too regards the universe and life in the -same way. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>Thus Strauss has seen fulfilled in each of his readers what -he only demanded of the future. In this way, the extraordinary success -of his book is partly explained: "Thus we live and hold on our way in -joy," the scholar cries in his book, and delights to see others -rejoicing over the announcement. If the reader happen to think -differently from the Master in regard to Darwin or to capital -punishment, it is of very little consequence; for he is too conscious -throughout of breathing an atmosphere that is familiar to him, and of -hearing but the echoes of his own voice and wants. However painfully -this unanimity may strike the true friend of German culture, it is his -duty to be unrelenting in his explanation of it as a phenomenon, and -not to shrink from making this explanation public.</p> - -<p>We all know the peculiar methods adopted in our own time of -cultivating the sciences: we all know them, because they form a part -of our lives. And, for this very reason, scarcely anybody seems to ask -himself what the result of such a cultivation of the sciences will -mean to culture in general, even supposing that everywhere the highest -abilities and the most earnest will be available for the promotion of -culture. In the heart of the average scientific type (quite -irrespective of the examples thereof with which we meet to-day) there -lies a pure paradox: he behaves like the veriest idler of independent -means, to whom life is not a dreadful and serious business, but a -sound piece of property, settled upon him for all eternity; and it -seems to him justifiable to spend his whole life in answering -questions which, after all is said and done, can <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>only be of interest -to that person who believes in eternal life as an absolute certainty. -The heir of but a few hours, he sees himself encompassed by yawning -abysses, terrible to behold; and every step he takes should recall the -questions, Wherefore? Whither? and Whence? to his mind. But his soul -rather warms to his work, and, be this the counting of a floweret's -petals or the breaking of stones by the roadside, he spends his whole -fund of interest, pleasure, strength, and aspirations upon it. This -paradox—the scientific man—has lately dashed ahead at such a frantic -speed in Germany, that one would almost think the scientific world -were a factory, in which every minute wasted meant a fine. To-day the -man of science works as arduously as the fourth or slave caste: his -study has ceased to be an occupation, it is a necessity; he looks -neither to the right nor to the left, but rushes through all -things—even through the serious matters which life bears in its -train—with that semi-listlessness and repulsive need of rest so -characteristic of the exhausted labourer. <i>This is also his attitude -towards culture</i>. He behaves as if life to him were not only <i>otium</i> but -<i>sine dignitate</i>: even in his sleep he does not throw off the yoke, but -like an emancipated slave still dreams of his misery, his forced haste -and his floggings. Our scholars can scarcely be distinguished—and, -even then, not to their advantage—from agricultural labourers, who in -order to increase a small patrimony, assiduously strive, day and -night, to cultivate their fields, drive their ploughs, and urge on -their oxen. Now, Pascal suggests that men only <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>endeavour to work hard -at their business and sciences with the view of escaping those -questions of greatest import which every moment of loneliness or -leisure presses upon them—the questions relating to the <i>wherefore</i>, -the <i>whence</i>, and the <i>whither</i> of life. Curiously enough, our scholars -never think of the most vital question of all—the wherefore of their -work, their haste, and their painful ecstasies. Surely their object is -not the earning of bread or the acquiring of posts of honour? No, -certainly not. But ye take as much pains as the famishing and -breadless; and, with that eagerness and lack of discernment which -characterises the starving, ye even snatch the dishes from the -sideboard of science. If, however, as scientific men, ye proceed with -science as the labourers with the tasks which the exigencies of life -impose upon them, what will become of a culture which must await the -hour of its birth and its salvation in the very midst of all this -agitated and breathless running to and fro—this sprawling -scientifically?</p> - -<p>For <i>it</i> no one has time—and yet for what shall science have time if -not for culture? Answer us here, then, at least: whence, whither, -wherefore all science, if it do not lead to culture? Belike to -barbarity? And in this direction we already see the scholar caste -ominously advanced, if we are to believe that such superficial books -as this one of Strauss's meet the demand of their present degree of -culture. For precisely in him do we find that repulsive need of rest -and that incidental semi-listless attention to, and coming to terms -with, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>philosophy, culture, and every serious thing on earth. It will -be remembered that, at the meetings held by scholars, as soon as each -individual has had his say in his own particular department of -knowledge, signs of fatigue, of a desire for distraction at any price, -of waning memory, and of incoherent experiences of life, begin to be -noticeable. While listening to Strauss discussing any worldly -question, be it marriage, the war, or capital punishment, we are -startled by his complete lack of anything like first-hand experience, -or of any original thought on human nature. All his judgments are so -redolent of books, yea even of newspapers. Literary reminiscences do -duty for genuine ideas and views, and the assumption of a moderate and -grandfatherly tone take the place of wisdom and mature thought. How -perfectly in keeping all this is with the fulsome spirit animating the -holders of the highest places in German science in large cities! How -thoroughly this spirit must appeal to that other! for it is precisely -in those quarters that culture is in the saddest plight; it is -precisely there that its fresh growth is made impossible—so -boisterous are the preparations made by science, so sheepishly are -favourite subjects of knowledge allowed to oust questions of much -greater import. What kind of lantern would be needed here, in order to -find men capable of a complete surrender to genius, and of an intimate -knowledge of its depths—men possessed of sufficient courage and -strength to exorcise the demons that have forsaken our age? Viewed -from the outside, such quarters certainly do appear to possess the -whole pomp of culture; with their <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>imposing apparatus they resemble -great arsenals fitted with huge guns and other machinery of war; we -see preparations in progress and the most strenuous activity, as -though the heavens themselves were to be stormed, and truth were to be -drawn out of the deepest of all wells; and yet, in war, the largest -machines are the most unwieldy. Genuine culture therefore leaves such -places as these religiously alone, for its best instincts warn it that -in their midst it has nothing to hope for, and very much to fear. For -the only kind of culture with which the inflamed eye and obtuse brain -of the scholar working-classes concern themselves is of that -Philistine order of which Strauss has announced the gospel. If we -consider for a moment the fundamental causes underlying the sympathy -which binds the learned working-classes to Culture-Philistinism, we -shall discover the road leading to Strauss the Writer, who has been -acknowledged classical, and thence to our last and principal theme.</p> - -<p>To begin with, that culture has contentment written in its every -feature, and will allow of no important changes being introduced into -the present state of German education. It is above all convinced of -the originality of all German educational institutions, more -particularly the public schools and universities; it does not cease -recommending these to foreigners, and never doubts that if the Germans -have become the most cultivated and discriminating people on earth, it -is owing to such institutions. Culture-Philistinism believes in -itself, consequently it also believes in the methods and means at its -disposal. Secondly, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>however, it leaves the highest judgment concerning -all questions of taste and culture to the scholar, and even regards -itself as the ever-increasing compendium of scholarly opinions -regarding art, literature, and philosophy. Its first care is to urge -the scholar to express his opinions; these it proceeds to mix, dilute, -and systematise, and then it administers them to the German people in -the form of a bottle of medicine. What comes to life outside this -circle is either not heard or attended at all, or if heard, is heeded -half-heartedly; until, at last, a voice (it does not matter whose, -provided it belong to some one who is strictly typical of the scholar -tribe) is heard to issue from the temple in which traditional -infallibility of taste is said to reside; and from that time forward -public opinion has one conviction more, which it echoes and re-echoes -hundreds and hundreds of times. As a matter of fact, though, the -æsthetic infallibility of any utterance emanating from the temple is -the more doubtful, seeing that the lack of taste, thought, and -artistic feeling in any scholar can be taken for granted, unless it -has previously been proved that, in his particular case, the reverse -is true. And only a few can prove this. For how many who have had a -share in the breathless and unending scurry of modern science have -preserved that quiet and courageous gaze of the struggling man of -culture—if they ever possessed it—that gaze which condemns even the -scurry we speak of as a barbarous state of affairs? That is why these -few are forced to live in an almost perpetual contradiction. What -could they do against the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>uniform belief of the thousands who have -enlisted public opinion in their cause, and who mutually defend each -other in this belief? What purpose can it serve when one individual -openly declares war against Strauss, seeing that a crowd have decided -in his favour, and that the masses led by this crowd have learned to -ask six consecutive times for the Master's Philistine -sleeping-mixture?</p> - -<p>If, without further ado, we here assumed that the Straussian -confession-book had triumphed over public opinion and had been -acclaimed and welcomed as conqueror, its author might call our -attention to the fact that the multitudinous criticisms of his work in -the various public organs are not of an altogether unanimous or even -favourable character, and that he therefore felt it incumbent upon him -to defend himself against some of the more malicious, impudent, and -provoking of these newspaper pugilists by means of a postscript. How -can there be a public opinion concerning my book, he cries to us, if -every journalist is to regard me as an outlaw, and to mishandle me as -much as he likes? This contradiction is easily explained, as soon as -one considers the two aspects of the Straussian book—the theological -and the literary, and it is only the latter that has anything to do -with German culture. Thanks to its theological colouring, it stands -beyond the pale of our German culture, and provokes the animosity of -the various theological groups—yea, even of every individual German, -in so far as he is a theological sectarian from birth, and only -invents his own peculiar private belief in order to be able to dissent -from <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>every other form of belief. But when the question arises of -talking about Strauss <i>the writer</i>, pray listen to what the theological -sectarians have to say about him. As soon as his literary side comes -under notice, all theological objections immediately subside, and the -dictum comes plain and clear, as if from the lips of one congregation: -<i>In spite of it all, he is still a classical writer!</i></p> - -<p>Everybody—even the most bigoted, orthodox Churchman—pays the writer -the most gratifying compliments, while there is always a word or two -thrown in as a tribute to his almost Lessingesque language, his -delicacy of touch, or the beauty and accuracy of his æsthetic views. -As a book, therefore, the Straussian performance appears to meet all -the demands of an ideal example of its kind. The theological -opponents, despite the fact that their voices were the loudest of all, -nevertheless constitute but an infinitesimal portion of the great -public; and even with regard to them, Strauss still maintains that he -is right when he says: "Compared with my thousands of readers, a few -dozen public cavillers form but an insignificant minority, and they -can hardly prove that they are their faithful interpreters. It was -obviously in the nature of things that opposition should be clamorous -and assent tacit." Thus, apart from the angry bitterness which -Strauss's profession of faith may have provoked here and there, even -the most fanatical of his opponents, to whom his voice seems to rise -out of an abyss, like the voice of a beast, are agreed as to his -merits as a writer; and that is why the treatment which Strauss has -received at <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>the hands of the literary lackeys of the theological -groups proves nothing against our contention that Culture-Philistinism -celebrated its triumph in this book. It must be admitted that the -average educated Philistine is a degree less honest than Strauss, or -is at least more reserved in his public utterances. But this fact only -tends to increase his admiration for honesty in another. At home, or -in the company of his equals, he may applaud with wild enthusiasm, but -takes care not to put on paper how entirely Strauss's words are in -harmony with his own innermost feelings. For, as we have already -maintained, our Culture-Philistine is somewhat of a coward, even in -his strongest sympathies; hence Strauss, who can boast of a trifle -more courage than he, becomes his leader, notwithstanding the fact -that even Straussian pluck has its very definite limits. If he -overstepped these limits, as Schopenhauer does in almost every -sentence, he would then forfeit his position at the head of the -Philistines, and everybody would flee from him as precipitately as -they are now following in his wake. He who would regard this artful if -not sagacious moderation and this mediocre valour as an Aristotelian -virtue, would certainly be wrong; for the valour in question is not -the golden mean between two faults, but between a virtue and a -fault—and in this mean, between virtue and fault, all Philistine -qualities are to be found.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></p> -<h4>IX.</h4> - - -<p>"In spite of it all, he is still a classical writer." Well, let us -see! Perhaps we may now be allowed to discuss Strauss the stylist and -master of language; but in the first place let us inquire whether, as -a literary man, he is equal to the task of building his house, and -whether he really understands the architecture of a book. From this -inquiry we shall be able to conclude whether he is a respectable, -thoughtful, and experienced author; and even should we be forced to -answer "No" to these questions, he may still, as a last shift, take -refuge in his fame as a classical prose-writer. This last-mentioned -talent alone, it is true, would not suffice to class him with the -classical authors, but at most with the classical improvisers and -virtuosos of style, who, however, in regard to power of expression and -the whole planning and framing of the work, reveal the awkward hand -and the embarrassed eye of the bungler. We therefore put the question, -whether Strauss really possesses the artistic strength necessary for -the purpose of presenting us with a thing that is a whole, <i>totum -ponere</i>?</p> - -<p>As a rule, it ought to be possible to tell from the first rough sketch -of a work whether the author conceived the thing as a whole, and -whether, in view of this original conception, he has discovered the -correct way of proceeding with his task and of fixing its proportions. -Should this most important Part of the problem be solved, and should -the framework of the building have been given its most <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span>favourable -proportions, even then there remains enough to be done: how many -smaller faults have to be corrected, how many gaps require filling in! -Here and there a temporary partition or floor was found to answer the -requirements; everywhere dust and fragments litter the ground, and no -matter where we look, we see the signs of work done and work still to -be done. The house, as a whole, is still uninhabitable and gloomy, its -walls are bare, and the wind blows in through the open windows. Now, -whether this remaining, necessary, and very irksome work has been -satisfactorily accomplished by Strauss does not concern us at present; -our question is, whether the building itself has been conceived as a -whole, and whether its proportions are good? The reverse of this, of -course, would be a compilation of fragments—a method generally -adopted by scholars. They rely upon it that these fragments are -related among themselves, and thus confound the logical and the -artistic relation between them. Now, the relation between the four -questions which provide the chapter-headings of Strauss's book cannot -be called a logical one. Are we still Christians? Have we still a -religion? What is our conception of the universe? What is our rule of -life? And it is by no means contended that the relation is illogical -simply because the third question has nothing to do with the second, -nor the fourth with the third, nor all three with the first. The -natural scientist who puts the third question, for instance, shows his -unsullied love of truth by the simple fact that he tacitly passes over -the second. And with regard <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>to the subject of the fourth -chapter—marriage, republicanism, and capital punishment—Strauss -himself seems to have been aware that they could only have been -muddled and obscured by being associated with the Darwinian theory -expounded in the third chapter; for he carefully avoids all reference -to this theory when discussing them. But the question, "Are we still -Christians?" destroys the freedom of the philosophical standpoint at -one stroke, by lending it an unpleasant theological colouring. -Moreover, in this matter, he quite forgot that the majority of men -to-day are not Christians at all, but Buddhists. Why should one, -without further ceremony, immediately think of Christianity at the -sound of the words "old faith"? Is this a sign that Strauss has never -ceased to be a Christian theologian, and that he has therefore never -learned to be a philosopher? For we find still greater cause for -surprise in the fact that he quite fails to distinguish between belief -and knowledge, and continually mentions his "new belief" and the still -newer science in one breath. Or is "new belief" merely an ironical -concession to ordinary parlance? This almost seems to be the case; for -here and there he actually allows "new belief" and "newer science" to -be interchangeable terms, as for instance on page II, where he asks on -which side, whether on that of the ancient orthodoxy or of modern -science, "exist more of the obscurities and insufficiencies -unavoidable in human speculation."</p> - -<p>Moreover, according to the scheme laid down in the Introduction, his -desire is to disclose those <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>proofs upon which the modern view of life -is based; but he derives all these proofs from science, and in this -respect assumes far more the attitude of a scientist than of a -believer.</p> - -<p>At bottom, therefore, the religion is not a new belief, but, being of -a piece with modern science, it has nothing to do with religion at -all. If Strauss, however, persists in his claims to be religious, the -grounds for these claims must be beyond the pale of recent science. -Only the smallest portion of the Straussian book—that is to say, but -a few isolated pages—refer to what Strauss in all justice might call -a belief, namely, that feeling for the "All" for which he demands the -piety that the old believer demanded for his God. On the pages in -question, however, he cannot claim to be altogether scientific; but if -only he could lay claim to being a little stronger, more natural, more -outspoken, more pious, we should be content. Indeed, what perhaps -strikes us most forcibly about him is the multitude of artificial -procedures of which he avails himself before he ultimately gets the -feeling that he still possesses a belief and a religion; he reaches it -by means of stings and blows, as we have already seen. How indigently -and feebly this emergency-belief presents itself to us! We shiver at -the sight of it.</p> - -<p>Although Strauss, in the plan laid down in his Introduction, promises -to compare the two faiths, the old and the new, and to show that the -latter will answer the same purpose as the former, even <i>he</i> begins to -feel, in the end, that he has promised too much. For the question -whether the new <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>belief answers the same purpose as the old, or is -better or worse, is disposed of incidentally, so to speak, and with -uncomfortable haste, in two or three pages (p. 436 <i>et seq.</i>), and is -actually bolstered up by the following subterfuge: "He who cannot help -himself in this matter is beyond help, is not yet ripe for our -standpoint" (p. 436). How differently, and with what intensity of -conviction, did the ancient Stoic believe in the All and the -rationality of the All! And, viewed in this light, how does Strauss's -claim to originality appear? But, as we have already observed, it -would be a matter of indifference to us whether it were new, old, -original, or imitated, so that it were only more powerful, more -healthy, and more natural. Even Strauss himself leaves this -double-distilled emergency-belief to take care of itself as often as -he can do so, in order to protect himself and us from danger, and to -present his recently acquired biological knowledge to his "We" with a -clear conscience. The more embarrassed he may happen to be when he -speaks of faith, the rounder and fuller his mouth becomes when he -quotes the greatest benefactor to modern men—Darwin. Then he not only -exacts belief for the new Messiah, but also for himself—the new -apostle. For instance, while discussing one of the most intricate -questions in natural history, he declares with true ancient pride: "I -shall be told that I am here speaking of things about which I -understand nothing. Very well; but others will come who will -understand them, and who will also have understood me" (p. 241).</p> - -<p>According to this, it would almost seem as <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>though the famous "We" were -not only in duty bound to believe in the "All," but also in the -naturalist Strauss; in this case we can only hope that in order to -acquire the feeling for this last belief, other processes are -requisite than the painful and cruel ones demanded by the first -belief. Or is it perhaps sufficient in this case that the subject of -belief himself be tormented and stabbed with the view of bringing the -believers to that "religious reaction" which is the distinguishing -sign of the "new faith." What merit should we then discover in the -piety of those whom Strauss calls "We"?</p> - -<p>Otherwise, it is almost to be feared that modern men will pass on in -pursuit of their business without troubling themselves overmuch -concerning the new furniture of faith offered them by the apostle: -just as they have done heretofore, without the doctrine of the -rationality of the All. The whole of modern biological and historical -research has nothing to do with the Straussian belief in the All, and -the fact that the modern Philistine does not require the belief is -proved by the description of his life given by Strauss in the -chapter,"What is our Rule of Life?" He is therefore quite right in -doubting whether the coach to which his esteemed readers have been -obliged to trust themselves "with him, fulfils every requirement." It -certainly does not; for the modern man makes more rapid progress when -he does not take his place in the Straussian coach, or rather, he got -ahead much more quickly long before the Straussian coach ever existed. -Now, if it be true that the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>famous "minority" which is "not to be -overlooked," and of which, and in whose name, Strauss speaks, -"attaches great importance to consistency," it must be just as -dissatisfied with Strauss the Coachbuilder as we are with Strauss the -Logician.</p> - -<p>Let us, however, drop the question of the logician. Perhaps, from the -artistic point of view, the book really is an example of a -well-conceived plan, and does, after all, answer to the requirements -of the laws of beauty, despite the fact that it fails to meet with the -demands of a well-conducted argument. And now, having shown that he is -neither a scientist nor a strictly correct and systematic scholar, for -the first time we approach the question: Is Strauss a capable writer? -Perhaps the task he set himself was not so much to scare people away -from the old faith as to captivate them by a picturesque and graceful -description of what life would be with the new. If he regarded -scholars and educated men as his most probable audience, experience -ought certainly to have told him that whereas one can shoot such men -down with the heavy guns of scientific proof, but cannot make them -surrender, they may be got to capitulate all the more quickly before -"lightly equipped" measures of seduction. "Lightly equipped," and -"intentionally so," thus Strauss himself speaks of his own book. Nor -do his public eulogisers refrain from using the same expression in -reference to the work, as the following passage, quoted from one of -the least remarkable among them, and in which the same expression is -merely paraphrased, will go to prove:—</p> - -<p>"The discourse flows on with delightful harmony: <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>wherever it directs -its criticism against old ideas it wields the art of demonstration, -almost playfully; and it is with some spirit that it prepares the new -ideas it brings so enticingly, and presents them to the simple as well -as to the fastidious taste. The arrangement of such diverse and -conflicting material is well thought out for every portion of it -required to be touched upon, without being made too prominent; at -times the transitions leading from one subject to another are -artistically managed, and one hardly knows what to admire most—the -skill with which unpleasant questions are shelved, or the discretion -with which they are hushed up."</p> - -<p>The spirit of such eulogies, as the above clearly shows, is not quite -so subtle in regard to judging of what an author is able to do as in -regard to what he wishes. What Strauss wishes, however, is best -revealed by his own emphatic and not quite harmless commendation of -Voltaire's charms, in whose service he might have learned precisely -those "lightly equipped" arts of which his admirer speaks—granting, -of course, that virtue may be acquired and a pedagogue can ever be a -dancer.</p> - -<p>Who could help having a suspicion or two, when reading the following -passage, for instance, in which Strauss says of Voltaire, "As a -philosopher [he] is certainly not original, but in the main a mere -exponent of English investigations: in this respect, however, he shows -himself to be completely master of his subject, which he presents with -incomparable skill, in all possible lights and from all possible -sides, and is able withal to meet the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>demands of thoroughness, -without, however, being over-severe in his method"? Now, all the -negative traits mentioned in this passage might be applied to Strauss. -No one would contend, I suppose, that Strauss is original, or that he -is over-severe in his method; but the question is whether we can -regard him as "master of his subject," and grant him "incomparable -skill"? The confession to the effect that the treatise was -intentionally "lightly equipped" leads us to think that it at least -aimed at incomparable skill.</p> - -<p>It was not the dream of our architect to build a temple, nor yet a -house, but a sort of summer-pavilion, surrounded by everything that -the art of gardening can provide. Yea, it even seems as if that -mysterious feeling for the All were only calculated to produce an -æsthetic effect, to be, so to speak, a view of an irrational element, -such as the sea, looked at from the most charming and rational of -terraces. The walk through the first chapters—that is to say, -through the theological catacombs with all their gloominess and their -involved and baroque embellishments—was also no more than an -æsthetic expedient in order to throw into greater relief the purity, -clearness, and common sense of the chapter "What is our Conception of -the Universe?" For, immediately after that walk in the gloaming and -that peep into the wilderness of Irrationalism, we step into a hall -with a skylight to it. Soberly and limpidly it welcomes us: its mural -decorations consist of astronomical charts and mathematical figures; -it is filled with scientific apparatus, and its cupboards contain -skeletons, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>stuffed apes, and anatomical specimens. But now, really -rejoicing for the first time, we direct our steps into the innermost -chamber of bliss belonging to our pavilion-dwellers; there we find -them with their wives, children, and newspapers, occupied in the -commonplace discussion of politics; we listen for a moment to their -conversation on marriage, universal suffrage, capital punishment, and -workmen's strikes, and we can scarcely believe it to be possible that -the rosary of public opinions can be told off so quickly. At length an -attempt is made to convince us of the classical taste of the inmates. -A moment's halt in the library, and the music-room suffices to show us -what we had expected all along, namely, that the best books lay on the -shelves, and that the most famous musical compositions were in the -music-cabinets. Some one actually played something to us, and even if -it were Haydn's music, Haydn could not be blamed because it sounded -like Riehl's music for the home. Meanwhile the host had found occasion -to announce to us his complete agreement with Lessing and Goethe, -although with the latter only up to the second part of Faust. At last -our pavilion-owner began to praise himself, and assured us that he who -could not be happy under his roof was beyond help and could not be -ripe for his standpoint, whereupon he offered us his coach, but with -the polite reservation that he could not assert that it would fulfil -every requirement, and that, owing to the stones on his road having -been newly laid down, we were not to mind if we were very much jolted. -Our Epicurean garden-god then took <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>leave of us with the incomparable -skill which he praised in Voltaire.</p> - -<p>Who could now persist in doubting the existence of this incomparable -skill? The complete master of his subject is revealed; the lightly -equipped artist-gardener is exposed, and still we hear the voice of -the classical author saying, "As a writer I shall for once cease to be -a Philistine: I will not be one; I refuse to be one! But a -Voltaire—the German Voltaire—or at least the French Lessing."</p> - -<p>With this we have betrayed a secret. Our Master does not always know -which he prefers to be—Voltaire or Lessing; but on no account will he -be a Philistine. At a pinch he would not object to being both Lessing -and Voltaire—that the word might be fulfilled that is written, "He -had no character, but when he wished to appear as if he had, he -assumed one."</p> - - - -<h4>X.</h4> - - -<p>If we have understood Strauss the Confessor correctly, he must be a -genuine Philistine, with a narrow, parched soul and scholarly and -common-place needs; albeit no one would be more indignant at the title -than David Strauss the Writer. He would be quite happy to be regarded -as mischievous, bold, malicious, daring; but his ideal of bliss would -consist in finding himself compared with either Lessing or -Voltaire—because these men were undoubtedly anything but Philistines. -In striving after this state of bliss, he often seems to waver <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>between -two alternatives—either to mimic the brave and dialectical petulance -of Lessing, or to affect the manner of the faun-like and free-spirited -man of antiquity that Voltaire was. When taking up his pen to write, -he seems to be continually posing for his portrait; and whereas at -times his features are drawn to look like Lessing's, anon they are -made to assume the Voltairean mould. While reading his praise of -Voltaire's manner, we almost seem to see him abjuring the consciences -of his contemporaries for not having learned long ago what the modern -Voltaire had to offer them. "Even his excellences are wonderfully -uniform," he says: "simple naturalness, transparent clearness, -vivacious mobility, seductive charm. Warmth and emphasis are also not -wanting where they are needed, and Voltaire's innermost nature always -revolted against stiltedness and affectation; while, on the other -hand, if at times wantonness or passion descend to an unpleasantly low -level, the fault does not rest so much with the stylist as with the -man." According to this, Strauss seems only too well aware of the -importance of <i>simplicity in style</i>; it is ever the sign of genius, -which alone has the privilege to express itself naturally and -guilelessly. When, therefore, an author selects a simple mode of -expression, this is no sign whatever of vulgar ambition; for although -many are aware of what such an author would fain be taken for, they -are yet kind enough to take him precisely for that. The genial writer, -however, not only reveals his true nature in the plain and -unmistakable form of his utterance, but his <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>super-abundant strength -actually dallies with the material he treats, even when it is -dangerous and difficult. Nobody treads stiffly along unknown paths, -especially when these are broken throughout their course by thousands -of crevices and furrows; but the genius speeds nimbly over them, and, -leaping with grace and daring, scorns the wistful and timorous step of -caution.</p> - -<p>Even Strauss knows that the problems he prances over are dreadfully -serious, and have ever been regarded as such by the philosophers who -have grappled with them; yet he calls his book <i>lightly equipped</i>! But -of this dreadfulness and of the usual dark nature of our meditations -when considering such questions as the worth of existence and the -duties of man, we entirely cease to be conscious when the genial -Master plays his antics before us, "lightly equipped, and -intentionally so." Yes, even more lightly equipped than his Rousseau, -of whom he tells us it was said that he stripped himself below and -adorned himself on top, whereas Goethe did precisely the reverse. -Perfectly guileless geniuses do not, it appears, adorn themselves at -all; possibly the words "lightly equipped" may simply be a euphemism -for "naked." The few who happen to have seen the Goddess of Truth -declare that she is naked, and perhaps, in the minds of those who have -never seen her, but who implicitly believe those few, nakedness or -light equipment is actually a proof, or at least a feature, of truth. -Even this vulgar superstition turns to the advantage of the author's -ambition. Some one sees something naked, and he exclaims: "What if -this <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>were the truth!" Whereupon he grows more solemn than is his wont. -By this means, however, the author scores a tremendous advantage; for -he compels his reader to approach him with greater solemnity than -another and perhaps more heavily equipped writer. This is -unquestionably the best way to become a classical author; hence -Strauss himself is able to tell us: "I even enjoy the unsought honour -of being, in the opinion of many, a classical writer of prose. "He has -therefore achieved his aim. Strauss the Genius goes gadding about the -streets in the garb of lightly equipped goddesses as a classic, while -Strauss the Philistine, to use an original expression of this -genius's, must, at all costs, be "declared to be on the decline," or -"irrevocably dismissed."</p> - -<p>But, alas! in spite of all declarations of decline and dismissal, the -Philistine still returns, and all too frequently. Those features, -contorted to resemble Lessing and Voltaire, must relax from time to -time to resume their old and original shape. The mask of genius falls -from them too often, and the Master's expression is never more sour -and his movements never stiffer than when he has just attempted to -take the leap, or to glance with the fiery eye, of a genius. Precisely -owing to the fact that he is too lightly equipped for our zone, he -runs the risk of catching cold more often and more severely than -another. It may seem a terrible hardship to him that every one should -notice this; but if he wishes to be cured, the following diagnosis of -his case ought to be publicly presented to him:—Once upon a time -there lived a Strauss, a brave, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>severe, and stoutly equipped scholar, -with whom we sympathised as wholly as with all those in Germany who -seek to serve truth with earnestness and energy, and to rule within -the limits of their powers. He, however, who is now publicly famous as -David Strauss, is another person. The theologians may be to blame for -this metamorphosis; but, at any rate, his present toying with the mask -of genius inspires us with as much hatred and scorn as his former -earnestness commanded respect and sympathy. When, for instance, he -tells us, "it would also argue ingratitude towards <i>my genius</i> if I were -not to rejoice that to the faculty of an incisive, analytical -criticism was added the innocent pleasure in artistic production," it -may astonish him to hear that, in spite of this self-praise, there are -still men who maintain exactly the reverse, and who say, not only that -he has never possessed the gift of artistic production, but that the -"innocent" pleasure he mentions is of all things the least innocent, -seeing that it succeeded in gradually undermining and ultimately -destroying a nature as strongly and deeply scholarly and critical as -Strauss's—in fact, <i>the real Straussian Genius</i>. In a moment of -unlimited frankness, Strauss himself indeed adds: "Merck was always in -my thoughts, calling out, 'Don't produce such child's play again; -others can do that too!'" That was the voice of the real Straussian -genius, which also asked him what the worth of his newest, innocent, -and lightly equipped modern Philistine's testament was. Others can do -that too! And many could do it better. And even they who could have -done <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>it best, <i>i.e.</i> those thinkers who are more widely endowed than -Strauss, could still only have made nonsense of it.</p> - -<p>I take it that you are now beginning to understand the value I set on -Strauss the Writer. You are beginning to realise that I regard him as -a mummer who would parade as an artless genius and classical writer. -When Lichtenberg said, "A simple manner of writing is to be -recommended, if only in view of the fact that no honest man trims and -twists his expressions," he was very far from wishing to imply that a -simple style is a proof of literary integrity. I, for my part, only -wish that Strauss the Writer had been more upright, for then he would -have written more becomingly and have been less famous. Or, if he -would be a mummer at all costs, how much more would he not have -pleased me if he had been a better mummer—one more able to ape the -guileless genius and classical author! For it yet remains to be said -that Strauss was not only an inferior actor but a very worthless -stylist as well.</p> - - - -<h4>XI.</h4> - - -<p>Of course, the blame attaching to Strauss for being a bad writer is -greatly mitigated by the fact that it is extremely difficult in -Germany to become even a passable or moderately good writer, and that -it is more the exception than not, to be a really good one. In this -respect the natural soil is wanting, as are also artistic values and -the proper method of treating and cultivating oratory. This <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>latter -accomplishment, as the various branches of it, <i>i.e. </i>drawing-room, -ecclesiastical and Parliamentary parlance, show, has not yet reached -the level of a national style; indeed, it has not yet shown even a -tendency to attain to a style at all, and all forms of language in -Germany do not yet seem to have passed a certain experimental stage. -In view of these facts, the writer of to-day, to some extent, lacks an -authoritative standard, and he is in some measure excused if, in the -matter of language, he attempts to go ahead of his own accord. As to -the probable result which the present dilapidated condition of the -German language will bring about, Schopenhauer, perhaps, has spoken -most forcibly. "If the existing state of affairs continues," he says, -"in the year 1900 German classics will cease to be understood, for the -simple reason that no other language will be known, save the trumpery -jargon of the noble present, the chief characteristic of which is -impotence." And, in truth, if one turn to the latest periodicals, one -will find German philologists and grammarians already giving -expression to the view that our classics can no longer serve us as -examples of style, owing to the fact that they constantly use words, -modes of speech, and syntactic arrangements which are fast dropping -out of currency. Hence the need of collecting specimens of the finest -prose that has been produced by our best modern writers, and of -offering them as examples to be followed, after the style of Sander's -pocket dictionary of bad language. In this book, that repulsive -monster of style Gutzkow appears as <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>a classic, and, according to its -injunctions, we seem to be called upon to accustom ourselves to quite -a new and wondrous crowd of classical authors, among which the first, -or one of the first, is David Strauss: he whom we cannot describe more -aptly than we have already—that is to say, as a worthless stylist. -Now, the notion which the Culture-Philistine has of a classic and -standard author speaks eloquently for his pseudo-culture—he who only -shows his strength by opposing a really artistic and severe style, and -who, thanks to the persistence of his opposition, finally arrives at a -certain uniformity of expression, which again almost appears to -possess unity of genuine style. In view, therefore, of the right which -is granted to every one to experiment with the language, how is it -possible at all for individual authors to discover a generally -agreeable tone? What is so generally interesting in them? In the first -place, a negative quality—the total lack of offensiveness: but <i>every -really productive thing is offensive</i>. The greater part of a German's -daily reading matter is undoubtedly sought either in the pages of -newspapers, periodicals, or reviews. The language of these journals -gradually stamps itself on his brain, by means of its steady drip, -drip, drip of similar phrases and similar words. And, since he -generally devotes to reading those hours of the day during which his -exhausted brain is in any case not inclined to offer resistance, his -ear for his native tongue so slowly but surely accustoms itself to -this everyday German that it ultimately cannot endure its absence -without pain. But the manufacturers <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>of these newspapers are, by virtue -of their trade, most thoroughly inured to the effluvia of this -journalistic jargon; they have literally lost all taste, and their -palate is rather gratified than not by the most corrupt and arbitrary -innovations. Hence the <i>tutti unisono</i> with which, despite the general -lethargy and sickliness, every fresh solecism is greeted; it is with -such impudent corruptions of the language that her hirelings are -avenged against her for the incredible boredom she imposes ever more -and more upon them. I remember having read "an appeal to the German -nation," by Berthold Auerbach, in which every sentence was un-German, -distorted and false, and which, as a whole, resembled a soulless -mosaic of words cemented together with international syntax. As to the -disgracefully slipshod German with which Edward Devrient solemnised -the death of Mendelssohn, I do not even wish to do more than refer to -it. A grammatical error—and this is the most extraordinary feature of -the case—does not therefore seem an offence in any sense to our -Philistine, but a most delightful restorative in the barren wilderness -of everyday German. He still, however, considers all <i>really</i> productive -things to be offensive. The wholly bombastic, distorted, and -threadbare syntax of the modern standard author—yea, even his -ludicrous neologisms—are not only tolerated, but placed to his credit -as the spicy element in his works. But woe to the stylist with -character, who seeks as earnestly and perseveringly to avoid the trite -phrases of everyday parlance, as the "yester-night monster blooms of -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>modern ink-flingers," as Schopenhauer says! When platitudes, -hackneyed, feeble, and vulgar phrases are the rule, and the bad and -the corrupt become refreshing exceptions, then all that is strong, -distinguished, and beautiful perforce acquires an evil odour. From -which it follows that, in Germany, the well-known experience which -befell the normally built traveller in the land of hunchbacks is -constantly being repeated. It will be remembered that he was so -shamefully insulted there, owing to his quaint figure and lack of -dorsal convexity, that a priest at last had to harangue the people on -his behalf as follows: "My brethren, rather pity this poor stranger, -and present thank-offerings unto the gods, that ye are blessed with -such attractive gibbosities."</p> - -<p>If any one attempted to compose a positive grammar out of the -international German style of to-day, and wished to trace the -unwritten and unspoken laws followed by every one, he would get the -most extraordinary notions of style and rhetoric. He would meet with -laws which are probably nothing more than reminiscences of bygone -schooldays, vestiges of impositions for Latin prose, and results -perhaps of choice readings from French novelists, over whose -incredible crudeness every decently educated Frenchman would have the -right to laugh. But no conscientious native of Germany seems to have -given a thought to these extraordinary notions under the yoke of which -almost every German lives and writes.</p> - -<p>As an example of what I say, we may find an <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>injunction to the effect -that a metaphor or a simile must be introduced from time to time, and -that it must be new; but, since to the mind of the shallow-pated -writer newness and modernity are identical, he proceeds forthwith to -rack his brain for metaphors in the technical vocabularies of the -railway, the telegraph, the steamship, and the Stock Exchange, and is -proudly convinced that such metaphors must be new because they are -modern. In Strauss's confession-book we find liberal tribute paid to -modern metaphor. He treats us to a simile, covering a page and a half, -drawn from modern road-improvement work; a few pages farther back he -likens the world to a machine, with its wheels, stampers, hammers, and -"soothing oil" (p. 432); "A repast that begins with champagne" (p. -384); "Kant is a cold-water cure" (p. 309); "The Swiss constitution is -to that of England as a watermill is to a steam-engine, as a -waltz-tune or a song to a fugue or symphony" (p. 301); "In every -appeal, the sequence of procedure must be observed. Now the mean -tribunal between the individual and humanity is the nation" (p. 165); -"If we would know whether there be still any life in an organism which -appears dead to us, we are wont to test it by a powerful, even painful -stimulus, as for example a stab" (p. 161); "The religious domain in -the human soul resembles the domain of the Red Indian in America" (p. -160); "Virtuosos in piety, in convents"(p. 107); "And place the -sum-total of the foregoing in round numbers under the account" (p. -205); "Darwin's theory resembles a railway track that is just <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>marked -out... where the flags are fluttering joyfully in the breeze." In this -really highly modern way, Strauss has met the Philistine injunction to -the effect that a new simile must be introduced from time to time.</p> - -<p>Another rhetorical rule is also very widespread, namely, that didactic -passages should be composed in long periods, and should be drawn out -into lengthy abstractions, while all persuasive passages should -consist of short sentences followed by striking contrasts. On page 154 -in Strauss's book we find a standard example of the didactic and -scholarly style—a passage blown out after the genuine Schleiermacher -manner, and made to stumble along at a true tortoise pace: "The reason -why, in the earlier stages of religion, there appear many instead of -this single Whereon, a plurality of gods instead of the one, is -explained in this deduction of religion, from the fact that the -various forces of nature, or relations of life, which inspire man with -the sentiment of unqualified dependence, still act upon him in the -commencement with the full force of their distinctive characteristics; -that he has not as yet become conscious how, in regard to his -unmitigated dependence upon them, there is no distinction between -them, and that therefore the Whereon of this dependence, or the Being -to which it conducts in the last instance, can only be one."</p> - -<p>On pages 7 and 8 we find an example of the other kind of style, that -of the short sentences containing that affected liveliness which so -excited certain readers that they cannot mention Strauss <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>any more -without coupling his name with Lessing's. "I am well aware that what I -propose to delineate in the following pages is known to multitudes as -well as to myself, to some even much better. A few have already spoken -out on the subject. Am I therefore to keep silence? I think not. For -do we not all supply each other's deficiencies? If another is better -informed as regards some things, I may perhaps be so as regards -others; while yet others are known and viewed by me in a different -light. Out with it, then! let my colours be displayed that it may be -seen whether they are genuine or not.'"</p> - -<p>It is true that Strauss's style generally maintains a happy medium -between this sort of merry quick-march and the other funereal and -indolent pace; but between two vices one does not invariably find a -virtue; more often rather only weakness, helpless paralysis, and -impotence. As a matter of fact, I was very disappointed when I glanced -through Strauss's book in search of fine and witty passages; for, not -having found anything praiseworthy in the Confessor, I had actually -set out with the express purpose of meeting here and there with at -least some opportunities of praising Strauss the Writer. I sought and -sought, but my purpose remained unfulfilled. Meanwhile, however, -another duty seemed to press itself strongly on my mind—that of -enumerating the solecisms, the strained metaphors, the obscure -abbreviations, the instances of bad taste, and the distortions which I -encountered; and these were of such a nature that I dare do no more -than select a few examples of them from <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>among a collection which is -too bulky to be given in full. By means of these examples I may -succeed in showing what it is that inspires, in the hearts of modern -Germans, such faith in this great and seductive stylist Strauss: I -refer to his eccentricities of expression, which, in the barren waste -and dryness of his whole book, jump out at one, not perhaps as -pleasant but as painfully stimulating, surprises. When perusing such -passages, we are at least assured, to use a Straussian metaphor, that -we are not quite dead, but still respond to the test of a stab. For -the rest of the book is entirely lacking in offensiveness—that -quality which alone, as we have seen, is productive, and which our -classical author has himself reckoned among the positive virtues. When -the educated masses meet with exaggerated dulness and dryness, when -they are in the presence of really vapid commonplaces, they now seem -to believe that such things are the signs of health; and in this -respect the words of the author of the <i>dialogus de oratoribus</i> are very -much to the point: "<i>illam ipsam quam jactant sanitatem non firmitate -sed jejunio consequuntur.</i>" That is why they so unanimously hate every -firmitas, because it bears testimony to a kind of health quite -different from theirs; hence their one wish to throw suspicion upon -all austerity and terseness, upon all fiery and energetic movement, -and upon every full and delicate play of muscles. They have conspired -to twist nature and the names of things completely round, and for the -future to speak of health only there where we see <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>weakness, and to -speak of illness and excitability where for our part we see genuine -vigour. From which it follows that David Strauss is to them a -classical author.</p> - -<p>If only this dulness were of a severely logical order! but simplicity -and austerity in thought are precisely what these weaklings have lost, -and in their hands even our language has become illogically tangled. -As a proof of this, let any one try to translate Strauss's style into -Latin: in the case of Kant, be it remembered, this is possible, while -with Schopenhauer it even becomes an agreeable exercise. The reason -why this test fails with Strauss's German is not owing to the fact -that it is more Teutonic than theirs, but because his is distorted and -illogical, whereas theirs is lofty and simple. Moreover, he who knows -how the ancients exerted themselves in order to learn to write and -speak correctly, and how the moderns omit to do so, must feel, as -Schopenhauer says, a positive relief when he can turn from a German -book like the one under our notice, to dive into those other works, -those ancient works which seem to him still to be written in a new -language. "For in these books," says Schopenhauer, "I find a regular -and fixed language which, throughout, faithfully follows the laws of -grammar and orthography, so that I can give up my thoughts completely -to their matter; whereas in German I am constantly being disturbed by -the author's impudence and his continual attempts to establish his own -orthographical freaks and absurd ideas—the swaggering foolery of -which disgusts me. It is <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>really a painful sight to see a fine old -language, possessed of classical literature, being botched by asses -and ignoramuses!"</p> - -<p>Thus Schopenhauer's holy anger cries out to us, and you cannot say -that you have not been warned. He who turns a deaf ear to such -warnings, and who absolutely refuses to relinquish his faith in -Strauss the classical author, can only be given this last word of -advice—to imitate his hero. In any case, try it at your own risk; but -you will repent it, not only in your style but in your head, that it -may be fulfilled which was spoken by the Indian prophet, saying, "He -who gnaweth a cow's horn gnaweth in vain and shorteneth his life; for -he grindeth away his teeth, yet his belly is empty."</p> - - - -<h4>XII.</h4> - - -<p>By way of concluding, we shall proceed to give our classical -prose-writer the promised examples of his style which we have -collected. Schopenhauer would probably have classed the whole lot as -"new documents serving to swell the trumpery jargon of the present -day"; for David Strauss may be comforted to hear (if what follows can -be regarded as a comfort at all) that everybody now writes as he does; -some, of course, worse, and that among the blind the one-eyed is king. -Indeed, we allow him too much when we grant him one eye; but we do -this willingly, because Strauss does not write so badly as the most -infamous of all corrupters of German—the Hegelians and their <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>crippled -offspring. Strauss at least wishes to extricate himself from the mire, -and he is already partly out of it; still, he is very far from being -on dry land, and he still shows signs of having stammered Hegel's -prose in youth. In those days, possibly, something was sprained in -him, some muscle must have been overstrained. His ear, perhaps, like -that of a boy brought up amid the beating of drums, grew dull, and -became incapable of detecting those artistically subtle and yet mighty -laws of sound, under the guidance of which every writer is content to -remain who has been strictly trained in the study of good models. But -in this way, as a stylist, he has lost his most valuable possessions, -and stands condemned to remain reclining, his life long, on the -dangerous and barren shifting sand of newspaper style—that is, if he -do not wish to fall back into the Hegelian mire. Nevertheless, he has -succeeded in making himself famous for a couple of hours in our time, -and perhaps in another couple of hours people will remember that he -was once famous; then, however, night will come, and with her -oblivion; and already at this moment, while we are entering his sins -against style in the black book, the sable mantle of twilight is -falling upon his fame. For he who has sinned against the German -language has desecrated the mystery of all our Germanity. Throughout -all the confusion and the changes of races and of customs, the German -language alone, as though possessed of some supernatural charm, has -saved herself; and with her own salvation she has wrought that of the -spirit of Germany. She <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>alone holds the warrant for this spirit in -future ages, provided she be not destroyed at the sacrilegious hands -of the modern world. "But <i>Di meliora!</i> Avaunt, ye pachyderms, avaunt! -This is the German language, by means of which men express themselves, -and in which great poets have sung and great thinkers have written. -Hands off!" <a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>To put it in plain words, what we have seen have been feet of clay, -and what appeared to be of the colour of healthy flesh was only -applied paint. Of course, Culture-Philistinism in Germany will be very -angry when it hears its one living God referred to as a series of -painted idols. He, however, who dares to overthrow its idols will not -shrink, despite all indignation, from telling it to its face that it -has forgotten how to distinguish between the quick and the dead, the -genuine and the counterfeit, the original and the imitation, between a -God and a host of idols; that it has completely lost the healthy and -manly instinct for what is real and right. It alone deserves to be -destroyed; and already the manifestations of its power are sinking; -already are its purple honours falling from it; but when the purple -falls, its royal wearer soon follows.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>Here I come to the end of my confession of faith. This is the -confession of an individual; and what can such an one do against a -whole world, even supposing his voice were heard everywhere! In order -for the last time to use a precious Straussism, his judgment only -possesses "<i>that amount of subjective truth which is compatible with a -complete lack of objective demonstration</i>"—is not that so, my dear -friends? Meanwhile, be of good cheer. For the time being let the -matter rest at this "amount which is compatible with a complete lack"! -For the time being! That is to say, for as long as that is held to be -out of season which in reality is always in season, and is now more -than ever pressing; I refer to...speaking the truth.<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a></p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Translator's note.—Nietzsche here proceeds to quote -those passages he has culled from <i>The Old</i> and <i>the New Faith</i> with which -he undertakes to substantiate all he has said relative to Strauss's -style; as, however, these passages, with his comments upon them, lose -most of their point when rendered into English, it was thought best to -omit them altogether.</p></div> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> Translator's note.—All quotations from The Old Faith -and the New which appear in the above translation have either been -taken bodily out of Mathilde Blind's translation (Asher and Co., -1873), or are adaptations from that translation.</p></div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a><br /> -<a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a><br /> -<a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a><br /> -<a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></p> -<h3><a id="RICHARD_WAGNER_IN_BAYREUTH"></a>RICHARD WAGNER IN BAYREUTH.</h3> - - -<h4>I.</h4> - - -<p>For an event to be great, two things must be united—the lofty -sentiment of those who accomplish it, and the lofty sentiment of those -who witness it. No event is great in itself, even though it be the -disappearance of whole constellations, the destruction of several -nations, the establishment of vast empires, or the prosecution of wars -at the cost of enormous forces: over things of this sort the breath of -history blows as if they were flocks of wool. But it often happens, -too, that a man of might strikes a blow which falls without effect -upon a stubborn stone; a short, sharp report is heard, and all is -over. History is able to record little or nothing of such abortive -efforts. Hence the anxiety which every one must feel who, observing -the approach of an event, wonders whether those about to witness it -will be worthy of it. This reciprocity between an act and its -reception is always taken into account when anything <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>great or small is -to be accomplished; and he who would give anything away must see to it -that he find recipients who will do justice to the meaning of his -gift. This is why even the work of a great man is not necessarily -great when it is short, abortive, or fruitless; for at the moment when -he performed it he must have failed to perceive that it was really -necessary; he must have been careless in his aim, and he cannot have -chosen and fixed upon the time with sufficient caution. Chance thus -became his master; for there is a very intimate relation between -greatness and the instinct which discerns the proper moment at which -to act.</p> - -<p>We therefore leave it to those who doubt Wagner's power of discerning -the proper time for action, to be concerned and anxious as to whether -what is now taking place in Bayreuth is really opportune and -necessary. To us who are more confident, it is clear that he believes -as strongly in the greatness of his feat as in the greatness of -feeling in those who are to witness it. Be their number great or -small, therefore, all those who inspire this faith in Wagner should -feel extremely honoured; for that it was not inspired by everybody, or -by the whole age, or even by the whole German people, as they are now -constituted, he himself told us in his dedicatory address of the 22nd -of May 1872, and not one amongst us could, with any show of -conviction, assure him of the contrary. "I had only you to turn to," -he said, "when I sought those who I thought would be in sympathy with -my plans,—you who are the most personal friends of my own particular -art, my work and activity: only you <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>could I invite to help me in my -work, that it might be presented pure and whole to those who manifest -a genuine interest in my art, despite the fact that it has hitherto -made its appeal to them only in a disfigured and adulterated form."</p> - -<p>It is certain that in Bayreuth even the spectator is a spectacle worth -seeing. If the spirit of some observant sage were to return, after the -absence of a century, and were to compare the most remarkable -movements in the present world of culture, he would find much to -interest him there. Like one swimming in a lake, who encounters a -current of warm water issuing from a hot spring, in Bayreuth he would -certainly feel as though he had suddenly plunged into a more temperate -element, and would tell himself that this must rise out of a distant -and deeper source: the surrounding mass of water, which at all events -is more common in origin, does not account for it. In this way, all -those who assist at the Bayreuth festival will seem like men out of -season; their <i>raison-d'être</i> and the forces which would seem to account -for them are elsewhere, and their home is not in the present age. I -realise ever more clearly that the scholar, in so far as he is -entirely the man of his own day, can only be accessible to all that -Wagner does and thinks by means of parody,—and since everything is -parodied nowadays, he will even get the event of Bayreuth reproduced -for him, through the very un-magic lanterns of our facetious -art-critics. And one ought to be thankful if they stop at parody; for -by means of it a spirit of aloofness and animosity finds a vent which -might otherwise hit <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>upon a less desirable mode of expression. Now, the -observant sage already mentioned could not remain blind to this -unusual sharpness and tension of contrasts. They who hold by gradual -development as a kind of moral law must be somewhat shocked at the -sight of one who, in the course of a single lifetime, succeeds in -producing something absolutely new. Being dawdlers themselves, and -insisting upon slowness as a principle, they are very naturally vexed -by one who strides rapidly ahead, and they wonder how on earth he does -it. No omens, no periods of transition, and no concessions preceded -the enterprise at Bayreuth; no one except Wagner knew either the goal -or the long road that was to lead to it. In the realm of art it -signifies, so to speak, the first circumnavigation of the world, and -by this voyage not only was there discovered an apparently new art, -but Art itself. In view of this, all modern arts, as arts of luxury -which have degenerated through having been insulated, have become -almost worthless. And the same applies to the nebulous and -inconsistent reminiscences of a genuine art, which we as modern -Europeans derive from the Greeks; let them rest in peace, unless they -are now able to shine of their own accord in the light of a new -interpretation. The last hour has come for a good many things; this -new art is a clairvoyante that sees ruin approaching—not for art -alone. Her warning voice must strike the whole of our prevailing -civilisation with terror the instant the laughter which its parodies -have provoked subsides. Let it laugh and enjoy itself for yet a while -longer!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> -And as for us, the disciples of this revived art, we shall have time -and inclination for thoughtfulness, deep thoughtfulness. All the talk -and noise about art which has been made by civilisation hitherto must -seem like shameless obtrusiveness; everything makes silence a duty -with us—the quinquennial silence of the Pythagoreans. Which of us has -not soiled his hands and heart in the disgusting idolatry of modern -culture? Which of us can exist without the waters of purification? Who -does not hear the voice which cries, "Be silent and cleansed"? Be -silent and cleansed! Only the merit of being included among those who -give ear to this voice will grant even us the <i>lofty look</i> necessary to -view the event at Bayreuth; and only upon this look depends the <i>great -future</i> of the event.</p> - -<p>When on that dismal and cloudy day in May 1872, after the foundation -stone had been laid on the height of Bayreuth, amid torrents of rain, -and while Wagner was driving back to the town with a small party of -us, he was exceptionally silent, and there was that indescribable look -in his eyes as of one who has turned his gaze deeply inwards. The day -happened to be the first of his sixtieth year, and his whole past now -appeared as but a long preparation for this great moment. It is almost -a recognised fact that in times of exceptional danger, or at all -decisive and culminating points in their lives, men see the remotest -and most recent events of their career with singular vividness, and in -one rapid inward glance obtain a sort of panorama of a whole span of -years in which every event is faithfully depicted. What, for instance, -must Alexander <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>the Great have seen in that instant when he caused Asia -and Europe to be drunk out of the same goblet? But what went through -Wagner's mind on that day—how he became what he is, and what he will -be—we only can imagine who are nearest to him, and can follow him, up -to a certain point, in his self-examination; but through his eyes -alone is it possible for us to understand his grand work, and by the -help of this understanding vouch for its fruitfulness.</p> - - - -<h4>II.</h4> - - -<p>It were strange if what a man did best and most liked to do could not -be traced in the general outline of his life, and in the case of those -who are remarkably endowed there is all the more reason for supposing -that their life will present not only the counterpart of their -character, as in the case of every one else, but that it will present -above all the counterpart of their intellect and their most individual -tastes. The life of the epic poet will have a dash of the Epos in -it—as from all accounts was the case with Goethe, whom the Germans -very wrongly regarded only as a lyrist—and the life of the dramatist -will probably be dramatic.</p> - -<p>The dramatic element in Wagner's <i>development</i> cannot be ignored, from -the time when his ruling passion became self-conscious and took -possession of his whole being. From that time forward there is an end -to all groping, straying, and sprouting of offshoots, and over his -most tortuous deviations and excursions, over the often eccentric -disposition <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>of his plans, a single law and will are seen to rule, in -which we have the explanation of his actions, however strange this -explanation may sometimes appear. There was, however, an ante-dramatic -period in Wagner's life—his childhood and youth—which it is -impossible to approach without discovering innumerable problems. At -this period there seems to be no promise yet of himself, and what one -might now, in a retrospect, regard as a pledge for his future -greatness, amounts to no more than a juxta-position of traits which -inspire more dismay than hope; a restless and excitable spirit, -nervously eager to undertake a hundred things at the same time, -passionately fond of almost morbidly exalted states of mind, and ready -at any moment to veer completely round from calm and profound -meditation to a state of violence and uproar. In his case there were -no hereditary or family influences at work to constrain him to the -sedulous study of one particular art. Painting, versifying, acting, -and music were just as much within his reach as the learning and the -career of a scholar; and the superficial inquirer into this stage of -his life might even conclude that he was born to be a dilettante. The -small world within the bounds of which he grew up was not of the kind -we should choose to be the home of an artist. He ran the constant risk -of becoming infected by that dangerously dissipated attitude of mind -in which a person will taste of everything, as also by that condition -of slackness resulting from the fragmentary knowledge of all things, -which is so characteristic of University towns. His feelings were -easily roused and but <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>indifferently satisfied; wherever the boy turned -he found himself surrounded by a wonderful and would-be learned -activity, to which the garish theatres presented a ridiculous -contrast, and the entrancing strains of music a perplexing one. Now, -to the observer who sees things relatively, it must seem strange that -the modern man who happens to be gifted with exceptional talent should -as a child and a youth so seldom be blessed with the quality of -ingenuousness and of simple individuality, that he is so little able -to have these qualities at all. As a matter of fact, men of rare -talent, like Goethe and Wagner, much more often attain to -ingenuousness in manhood than during the more tender years of -childhood and youth. And this is especially so with the artist, who, -being born with a more than usual capacity for imitating, succumbs to -the morbid multiformity of modern life as to a virulent disease of -infancy. As a child he will more closely resemble an old man. The -wonderfully accurate and original picture of youth which Wagner gives -us in the Siegfried of the Nibelungen Ring could only have been -conceived by a man, and by one who had discovered his youthfulness but -late in life. Wagner's maturity, like his adolesence, was also late in -making its appearance, and he is thus, in this respect alone, the very -reverse of the precocious type.</p> - -<p>The appearance of his moral and intellectual strength was the prelude -to the drama of his soul. And how different it then became! His nature -seems to have been simplified at one terrible stroke, and divided -against itself into two instincts <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>or spheres. From its innermost -depths there gushes forth a passionate will which, like a rapid -mountain torrent, endeavours to make its way through all paths, -ravines, and crevices, in search of light and power. Only a force -completely free and pure was strong enough to guide this will to all -that is good and beneficial. Had it been combined with a narrow -intelligence, a will with such a tyrannical and boundless desire might -have become fatal; in any case, an exit into the open had to be found -for it as quickly as possible, whereby it could rush into pure air and -sunshine. Lofty aspirations, which continually meet with failure, -ultimately turn to evil. The inadequacy of means for obtaining success -may, in certain circumstances, be the result of an inexorable fate, -and not necessarily of a lack of strength; but he who under such -circumstances cannot abandon his aspirations, despite the inadequacy -of his means, will only become embittered, and consequently irritable -and intolerant. He may possibly seek the cause of his failure in other -people; he may even, in a fit of passion, hold the whole world guilty; -or he may turn defiantly down secret byways and secluded lanes, or -resort to violence. In this way, noble natures, on their road to the -most high, may turn savage. Even among those who seek but their own -personal moral purity, among monks and anchorites, men are to be found -who, undermined and devoured by failure, have become barbarous and -hopelessly morbid. There was a spirit full of love and calm belief, -full of goodness and infinite tenderness, hostile to all violence and -self-deterioration, and abhorring the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>sight of a soul in bondage. And -it was this spirit which manifested itself to Wagner. It hovered over -him as a consoling angel, it covered him with its wings, and showed -him the true path. At this stage we bring the other side of Wagner's -nature into view: but how shall we describe this other side?</p> - -<p>The characters an artist creates are not himself, but the succession -of these characters, to which it is clear he is greatly attached, must -at all events reveal something of his nature. Now try and recall -Rienzi, the Flying Dutchman and Senta, Tannhäuser and Elizabeth, -Lohengrin and Elsa, Tristan and Marke, Hans Sachs, Woden and -Brunhilda,—all these characters are correlated by a secret current of -ennobling and broadening morality which flows through them and becomes -ever purer and clearer as it progresses. And at this point we enter -with respectful reserve into the presence of the most hidden -development in Wagner's own soul. In what other artist do we meet with -the like of this, in the same proportion? Schiller's characters, from -the Robbers to Wallenstein and Tell, do indeed pursue an ennobling -course, and likewise reveal something of their author's development; -but in Wagner the standard is higher and the distance covered is much -greater. In the Nibelungen Ring, for instance, where Brunhilda is -awakened by Siegfried, I perceive the most moral music I have ever -heard. Here Wagner attains to such a high level of sacred feeling that -our mind unconsciously wanders to the glistening ice- and snow-peaks of -the Alps, to find a likeness there;—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>so pure, isolated, inaccessible, -chaste, and bathed in love-beams does Nature here display herself, -that clouds and tempests—yea, and even the sublime itself—seem to -lie beneath her. Now, looking down from this height upon Tannhäuser -and the Flying Dutchman, we begin to perceive how the man in Wagner -was evolved: how restlessly and darkly he began; how tempestuously he -strove to gratify his desires, to acquire power and to taste those -rapturous delights from which he often fled in disgust; how he wished -to throw off a yoke, to forget, to be negative, and to renounce -everything. The whole torrent plunged, now into this valley, now into -that, and flooded the most secluded chinks and crannies. In the night -of these semi-subterranean convulsions a star appeared and glowed high -above him with melancholy vehemence; as soon as he recognised it, he -named it Fidelity—unselfish fidelity. Why did this star seem to him -the brightest and purest of all? What secret meaning had the word -"fidelity" to his whole being? For he has graven its image and -problems upon all his thoughts and compositions. His works contain -almost a complete series of the rarest and most beautiful examples of -fidelity: that of brother to sister, of friend to friend, of servant -to master; of Elizabeth to Tannhäuser, of Senta to the Dutchman, of -Elsa to Lohengrin, of Isolde, Kurvenal, and Marke to Tristan, of -Brunhilda to the most secret vows of Woden—and many others. It is -Wagner's most personal and most individual experience, which he -reveres like a religious mystery, and which he calls Fidelity; he -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>never wearies of breathing it into hundreds of different characters, -and of endowing it with the sublimest that in him lies, so overflowing -is his gratitude. It is, in short, the recognition of the fact that -the two sides of his nature remained faithful to each other, that out -of free and unselfish love, the creative, ingenuous, and brilliant -side kept loyally abreast of the dark, the intractable, and the -tyrannical side.</p> - - - -<h4>III.</h4> - - -<p>The relation of the two constituent forces to each other, and the -yielding of the one to the other, was the great requisite by which -alone he could remain wholly and truly himself. At the same time, this -was the only thing he could not control, and over which he could only -keep a watch, while the temptations to infidelity and its threatening -dangers beset him more and more. The uncertainty derived therefrom is -an overflowing source of suffering for those in process of -development. Each of his instincts made constant efforts to attain to -unmeasured heights, and each of the capacities he possessed for -enjoying life seemed to long to tear itself away from its companions -in order to seek satisfaction alone; the greater their exuberance the -more terrific was the tumult, and the more bitter the competition -between them. In addition, accident and life fired the desire for -power and splendour in him; but he was more often tormented by the -cruel necessity of having to live at all, while all around him lay -obstacles and snares. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>How is it possible for any one to remain -faithful here, to be completely steadfast? This doubt often depressed -him, and he expresses it, as an artist expressed his doubt, in -artistic forms. Elizabeth, for instance, can only suffer, pray, and -die; she saves the fickle and intemperate man by her loyalty, though -not for this life. In the path of every true artist, whose lot is cast -in these modern days, despair and danger are strewn. He has many means -whereby he can attain to honour and might; peace and plenty -persistently offer themselves to him, but only in that form recognised -by the modern man, which to the straightforward artist is no better -than choke-damp. In this temptation, and in the act of resisting it, -lie the dangers that threaten him—dangers arising from his disgust at -the means modernity offers him of acquiring pleasure and esteem, and -from the indignation provoked by the selfish ease of modern society. -Imagine Wagner's filling an official position, as for instance that of -bandmaster at public and court theatres, both of which positions he -has held: think how he, a serious artist, must have struggled in order -to enforce seriousness in those very places which, to meet the demands -of modern conventions, are designed with almost systematic frivolity -to appeal only to the frivolous. Think how he must have partially -succeeded, though only to fail on the whole. How constantly disgust -must have been at his heels despite his repeated attempts to flee it, -how he failed to find the haven to which he might have repaired, and -how he had ever to return to the Bohemians and outlaws of our <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>society, -as one of them. If he himself broke loose from any post or position, -he rarely found a better one in its stead, while more than once -distress was all that his unrest brought him. Thus Wagner changed his -associates, his dwelling-place and country, and when we come to -comprehend the nature of the circles into which he gravitated, we can -hardly realise how he was able to tolerate them for any length of -time. The greater half of his past seems to be shrouded in heavy mist; -for a long time he appears to have had no general hopes, but only -hopes for the morrow, and thus, although he reposed no faith in the -future, he was not driven to despair. He must have felt like a -nocturnal traveller, broken with fatigue, exasperated from want of -sleep, and tramping wearily along beneath a heavy burden, who, far -from fearing the sudden approach of death, rather longs for it as -something exquisitely charming. His burden, the road and the -night—all would disappear! The thought was a temptation to him. Again -and again, buoyed up by his temporary hopes, he plunged anew into the -turmoil of life, and left all apparatus behind him. But his method of -doing this, his lack of moderation in the doing, betrayed what a -feeble hold his hopes had upon him; how they were only stimulants to -which he had recourse in an extremity. The conflict between his -aspirations and his partial or total inability to realise them, -tormented him like a thorn in the flesh. Infuriated by constant -privations, his imagination lapsed into the dissipated, whenever the -state of want was momentarily relieved. Life <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>grew ever more and more -complicated for him; but the means and artifices that he discovered in -his art as a dramatist became evermore resourceful and daring. Albeit, -these were little more than palpable dramatic makeshifts and -expedients, which deceived, and were invented, only for the moment. In -a flash such means occurred to his mind and were used up. Examined -closely and without prepossession, Wagner's life, to recall one of -Schopenhauer's expressions, might be said to consist largely of -comedy, not to mention burlesque. And what the artist's feelings must -have been, conscious as he was, during whole periods of his life, of -this undignified element in it,—he who more than any one else, -perhaps, breathed freely only in sublime and more than sublime -spheres,—the thinker alone can form any idea.</p> - -<p>In the midst of this mode of life, a detailed description of which is -necessary in order to inspire the amount of pity, awe, and admiration -which are its due, he developed a <i>talent for acquiring knowledge</i>, -which even in a German—a son of the nation learned above all -others—was really extraordinary. And with this talent yet another -danger threatened Wagner—a danger more formidable than that involved -in a life which was apparently without either a stay or a rule, borne -hither and thither by disturbing illusions. From a novice trying his -strength, Wagner became a thorough master of music and of the theatre, -as also a prolific inventor in the preliminary technical conditions -for the execution of art. No one will any longer deny him the glory of -having given us the supreme model for lofty artistic <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>execution on a -large scale. But he became more than this, and in order so to develop, -he, no less than any one else in like circumstances, had to reach the -highest degree of culture by virtue of his studies. And wonderfully he -achieved this end! It is delightful to follow his progress. From all -sides material seemed to come unto him and into him, and the larger -and heavier the resulting structure became, the more rigid was the -arch of the ruling and ordering thought supporting it. And yet access -to the sciences and arts has seldom been made more difficult for any -man than for Wagner; so much so that he had almost to break his own -road through to them. The reviver of the simple drama, the discoverer -of the position due to art in true human society, the poetic -interpreter of bygone views of life, the philosopher, the historian, -the æsthete and the critic, the master of languages, the mythologist -and the myth poet, who was the first to include all these wonderful -and beautiful products of primitive times in a single Ring, upon which -he engraved the runic characters of his thoughts—what a wealth of -knowledge must Wagner have accumulated and commanded, in order to have -become all that! And yet this mass of material was just as powerless -to impede the action of his will as a matter of detail—however -attractive—was to draw his purpose from its path. For the exceptional -character of such conduct to be appreciated fully, it should be -compared with that of Goethe,—he who, as a student and as a sage, -resembled nothing so much as a huge river-basin, which does not pour -all its water into the sea, but spends <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>as much of it on its way there, -and at its various twists and turns, as it ultimately disgorges at its -mouth. True, a nature like Goethe's not only has, but also engenders, -more pleasure than any other; there is more mildness and noble -profligacy in it; whereas the tenor and tempo of Wagner's power at -times provoke both fear and flight. But let him fear who will, we -shall only be the more courageous, in that we shall be permitted to -come face to face with a hero who, in regard to modern culture, "has -never learned the meaning of fear."</p> - -<p>But neither has he learned to look for repose in history and -philosophy, nor to derive those subtle influences from their study -which tend to paralyse action or to soften a man unduly. Neither the -creative nor the militant artist in him was ever diverted from his -purpose by learning and culture. The moment his constructive powers -direct him, history becomes yielding clay in his hands. His attitude -towards it then differs from that of every scholar, and more nearly -resembles the relation of the ancient Greek to his myths; that is to -say, his subject is something he may fashion, and about which he may -write verses. He will naturally do this with love and a certain -becoming reverence, but with the sovereign right of the creator -notwithstanding. And precisely because history is more supple and more -variable than a dream to him, he can invest the most individual case -with the characteristics of a whole age, and thus attain to a -vividness of narrative of which historians are quite incapable. In -what work of art, of any kind, has the body and soul of the Middle -Ages ever been <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>so thoroughly depicted as in Lohengrin? And will not -the Meistersingers continue to acquaint men, even in the remotest ages -to come, with the nature of Germany's soul? Will they not do more than -acquaint men of it? Will they not represent its very ripest fruit—the -fruit of that spirit which ever wishes to reform and not to overthrow, -and which, despite the broad couch of comfort on which it lies, has -not forgotten how to endure the noblest discomfort when a worthy and -novel deed has to be accomplished?</p> - -<p>And it is just to this kind of discomfort that Wagner always felt -himself drawn by his study of history and philosophy: in them he not -only found arms and coats of mail, but what he felt in their presence -above all was the inspiring breath which is wafted from the graves of -all great fighters, sufferers, and thinkers. Nothing distinguishes a -man more from the general pattern of the age than the use he makes of -history and philosophy. According to present views, the former seems -to have been allotted the duty of giving modern man breathing-time, in -the midst of his panting and strenuous scurry towards his goal, so -that he may, for a space, imagine he has slipped his leash. What -Montaigne was as an individual amid the turmoil of the -Reformation—that is to say, a creature inwardly coming to peace with -himself, serenely secluded in himself and taking breath, as his best -reader, Shakespeare, understood him,—this is what history is to the -modern spirit to-day. The fact that the Germans, for a whole century, -have devoted themselves more particularly <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>to the study of history, -only tends to prove that they are the stemming, retarding, and -becalming force in the activity of modern society—a circumstance -which some, of course, will place to their credit. On the whole, -however, it is a dangerous symptom when the mind of a nation turns -with preference to the study of the past. It is a sign of flagging -strength, of decline and degeneration; it denotes that its people are -perilously near to falling victims to the first fever that may happen -to be rif—the political fever among others. Now, in the history of -modern thought, our scholars are an example of this condition of -weakness as opposed to all reformative and revolutionary activity. The -mission they have chosen is not of the noblest; they have rather been -content to secure smug happiness for their kind, and little more. -Every independent and manly step leaves them halting in the -background, although it by no means outstrips history. For the latter -is possessed of vastly different powers, which only natures like -Wagner have any notion of; but it requires to be written in a much -more earnest and severe spirit, by much more vigorous students, and -with much less optimism than has been the case hitherto. In fact, it -requires to be treated quite differently from the way German scholars -have treated it until now. In all their works there is a continual -desire to embellish, to submit and to be content, while the course of -events invariably seems to have their approbation. It is rather the -exception for one of them to imply that he is satisfied only because -things might have turned out worse; for most of them believe, almost -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>as a matter of course, that everything has been for the best simply -because it has only happened once. Were history not always a disguised -Christian theodicy, were it written with more justice and fervent -feeling, it would be the very last thing on earth to be made to serve -the purpose it now serves, namely, that of an opiate against -everything subversive and novel. And philosophy is in the same plight: -all that the majority demand of it is, that it may teach them to -understand approximate facts—very approximate facts—in order that -they may then become adapted to them. And even its noblest exponents -press its soporific and comforting powers so strongly to the fore, -that all lovers of sleep and of loafing must think that their aim and -the aim of philosophy are one. For my part, the most important -question philosophy has to decide seems to be, how far things have -acquired an unalterable stamp and form, and, once this question has -been answered, I think it the duty of philosophy unhesitatingly and -courageously to proceed with the task of <i>improving that part of the -world which has been recognised as still susceptible to change</i>. But -genuine philosophers do, as a matter of fact, teach this doctrine -themselves, inasmuch as they work at endeavouring to alter the very -changeable views of men, and do not keep their opinions to themselves. -Genuine disciples of genuine philosophies also teach this doctrine; -for, like Wagner, they understand the art of deriving a more decisive -and inflexible will from their master's teaching, rather than an -opiate or a sleeping draught. Wagner is most philosophical <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>where he is -most powerfully active and heroic. It was as a philosopher that he -went, not only through the fire of various philosophical systems -without fear, but also through the vapours of science and scholarship, -while remaining ever true to his highest self. And it was this highest -self which exacted <i>from his versatile spirit works as complete as his -were</i>, which bade him suffer and learn, that he might accomplish such -works.</p> - - - -<h4>IV.</h4> - - -<p>The history of the development of culture since the time of the Greeks -is short enough, when we take into consideration the actual ground it -covers, and ignore the periods during which man stood still, went -backwards, hesitated or strayed. The Hellenising of the world—and to -make this possible, the Orientalising of Hellenism—that double -mission of Alexander the Great, still remains the most important -event: the old question whether a foreign civilisation may be -transplanted is still the problem that the peoples of modern times are -vainly endeavouring to solve. The rhythmic play of those two factors -against each other is the force that has determined the course of -history heretofore. Thus Christianity appears, for instance, as a -product of Oriental antiquity, which was thought out and pursued to -its ultimate conclusions by men, with almost intemperate thoroughness. -As its influence began to decay, the power of Hellenic culture was -revived, and we are now <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>experiencing phenomena so strange that they -would hang in the air as unsolved problems, if it were not possible, -by spanning an enormous gulf of time, to show their relation to -analogous phenomena in Hellenistic culture. Thus, between Kant and the -Eleatics, Schopenhauer and Empedocles, Æschylus and Wagner, there is -so much relationship, so many things in common, that one is vividly -impressed with the very relative nature of all notions of time. It -would even seem as if a whole diversity of things were really all of a -piece, and that time is only a cloud which makes it hard for our eyes -to perceive the oneness of them. In the history of the exact sciences -we are perhaps most impressed by the close bond uniting us with the -days of Alexander and ancient Greece. The pendulum of history seems -merely to have swung back to that point from which it started when it -plunged forth into unknown and mysterious distance. The picture -represented by our own times is by no means a new one: to the student -of history it must always seem as though he were merely in the -presence of an old familiar face, the features of which he recognises. -In our time the spirit of Greek culture is scattered broadcast. While -forces of all kinds are pressing one upon the other, and the fruits of -modern art and science are offering themselves as a means of exchange, -the pale outline of Hellenism is beginning to dawn faintly in the -distance. The earth which, up to the present, has been more than -adequately Orientalised, begins to yearn once more for Hellenism. He -who wishes to help her in this respect <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span>will certainly need to be -gifted for speedy action and to have wings on his heels, in order to -synthetise the multitudinous and still undiscovered facts of science -and the many conflicting divisions of talent so as to reconnoitre and -rule the whole enormous field. It is now necessary that a generation -of <i>anti-Alexanders</i> should arise, endowed with the supreme strength -necessary for gathering up, binding together, and joining the -individual threads of the fabric, so as to prevent their being -scattered to the four winds. The object is not to cut the Gordian knot -of Greek culture after the manner adopted by Alexander, and then to -leave its frayed ends fluttering in all directions; it is rather <i>to -bind it after it has been loosed</i>. That is our task to-day. In the -person of Wagner I recognise one of these anti-Alexanders: he rivets -and locks together all that is isolated, weak, or in any way -defective; if I may be allowed to use a medical expression, he has an -<i>astringent power</i>. And in this respect he is one of the greatest -civilising forces of his age. He dominates art, religion, and -folklore, yet he is the reverse of a polyhistor or of a mere -collecting and classifying spirit; for he constructs with the -collected material, and breathes life into it, and is a <i>Simplifier of -the Universe</i>. We must not be led away from this idea by comparing the -general mission which his genius imposed upon him with the much -narrower and more immediate one which we are at present in the habit -of associating with the name of Wagner. He is expected to effect a -reform in the theatre world; but even supposing he should succeed in -doing this, what would then <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>have been done towards the accomplishment -of that higher, more distant mission?</p> - -<p>But even with this lesser theatrical reform, modern man would also be -altered and reformed; for everything is so intimately related in this -world, that he who removes even so small a thing as a rivet from the -framework shatters and destroys the whole edifice. And what we here -assert, with perhaps seeming exaggeration, of Wagner's activity would -hold equally good of any other genuine reform. It is quite impossible -to reinstate the art of drama in its purest and highest form without -effecting changes everywhere in the customs of the people, in the -State, in education, and in social intercourse. When love and justice -have become powerful in one department of life, namely in art, they -must, in accordance with the law of their inner being, spread their -influence around them, and can no more return to the stiff stillness -of their former pupal condition. In order even to realise how far the -attitude of the arts towards life is a sign of their decline, and how -far our theatres are a disgrace to those who build and visit them, -everything must be learnt over again, and that which is usual and -commonplace should be regarded as something unusual and complicated. -An extraordinary lack of clear judgment, a badly-concealed lust of -pleasure, of entertainment at any cost, learned scruples, assumed airs -of importance, and trifling with the seriousness of art on the part of -those who represent it; brutality of appetite and money-grubbing on -the part of promoters; the empty-mindedness and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>thoughtlessness of -society, which only thinks of the people in so far as these serve or -thwart its purpose, and which attends theatres and concerts without -giving a thought to its duties,—all these things constitute the -stifling and deleterious atmosphere of our modern art conditions: -when, however, people like our men of culture have grown accustomed to -it, they imagine that it is a condition of their healthy existence, -and would immediately feel unwell if, for any reason, they were -compelled to dispense with it for a while. In point of fact, there is -but one speedy way of convincing oneself of the vulgarity, weirdness, -and confusion of our theatrical institutions, and that is to compare -them with those which once flourished in ancient Greece. If we knew -nothing about the Greeks, it would perhaps be impossible to assail our -present conditions at all, and objections made on the large scale -conceived for the first time by Wagner would have been regarded as the -dreams of people who could only be at home in outlandish places. "For -men as we now find them," people would have retorted, "art of this -modern kind answers the purpose and is fitting—and men have never -been different." But they have been very different, and even now there -are men who are far from satisfied with the existing state of -affairs—the fact of Bayreuth alone demonstrates this point. Here you -will find prepared and initiated spectators, and the emotion of men -conscious of being at the very zenith of their happiness, who -concentrate their whole being on that happiness in order to strengthen -themselves <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>for a higher and more far-reaching purpose. Here you will -find the most noble self-abnegation on the part of the artist, and the -finest of all spectacles—that of a triumphant creator of works which -are in themselves an overflowing treasury of artistic triumphs. Does -it not seem almost like a fairy tale, to be able to come face to face -with such a personality? Must not they who take any part whatsoever, -active or passive, in the proceedings at Bayreuth, already feel -altered and rejuvenated, and ready to introduce reforms and to effect -renovations in other spheres of life? Has not a haven been found for -all wanderers on high and desert seas, and has not peace settled over -the face of the waters? Must not he who leaves these spheres of ruling -profundity and loneliness for the very differently ordered world with -its plains and lower levels, cry continually like Isolde: "Oh, how -could I bear it? How can I still bear it?" And should he be unable to -endure his joy and his sorrow, or to keep them egotistically to -himself, he will avail himself from that time forward of every -opportunity of making them known to all. "Where are they who are -suffering under the yoke of modern institutions?" he will inquire. -"Where are my natural allies, with whom I may struggle against the -ever waxing and ever more oppressive pretensions of modern erudition?" -For at present, at least, we have but one enemy—at present!—and it -is that band of æsthetes, to whom the word Bayreuth means the -completest rout—they have taken no share in the arrangements, they -were rather indignant at the whole movement, or else <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>availed -themselves effectively of the deaf-ear policy, which has now become -the trusty weapon of all very superior opposition. But this proves -that their animosity and knavery were ineffectual in destroying -Wagner's spirit or in hindering the accomplishment of his plans; it -proves even more, for it betrays their weakness and the fact that all -those who are at present in possession of power will not be able to -withstand many more attacks. The time is at hand for those who would -conquer and triumph; the vastest empires lie at their mercy, a note of -interrogation hangs to the name of all present possessors of power, so -far as possession may be said to exist in this respect. Thus -educational institutions are said to be decaying, and everywhere -individuals are to be found who have secretly deserted them. If only -it were possible to invite those to open rebellion and public -utterances, who even now are thoroughly dissatisfied with the state of -affairs in this quarter! If only it were possible to deprive them of -their faint heart and lukewarmness! I am convinced that the whole -spirit of modern culture would receive its deadliest blow if the tacit -support which these natures give it could in any way be cancelled. -Among scholars, only those would remain loyal to the old order of -things who had been infected with the political mania or who were -literary hacks in any form whatever. The repulsive organisation which -derives its strength from the violence and injustice upon which it -relies—that is to say, from the State and Society—and which sees its -advantage in making the latter ever more evil and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>unscrupulous,—this -structure which without such support would be something feeble and -effete, only needs to be despised in order to perish. He who is -struggling to spread justice and love among mankind must regard this -organisation as the least significant of the obstacles in his way; for -he will only encounter his real opponents once he has successfully -stormed and conquered modern culture, which is nothing more than their -outworks.</p> - -<p>For us, Bayreuth is the consecration of the dawn of the combat. No -greater injustice could be done to us than to suppose that we are -concerned with art alone, as though it were merely a means of healing -or stupefying us, which we make use of in order to rid our -consciousness of all the misery that still remains in our midst. In -the image of this tragic art work at Bayreuth, we see, rather, the -struggle of individuals against everything which seems to oppose them -with invincible necessity, with power, law, tradition, conduct, and -the whole order of things established. Individuals cannot choose a -better life than that of holding themselves ready to sacrifice -themselves and to die in their fight for love and justice. The gaze -which the mysterious eye of tragedy vouchsafes us neither lulls nor -paralyses. Nevertheless, it demands silence of us as long as it keeps -us in view; for art does not serve the purposes of war, but is merely -with us to improve our hours of respite, before and during the course -of the contest,—to improve those few moments when, looking back, yet -dreaming of the future, we seem to understand the symbolical, and are -carried away into a refreshing reverie when <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>fatigue overtakes us. Day -and battle dawn together, the sacred shadows vanish, and Art is once -more far away from us; but the comfort she dispenses is with men from -the earliest hour of day, and never leaves them. Wherever he turns, -the individual realises only too clearly his own shortcomings, his -insufficiency and his incompetence; what courage would he have left -were he not previously rendered impersonal by this consecration! The -greatest of all torments harassing him, the conflicting beliefs and -opinions among men, the unreliability of these beliefs and opinions, -and the unequal character of men's abilities—all these things make -him hanker after art. We cannot be happy so long as everything about -us suffers and causes suffering; we cannot be moral so long as the -course of human events is determined by violence, treachery, and -injustice; we cannot even be wise, so long as the whole of mankind -does not compete for wisdom, and does not lead the individual to the -most sober and reasonable form of life and knowledge. How, then, would -it be possible to endure this feeling of threefold insufficiency if -one were not able to recognise something sublime and valuable in one's -struggles, strivings, and defeats, if one did not learn from tragedy -how to delight in the rhythm of the great passions, and in their -victim? Art is certainly no teacher or educator of practical conduct: -the artist is never in this sense an instructor or adviser; the things -after which a tragic hero strives are not necessarily worth striving -after. As in a dream so in art, the valuation of things only holds -good while we are <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>under its spell. What we, for the time being, regard -as so worthy of effort, and what makes us sympathise with the tragic -hero when he prefers death to renouncing the object of his desire, -this can seldom retain the same value and energy when transferred to -everyday life: that is why art is the business of the man who is -recreating himself. The strife it reveals to us is a simplification of -life's struggle; its problems are abbreviations of the infinitely -complicated phenomena of man's actions and volitions. But from this -very fact—that it is the reflection, so to speak, of a simpler world, -a more rapid solution of the riddle of life—art derives its greatness -and indispensability. No one who suffers from life can do without this -reflection, just as no one can exist without sleep. The more difficult -the science of natural laws becomes, the more fervently we yearn for -the image of this simplification, if only for an instant; and the -greater becomes the tension between each man's general knowledge of -things and his moral and spiritual faculties. Art is with us <i>to -prevent the bow from snapping</i>.</p> - -<p>The individual must be consecrated to something impersonal—that is -the aim of tragedy: he must forget the terrible anxiety which death -and time tend to create in him; for at any moment of his life, at any -fraction of time in the whole of his span of years, something sacred -may cross his path which will amply compensate him for all his -struggles and privations. This means <i>having a sense for the tragic</i>. -And if all mankind must perish some day—and who could question this! -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>—it has been given its highest aim for the future, namely, to -increase and to live in such unity that it may confront its final -extermination as a whole, with one spiritmdash;with a common sense of the -tragic: in this one aim all the ennobling influences of man lie -locked; its complete repudiation by humanity would be the saddest blow -which the soul of the philanthropist could receive. That is how I feel -in the matter! There is but one hope and guarantee for the future of -man, and that is <i>that his sense for the tragic may not die out</i>. If he -ever completely lost it, an agonised cry, the like of which has never -been heard, would have to be raised all over the world; for there is -no more blessed joy than that which consists in knowing what we -know—how tragic thought was born again on earth. For this joy is -thoroughly impersonal and general: it is the wild rejoicing of -humanity, anent the hidden relationship and progress of all that is -human.</p> - - - -<h4>V.</h4> - - -<p>Wagner concentrated upon life, past and present, the light of an -intelligence strong enough to embrace the most distant regions in its -rays. That is why he is a simplifier of the universe; for the -simplification of the universe is only possible to him whose eye has -been able to master the immensity and wildness of an apparent chaos, -and to relate and unite those things which before had lain hopelessly -asunder. Wagner did this by discovering a connection between two -objects which <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>seemed to exist apart from each other as though in -separate spheres—that between music and life, and similarly between -music and the drama. Not that he invented or was the first to create -this relationship, for they must always have existed and have been -noticeable to all; but, as is usually the case with a great problem, -it is like a precious stone which thousands stumble over before one -finally picks it up. Wagner asked himself the meaning of the fact that -an art such as music should have become so very important a feature of -the lives of modern men. It is not necessary to think meanly of life -in order to suspect a riddle behind this question. On the contrary, -when all the great forces of existence are duly considered, and -struggling life is regarded as striving mightily after conscious -freedom and independence of thought, only then does music seem to be a -riddle in this world. Should one not answer: Music could not have been -born in our time? What then does its presence amongst us signify? An -accident? A single great artist might certainly be an accident, but -the appearance of a whole group of them, such as the history of modern -music has to show, a group only once before equalled on earth, that is -to say in the time of the Greeks,—a circumstance of this sort leads -one to think that perhaps necessity rather than accident is at the -root of the whole phenomenon. The meaning of this necessity is the -riddle which Wagner answers.</p> - -<p>He was the first to recognise an evil which is as widespread as -civilisation itself among men; language is everywhere diseased, and -the burden <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>of this terrible disease weighs heavily upon the whole of -man's development. Inasmuch as language has retreated ever more and -more from its true province—the expression of strong feelings, which -it was once able to convey in all their simplicity—and has always had -to strain after the practically impossible achievement of -communicating the reverse of feeling, that is to say thought, its -strength has become so exhausted by this excessive extension of its -duties during the comparatively short period of modern civilisation, -that it is no longer able to perform even that function which alone -justifies its existence, to wit, the assisting of those who suffer, in -communicating with each other concerning the sorrows of existence. Man -can no longer make his misery known unto others by means of language; -hence he cannot really express himself any longer. And under these -conditions, which are only vaguely felt at present, language has -gradually become a force in itself which with spectral arms coerces -and drives humanity where it least wants to go. As soon as they would -fain understand one another and unite for a common cause, the -craziness of general concepts, and even of the ring of modern words, -lays hold of them. The result of this inability to communicate with -one another is that every product of their co-operative action bears -the stamp of discord, not only because it fails to meet their real -needs, but because of the very emptiness of those all-powerful words -and notions already mentioned. To the misery already at hand, man thus -adds the curse of convention—that is to say, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>the agreement between -words and actions without an agreement between the feelings. Just as, -during the decline of every art, a point is reached when the morbid -accumulation of its means and forms attains to such tyrannical -proportions that it oppresses the tender souls of artists and converts -these into slaves, so now, in the period of the decline of language, -men have become the slaves of words. Under this yoke no one is able to -show himself as he is, or to express himself artlessly, while only few -are able to preserve their individuality in their fight against a -culture which thinks to manifest its success, not by the fact that it -approaches definite sensations and desires with the view of educating -them, but by the fact that it involves the individual in the snare of -"definite notions," and teaches him to think correctly: as if there -were any value in making a correctly thinking and reasoning being out -of man, before one has succeeded in making him a creature that feels -correctly. If now the strains of our German masters' music burst upon -a mass of mankind sick to this extent, what is really the meaning of -these strains? Only <i>correct feeling</i>, the enemy of all convention, of -all artificial estrangement and misunderstandings between man and man: -this music signifies a return to nature, and at the same time a -purification and remodelling of it; for the need of such a return took -shape in the souls of the most loving of men, and, <i>through their art, -nature transformed into love makes its voice heard</i>.</p> - -<p>Let us regard this as <i>one</i> of Wagner's answers to the question, What -does music mean in our <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>time? for he has a second. The relation between -music and life is not merely that existing between one kind of -language and another; it is, besides, the relation between the perfect -world of sound and that of sight. Regarded merely as a spectacle, and -compared with other and earlier manifestations of human life, the -existence of modern man is characterised by indescribable indigence -and exhaustion, despite the unspeakable garishness at which only the -superficial observer rejoices. If one examines a little more closely -the impression which this vehement and kaleidoscopic play of colours -makes upon one, does not the whole seem to blaze with the shimmer and -sparkle of innumerable little stones borrowed from former -civilisations? Is not everything one sees merely a complex of -inharmonious bombast, aped gesticulations, arrogant superficiality?—a -ragged suit of motley for the naked and the shivering? A seeming dance -of joy enjoined upon a sufferer? Airs of overbearing pride assumed by -one who is sick to the backbone? And the whole moving with such -rapidity and confusion that it is disguised and masked—sordid -impotence, devouring dissension, assiduous ennui, dishonest distress! -The appearance of present-day humanity is all appearance, and nothing -else: in what he now represents man himself has become obscured and -concealed; and the vestiges of the creative faculty in art, which -still cling to such countries as France and Italy, are all -concentrated upon this one task of concealing. Wherever form is still -in demand in society, conversation, literary style, or the relations -between <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>governments, men have unconsciously grown to believe that it -is adequately met by a kind of agreeable dissimulation, quite the -reverse of genuine form conceived as a necessary relation between the -proportions of a figure, having no concern whatever with the notions -"agreeable" or "disagreeable," simply because it is necessary and not -optional. But even where form is not openly exacted by civilised -people, there is no greater evidence of this requisite relation of -proportions; a striving after the agreeable dissimulation, already -referred to, is on the contrary noticeable, though it is never so -successful even if it be more eager than in the first instance. How -far this dissimulation is <i>agreeable</i> at times, and why it must please -everybody to see how modern men at least endeavour to dissemble, every -one is in a position to judge, according to, the extent to which he -himself may happen to be modern. "Only galley slaves know each other," -says Tasso, "and if we <i>mistake</i> others, it is only out of courtesy, and -with the hope that they, in their turn, should mistake us."</p> - -<p>Now, in this world of forms and intentional misunderstandings, what -purpose is served by the appearance of souls overflowing with music? -They pursue the course of grand and unrestrained rhythm with noble -candour—with a passion more than personal; they glow with the mighty -and peaceful fire of music, which wells up to the light of day from -their unexhausted depths—and all this to what purpose?</p> - -<p>By means of these souls music gives expression to the longing that it -feels for the company of its <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>naturally, <i>gymnastics</i>—that is to say, -its necessary form in the order of visible phenomena. In its search -and craving for this ally, it becomes the arbiter of the whole visible -world and the world of mere lying appearance of the present day. This -is Wagner's second answer to the question, What is the meaning of -music in our times? "Help me," he cries to all who have ears to hear, -"help me to discover that culture of which my music, as the -rediscovered language of correct feeling, seems to foretell the -existence. Bear in mind that the soul of music now wishes to acquire a -body, that, by means of you all, it would find its way to visibleness -in movements, deeds, institutions, and customs!" There are some men -who understand this summons, and their number will increase; they have -also understood, for the first time, what it means to found the State -upon music. It is something that the ancient Hellenes not only -understood but actually insisted upon; and these enlightened creatures -would just as soon have sentenced the modern State to death as modern -men now condemn the Church. The road to such a new though not -unprecedented goal would lead to this: that we should be compelled to -acknowledge where the worst faults of our educational system lie, and -why it has failed hitherto to elevate us out of barbarity: in reality, -it lacks the stirring and creative soul of music; its requirements and -arrangements are moreover the product of a period in which the music, -to which We seem to attach so much importance, had not yet been born. -Our education is the most antiquated factor of our present conditions, -and it is so <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>more precisely in regard to the one new educational force -by which it makes men of to-day in advance of those of bygone -centuries, or by which it would make them in advance of their remote -ancestors, provided only they did not persist so rashly in hurrying -forward in meek response to the scourge of the moment. Through not -having allowed the soul of music to lodge within them, they have no -notion of gymnastics in the Greek and Wagnerian sense; and that is why -their creative artists are condemned to despair, as long as they wish -to dispense with music as a guide in a new world of visible phenomena. -Talent may develop as much as may be desired: it either comes too late -or too soon, and at all events out of season; for it is in the main -superfluous and abortive, just as even the most perfect and the -highest products of earlier times which serve modern artists as models -are superfluous and abortive, and add not a stone to the edifice -already begun. If their innermost consciousness can perceive no new -forms, but only the old ones belonging to the past, they may certainly -achieve something for history, but not for life; for they are already -dead before having expired. He, however, who feels genuine and -fruitful life in him, which at present can only be described by the -one term "Music," could he allow himself to be deceived for one moment -into nursing solid hopes by this something which exhausts all its -energy in producing figures, forms, and styles? He stands above all -such vanities, and as little expects to meet with artistic wonders -outside his ideal world of sound as with great writers bred on our -effete and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>discoloured language. Rather than lend an ear to illusive -consolations, he prefers to turn his unsatisfied gaze stoically upon -our modern world, and if his heart be not warm enough to feel pity, -let it at least feel bitterness and hate! It were better for him to -show anger and scorn than to take cover in spurious contentment or -steadily to drug himself, as our "friends of art" are wont to do. But -if he can do more than condemn and despise, if he is capable of -loving, sympathising, and assisting in the general work of -construction, he must still condemn, notwithstanding, in order to -prepare the road for his willing soul. In order that music may one day -exhort many men to greater piety and make them privy to her highest -aims, an end must first be made to the whole of the pleasure-seeking -relations which men now enjoy with such a sacred art. Behind all our -artistic pastimes—theatres, museums, concerts, and the like—that -aforementioned "friend of art" is to be found, and he it is who must -be suppressed: the favour he now finds at the hands of the State must -be changed into oppression; public opinion, which lays such particular -stress upon the training of this love of art, must be routed by better -judgment. Meanwhile we must reckon the <i>declared enemy of art</i> as our -best and most useful ally; for the object of his animosity is -precisely art as understood by the "friend of art,"—he knows of no -other kind! Let him be allowed to call our "friend of art" to account -for the nonsensical waste of money occasioned by the building of his -theatres and public monuments, the engagement of his celebrated -singers and actors, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>and the support of his utterly useless schools of -art and picture-galleries—to say nothing of all the energy, time, and -money which every family squanders in pretended "artistic interests." -Neither hunger nor satiety is to be noticed here, but a dead-and-alive -game is played—with the semblance of each, a game invented by the -idle desire to produce an effect and to deceive others. Or, worse -still, art is taken more or less seriously, and then it is itself -expected to provoke a kind of hunger and craving, and to fulfil its -mission in this artificially induced excitement. It is as if people -were afraid of sinking beneath the weight of their loathing and -dulness, and invoked every conceivable evil spirit to scare them and -drive them about like wild cattle. Men hanker after pain, anger, hate, -the flush of passion, sudden flight, and breathless suspense, and they -appeal to the artist as the conjurer of this demoniacal host. In the -spiritual economy of our cultured classes art has become a spurious or -ignominious and undignified need—a nonentity or a something evil. The -superior and more uncommon artist must be in the throes of a -bewildering nightmare in order to be blind to all this, and like a -ghost, diffidently and in a quavering voice, he goes on repeating -beautiful words which he declares descend to him from higher spheres, -but whose sound he can hear only very indistinctly. The artist who -happens to be moulded according to the modern pattern, however, -regards the dreamy gropings and hesitating speech of his nobler -colleague with contempt, and leads forth the whole brawling mob of -assembled passions on a leash in order to let them <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span>loose upon modern -men as he may think fit. For these modern creatures wish rather to be -hunted down, wounded, and torn to shreds, than to live alone with -themselves in solitary calm. Alone with oneself!—this thought -terrifies the modern soul; it is his one anxiety, his one ghastly -fear.</p> - -<p>When I watch the throngs that move and linger about the streets of a -very populous town, and notice no other expression in their faces than -one of hunted stupor, I can never help commenting to myself upon the -misery of their condition. For them all, art exists only that they may -be still more wretched, torpid, insensible, or even more flurried and -covetous. For <i>incorrect feeling</i> governs and drills them unremittingly, -and does not even give them time to become aware of their misery. -Should they wish to speak, convention whispers their cue to them, and -this makes them forget what they originally intended to say; should -they desire to understand one another, their comprehension is maimed -as though by a spell: they declare that to be their joy which in -reality is but their doom, and they proceed to collaborate in wilfully -bringing about their own damnation. Thus they have become transformed -into perfectly and absolutely different creatures, and reduced to the -state of abject slaves of incorrect feeling.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p> -<h4>VI.</h4> - - -<p>I shall only give two instances showing how utterly the sentiment of -our time has been perverted, and how completely unconscious the -present age is of this perversion. Formerly financiers were looked -down upon with honest scorn, even though they were recognised as -needful; for it was generally admitted that every society must have -its viscera. Now, however, they are the ruling power in the soul of -modern humanity, for they constitute the most covetous portion -thereof. In former times people were warned especially against taking -the day or the moment too seriously: the <i>nil admirari</i> was recommended -and the care of things eternal. Now there is but one kind of -seriousness left in the modern mind, and it is limited to the news -brought by the newspaper and the telegraph. Improve each shining hour, -turn it to some account and judge it as quickly as possible!—one -would think modern men had but one virtue left—presence of mind. -Unfortunately, it much more closely resembles the omnipresence of -disgusting and insatiable cupidity, and spying inquisitiveness become -universal. For the question is whether <i>mind is present at all -to-day</i>;—but we shall leave this problem for future judges to solve; -they, at least, are bound to pass modern men through a sieve. But that -this age is vulgar, even we can see now, and it is so because it -reveres precisely what nobler ages contemned. If, therefore, it loots -all the treasures of bygone wit and wisdom, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>struts about in this -richest of rich garments, it only proves its sinister consciousness of -its own vulgarity in so doing; for it does not don this garb for -warmth, but merely in order to mystify its surroundings. The desire to -dissemble and to conceal himself seems stronger than the need of -protection from the cold in modern man. Thus scholars and philosophers -of the age do not have recourse to Indian and Greek wisdom in order to -become wise and peaceful: the only purpose of their work seems to be -to earn them a fictitious reputation for learning in their own time. -The naturalists endeavour to classify the animal outbreaks of -violence, ruse and revenge, in the present relations between nations -and individual men, as immutable laws of nature. Historians are -anxiously engaged in proving that every age has its own particular -right and special conditions,—with the view of preparing the -groundwork of an apology for the day that is to come, when our -generation will be called to judgment. The science of government, of -race, of commerce, and of jurisprudence, all have that <i>preparatorily -apologetic</i> character now; yea, it even seems as though the small -amount of intellect which still remains active to-day, and is not used -up by the great mechanism of gain and power, has as its sole task the -defending—and excusing of the present</p> - -<p>Against what accusers? one asks, surprised.</p> - -<p>Against its own bad conscience.</p> - -<p>And at this point we plainly discern the task assigned to modern -art—that of stupefying or intoxicating, of lulling to sleep or -bewildering. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span>By hook or by crook to make conscience unconscious! To -assist the modern soul over the sensation of guilt, not to lead it -back to innocence! And this for the space of moments only! To defend -men against themselves, that their inmost heart may be silenced, that -they may turn a deaf ear to its voice! The souls of those few who -really feel the utter ignominy of this mission and its terrible -humiliation of art, must be filled to the brim with sorrow and pity, -but also with a new and overpowering yearning. He who would fain -emancipate art, and reinstall its sanctity, now desecrated, must first -have freed himself from all contact with modern souls; only as an -innocent being himself can he hope to discover the innocence of art, -for he must be ready to perform the stupendous tasks of -self-purification and self-consecration. If he succeeded, if he were -ever able to address men from out his enfranchised soul and by means -of his emancipated art, he would then find himself exposed to the -greatest of dangers and involved in the most appalling of struggles. -Man would prefer to tear him and his art to pieces, rather than -acknowledge that he must die of shame in presence of them. It is just -possible that the emancipation of art is the only ray of hope -illuminating the future, an event intended only for a few isolated -souls, while the many remain satisfied to gaze into the flickering and -smoking flame of their art and can endure to do so. For they do not -<i>want</i> to be enlightened, but dazzled. They rather <i>hate</i> light—more -particularly when it is thrown on themselves.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> -That is why they evade the new messenger of light; but he follows -them—the love which gave him birth compels him to follow them and to -reduce them to submission. "Ye must go through my mysteries," he cries -to them; "ye need to be purified and shaken by them. Dare to submit to -this for your own salvation, and abandon the gloomily lighted corner -of life and nature which alone seems familiar to you. I lead you into -a kingdom which is also real, and when I lead you out of my cell into -your daylight, ye will be able to judge which life is more real, -which, in fact, is day and which night. Nature is much richer, more -powerful, more blessed and more terrible below the surface; ye cannot -divine this from the way in which ye live. O that ye yourselves could -learn to become natural again, and then suffer yourselves to be -transformed through nature, and into her, by the charm of my ardour -and love!"</p> - -<p>It is the voice <i>of Wagner's art</i> which thus appeals to men. And that -we, the children of a wretched age, should be the first to hear it, -shows how deserving of pity this age must be: it shows, moreover, that -real music is of a piece with fate and primitive law; for it is quite -impossible to attribute its presence amongst us precisely at the -present time to empty and meaningless chance. Had Wagner been an -accident, he would certainly have been crushed by the superior -strength of the other elements in the midst of which he was placed, -out in the coming of Wagner there seems to have been a necessity which -both justifies it and makes <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>it glorious. Observed from its earliest -beginnings, the development of his art constitutes a most magnificent -spectacle, and—even though it was attended with great -suffering—reason, law, and intention mark its course throughout. -Under the charm of such a spectacle the observer will be led to take -pleasure even in this painful development itself, and will regard it -as fortunate. He will see how everything necessarily contributes to -the welfare and benefit of talent and a nature foreordained, however -severe the trials may be through which it may have to pass. He will -realise how every danger gives it more heart, and every triumph more -prudence; how it partakes of poison and sorrow and thrives upon them. -The mockery and perversity of the surrounding world only goad and spur -it on the more. Should it happen to go astray, it but returns from its -wanderings and exile loaded with the most precious spoil; should it -chance to slumber, "it does but recoup its strength." It tempers the -body itself and makes it tougher; it does not consume life, however -long it lives; it rules over man like a pinioned passion, and allows -him to fly just in the nick of time, when his foot has grown weary in -the sand or has been lacerated by the stones on his way. It can do -nought else but impart; every one must share in its work, and it is no -stinted giver. When it is repulsed it is but more prodigal in its -gifts; ill used by those it favours, it does but reward them with the -richest treasures it possesses,—and, according to the oldest and most -recent experience, its favoured ones have never been quite worthy of -its <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>gifts. That is why the nature foreordained, through which music -expresses itself to this world of appearance, is one of the most -mysterious things under the sun—an abyss in which strength and -goodness lie united, a bridge between self and non-self. Who would -undertake to name the object of its existence with any -certainty?—even supposing the sort of purpose which it would be -likely to have could be divined at all. But a most blessed foreboding -leads one to ask whether it is possible for the grandest things to -exist for the purpose of the meanest, the greatest talent for the -benefit of the smallest, the loftiest virtue and holiness for the sake -of the defective and faulty? Should real music make itself heard, -because mankind of all creatures <i>least deserves to hear it, though it -perhaps need it most</i>? If one ponder over the transcendental and -wonderful character of this possibility, and turn from these -considerations to look back on life, a light will then be seen to -ascend, however dark and misty it may have seemed a moment before.</p> - - - -<h4>VII.</h4> - - -<p>It is quite impossible otherwise: the observer who is confronted with -a nature such as Wagner's must, willy-nilly, turn his eyes from time -to time upon himself, upon his insignificance and frailty, and ask -himself, What concern is this of thine? Why, pray, art thou there at -all? Maybe he will find no answer to these questions, in which case he -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span>will remain estranged and confounded, face to face with his own -personality. Let it then suffice him that he has experienced this -feeling; let the fact <i>that he has felt strange and embarrassed in the -presence of his own soul</i> be the answer to his question For it is -precisely by virtue of this feeling that he shows the most powerful -manifestation of life in Wagner—the very kernel of his strength—that -demoniacal <i>magnetism</i> and gift of imparting oneself to others, which is -peculiar to his nature, and by which it not only conveys itself to -other beings, but also absorbs other beings into itself; thus -attaining to its greatness by giving and by taking. As the observer is -apparently subject to Wagner's exuberant and prodigally generous -nature, he partakes of its strength, and thereby becomes formidable -<i>through him and to him</i>. And every one who critically examines himself -knows that a certain mysterious antagonism is necessary to the process -of mutual study. Should his art lead us to experience all that falls -to the lot of a soul engaged upon a journey, <i>i.e.</i> feeling sympathy -with others and sharing their fate, and seeing the world through -hundreds of different eyes, we are then able, from such a distance, -and under such strange influences, to contemplate him, once we have -lived his life. We then feel with the utmost certainty that in Wagner -the whole visible world desires to be spiritualised, absorbed, and -lost in the world of sounds. In Wagner, too, the world of sounds seeks -to manifest itself as a phenomenon for the sight; it seeks, as it -were, to incarnate itself. His art always leads him into two distinct -directions, from <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>the world of the play of sound to the mysterious and -yet related world of visible things, and <i>vice versâ</i>. He is continually -forced—and the observer with him—to re-translate the visible into -spiritual and primeval life, and likewise to perceive the most hidden -interstices of the soul as something concrete and to lend it a visible -body. This constitutes the nature of the <i>dithyrambic dramatist</i>, if the -meaning given to the term includes also the actor, the poet, and the -musician; a conception necessarily borrowed from Æschylus and the -contemporary Greek artists—the only perfect examples of the -dithyrambic dramatist before Wagner. If attempts have been made to -trace the most wonderful developments to inner obstacles or -deficiencies, if, for instance, in Goethe's case, poetry was merely -the refuge of a foiled talent for painting; if one may speak of -Schiller's dramas as of vulgar eloquence directed into uncommon -channels; if Wagner himself tries to account for the development of -music among the Germans by showing that, inasmuch as they are devoid -of the entrancing stimulus of a natural gift for singing, they were -compelled to take up instrumental music with the same profound -seriousness as that with which their reformers took up -Christianity,—if, on the same principle, it were sought to associate -Wagner's development with an inner barrier of the same kind, it would -then be necessary to recognise in him a primitive dramatic talent, -which had to renounce all possibility of satisfying its needs by the -quickest and most methods, and which found its salvation and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>its means -of expression in drawing all arts to it for one great dramatic -display. But then one would also have to assume that the most powerful -musician, owing to his despair at having to appeal to people who were -either only semi-musical or not musical at all, violently opened a -road for himself to the other arts, in order to acquire that capacity -for diversely communicating himself to others, by which he compelled -them to understand him, by which he compelled the masses to understand -him. However the development of the born dramatist may be pictured, in -his ultimate expression he is a being free from all inner barriers and -voids: the real, emancipated artist cannot help himself, he must think -in the spirit of all the arts at once, as the mediator and intercessor -between apparently separated spheres, the one who reinstalls the unity -and wholeness of the artistic faculty, which cannot be divined or -reasoned out, but can only be revealed by deeds themselves. But he in -whose presence this deed is performed will be overcome by its gruesome -and seductive charm: in a flash he will be confronted with a power -which cancels both resistance and reason, and makes every detail of -life appear irrational and incomprehensible. Carried away from -himself, he seems to be suspended in a mysterious fiery element; he -ceases to understand himself, the standard of everything has fallen -from his hands; everything stereotyped and fixed begins to totter; -every object seems to acquire a strange colour and to tell us its tale -by means of new symbols;—one would need to be a Plato in order to -discover, amid this confusion of delight <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>and fear, how he accomplishes -the feat, and to say to the dramatist: "Should a man come into our -midst who possessed sufficient knowledge to simulate or imitate -anything, we would honour him as something wonderful and holy; we -would even anoint him and adorn his brow with a sacred diadem; but we -would urge him to leave our circle for another, notwithstanding." It -may be that a member of the Platonic community would have been able to -chasten himself to such conduct: we, however, who live in a very -different community, long for, and earnestly desire, the charmer to -come to us, although we may fear him already,—and we only desire his -presence in order that our society and the mischievous reason and -might of which it is the incarnation may be confuted. A state of human -civilisation, of human society, morality, order, and general -organisation which would be able to dispense with the services of an -imitative artist or mimic, is not perhaps so utterly inconceivable; -but this Perhaps is probably the most daring that has ever been -posited, and is equivalent to the gravest expression of doubt. The -only man who ought to be at liberty to speak of such a possibility is -he who could beget, and have the presentiment of, the highest phase of -all that is to come, and who then, like Faust, would either be obliged -to turn blind, or be permitted to become so. For we have no right to -this blindness; whereas Plato, after he had cast that one glance into -the ideal Hellenic, had the right to be blind to all Hellenism. For -this reason, we others are in much greater need of art; because it was -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> -<i>in the presence of the realistic that our eyes began to see</i>, and we -require the complete dramatist in order that he may relieve us, if -only for an hour or so, of the insufferable tension arising from our -knowledge of the chasm which lies between our capabilities and the -duties we have to perform. With him we ascend to the highest pinnacle -of feeling, and only then do we fancy we have returned to nature's -unbounded freedom, to the actual realm of liberty. From this point of -vantage we can see ourselves and our fellows emerge as something -sublime from an immense mirage, and we see the deep meaning in our -struggles, in our victories and defeats; we begin to find pleasure in -the rhythm of passion and in its victim in the hero's every footfall -we distinguish the hollow echo of death, and in its proximity we -realise the greatest charm of life: thus transformed into tragic men, -we return again to life with comfort in our souls. We are conscious of -a new feeling of security, as if we had found a road leading out of -the greatest dangers, excesses, and ecstasies, back to the limited and -the familiar: there where our relations with our fellows seem to -partake of a superior benevolence, and are at all events more noble -than they were. For here, everything seemingly serious and needful, -which appears to lead to a definite goal, resembles only detached -fragments when compared with the path we ourselves have trodden, even -in our dreams,—detached fragments of that complete and grand -experience whereof we cannot even think without a thrill. Yes, we -shall even fall into danger and be tempted to take life too easily, -simply because <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>in art we were in such deadly earnest concerning it, as -Wagner says somewhere anent certain incidents in his own life. For if -we who are but the spectators and not the creators of this display of -dithyrambic dramatic art, can almost imagine a dream to be more real -than the actual experiences of our wakeful hours, how much more keenly -must the creator realise this contrast! There he stands amid all the -clamorous appeals and importunities of the day, and of the necessities -of life; in the midst of Society and State—and as what does he stand -there? Maybe he is the only wakeful one, the only being really and -truly conscious, among a host of confused and tormented sleepers, -among a multitude of deluded and suffering people. He may even feel -like a victim of chronic insomnia, and fancy himself obliged to bring -his clear, sleepless, and conscious life into touch with somnambulists -and ghostly well-intentioned creatures. Thus everything that others -regard as commonplace strikes him as weird, and he is tempted to meet -the whole phenomenon with haughty mockery. But how peculiarly this -feeling is crossed, when another force happens to join his quivering -pride, the craving of the heights for the depths, the affectionate -yearning for earth, for happiness and for fellowship—then, when he -thinks of all he misses as a hermit-creator, he feels as though he -ought to descend to the earth like a god, and bear all that is weak, -human, and lost, "in fiery arms up to heaven," so as to obtain love -and no longer worship only, and to be able to lose himself completely -in his love. But it is just this <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>contradiction which is the miraculous -fact in the soul of the dithyrambic dramatist, and if his nature can -be understood at all, surely it must be here. For his creative moments -in art occur when the antagonism between his feelings is at its height -and when his proud astonishment and wonder at the world combine with -the ardent desire to approach that same world as a lover. The glances -he then bends towards the earth are always rays of sunlight which -"draw up water," form mist, and gather storm-clouds. <i>Clear-sighted and -prudent, loving and unselfish</i> at the same time, his glance is -projected downwards; and all things that are illumined by this double -ray of light, nature conjures to discharge their strength, to reveal -their most hidden secret, and this through bashfulness. It is more -than a mere figure of speech to say that he surprised Nature with that -glance, that he caught her naked; that is why she would conceal her -shame by seeming precisely the reverse. What has hitherto been -invisible, the inner life, seeks its salvation in the region of the -visible; what has hitherto been only visible, repairs to the dark -ocean of sound: <i>thus Nature, in trying to conceal herself, unveils the -character of her contradictions</i>. In a dance, wild, rhythmic and -gliding, and with ecstatic movements, the born dramatist makes known -something of what is going on within him, of what is taking place in -nature: the dithyrambic quality of his movements speaks just as -eloquently of quivering comprehension and of powerful penetration as -of the approach of love and self-renunciation. Intoxicated speech -follows the course of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>this rhythm; melody resounds coupled with -speech, and in its turn melody projects its sparks into the realm of -images and ideas. A dream-apparition, like and unlike the image of -Nature and her wooer, hovers forward; it condenses into more human -shapes; it spreads out in response to its heroically triumphant will, -and to a most delicious collapse and cessation of will:—thus tragedy -is born; thus life is presented with its grandest knowledge—that of -tragic thought; thus, at last, the greatest charmer and benefactor -among mortals—the dithyrambic dramatist—is evolved.</p> - - - -<h4>VIII.</h4> - - -<p>Wagner's actual life—that is to say, the gradual evolution of the -dithyrambic dramatist in him—was at the same time an uninterrupted -struggle with himself, a struggle which never ceased until his -evolution was complete. His fight with the opposing world was grim and -ghastly, only because it was this same world—this alluring -enemy—which he heard speaking out of his own heart, and because he -nourished a violent demon in his breast—the demon of resistance. When -the ruling idea of his life gained ascendancy over his mind—the idea -that drama is, of all arts, the one that can exercise the greatest -amount of influence over the world—it aroused the most active -emotions in his whole being. It gave him no very clear or luminous -decision, at first, as to what was to be done and desired in the -future; <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>for the idea then appeared merely as a form of -temptation—that is to say, as the expression of his gloomy, selfish, -and insatiable will, eager for <i>power and glory</i>. Influence—the -greatest amount of influence—how? over whom?—these were henceforward -the questions and problems which did not cease to engage his head and -his heart. He wished to conquer and triumph as no other artist had -ever done before, and, if possible, to reach that height of tyrannical -omnipotence at one stroke for which all his instincts secretly craved. -With a jealous and cautious eye, he took stock of everything -successful, and examined with special care all that upon which this -influence might be brought to bear. With the magic sight of the -dramatist, which scans souls as easily as the most familiar book, he -scrutinised the nature of the spectator and the listener, and although -he was often perturbed by the discoveries he made, he very quickly -found means wherewith he could enthral them. These means were ever -within his reach: everything that moved him deeply he desired and -could also produce; at every stage in his career he understood just as -much of his predecessors as he himself was able to create, and he -never doubted that he would be able to do what they had done. In this -respect his nature is perhaps more presumptuous even than Goethe's, -despite the fact that the latter said of himself: "I always thought I -had mastered everything; and even had I been crowned king, I should -have regarded the honour as thoroughly deserved." Wagner's ability, -his taste and his aspirations—all of which have <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>ever been as closely -related as key to lock—grew and attained to freedom together; but -there was a time when it was not so. What did he care about the feeble -but noble and egotistically lonely feeling which that friend of art -fosters, who, blessed with a literary and æsthetic education, takes -his stand far from the common mob! But those violent spiritual -tempests which are created by the crowd when under the influence of -certain climactic passages of dramatic song, that sudden bewildering -ecstasy of the emotions, thoroughly honest and selfless—they were but -echoes of his own experiences and sensations, and filled him with -glowing hope for the greatest possible power and effect. Thus he -recognised <i>grand opera</i> as the means whereby he might express his -ruling thoughts; towards it his passions impelled him; his eyes turned -in the direction of its home. The larger portion of his life, his most -daring wanderings, and his plans, studies, sojourns, and acquaintances -are only to be explained by an appeal to these passions and the -opposition of the outside world, which the poor, restless, -passionately ingenuous German artist had to face. Another artist than -he knew better how to become master of this calling, and now that it -has gradually become known by means of what ingenious artifices of all -kinds Meyerbeer succeeded in preparing and achieving every one of his -great successes, and how scrupulously the sequence of "effects" was -taken into account in the opera itself, people will begin to -understand how bitterly Wagner was mortified when his eyes were opened -to the tricks of the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span><i>métier</i> which were indispensable to a great public -success. I doubt whether there has ever been another great artist in -history who began his career with such extraordinary illusions and who -so unsuspectingly and sincerely fell in with the most revolting form -of artistic trickery. And yet the way in which he proceeded partook of -greatness and was therefore extraordinarily fruitful. For when he -perceived his error, despair made him understand the meaning of modern -success, of the modern public, and the whole prevaricating spirit of -modern art. And while becoming the critic of "effect," indications of -his own purification began to quiver through him. It seems as if from -that time forward the spirit of music spoke to him with an -unprecedented spiritual charm. As though he had just risen from a long -illness and had for the first time gone into the open, he scarcely -trusted his hand and his eye, and seemed to grope along his way. Thus -it was an almost delightful surprise to him to find that he was still -a musician and an artist, and perhaps then only for the first time.</p> - -<p>Every subsequent stage in Wagner's development may be distinguished -thus, that the two fundamental powers of his nature drew ever more -closely together: the aversion of the one to the other lessened, the -higher self no longer condescended to serve its more violent and baser -brother; it loved him and felt compelled to serve him. The tenderest -and purest thing is ultimately—that is to say, at the highest stage -of its evolution—always associated with the mightiest; the storming -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>instincts pursue their course as before, but along different roads, in -the direction of the higher self; and this in its turn descends to -earth and finds its likeness in everything earthly. If it were -possible, on this principle, to speak of the final aims and -unravelments of that evolution, and to remain intelligible, it might -also be possible to discover the graphic terms with which to describe -the long interval preceding that last development; but I doubt whether -the first achievement is possible at all, and do not therefore attempt -the second. The limits of the interval separating the preceding and -the subsequent ages will be described historically in two sentences: -Wagner was the <i>revolutionist of society</i>; Wagner recognised the only -artistic element that ever existed hitherto—<i>the poetry of the people</i>. -The ruling idea which in a new form and mightier than it had ever -been, obsessed Wagner, after he had overcome his share of despair and -repentance, led him to both conclusions. Influence, the greatest -possible amount of influence to be exercised by means of the stage! -—but over whom? He shuddered when he thought of those whom he had, -until then, sought to influence. His experience led him to realise the -utterly ignoble position which art and the artist adorn; how a callous -and hard-hearted community that calls itself the good, but which is -really the evil, reckons art and the artist among its slavish retinue, -and keeps them both in order to minister to its need of deception. -Modern art is a luxury; he saw this, and understood that it must stand -or fall with the luxurious society of which it forms <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>but a part. This -society had but one idea, to use its power as hard-heartedly and as -craftily as possible in order to render the impotent—the people—ever -more and more serviceable, base and unpopular, and to rear the modern -workman out of them. It also robbed them of the greatest and purest -things which their deepest needs led them to create, and through which -they meekly expressed the genuine and unique art within their soul: -their myths, songs, dances, and their discoveries in the department of -language, in order to distil therefrom a voluptuous antidote against -the fatigue and boredom of its existence—modern art. How this -society came into being, how it learned to draw new strength for -itself from the seemingly antagonistic spheres of power, and how, for -instance, decaying Christianity allowed itself to be used, under the -cover of half measures and subterfuges, as a shield against the masses -and as a support of this society and its possessions, and finally how -science and men of learning pliantly consented to become its -drudges—all this Wagner traced through the ages, only to be convulsed -with loathing at the end of his researches. Through his compassion for -the people, he became a revolutionist. From that time forward he loved -them and longed for them, as he longed for his art; for, alas! in them -alone, in this fast disappearing, scarcely recognisable body, -artificially held aloof, he now saw the only spectators and listeners -worthy and fit for the power of his masterpieces, as he pictured them. -Thus his thoughts concentrated themselves upon the question, How do -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>the people come into being? How are they resuscitated?</p> - -<p>He always found but one answer: if a large number of people were -afflicted with the sorrow that afflicted him, that number would -constitute the people, he said to himself. And where the same sorrow -leads to the same impulses and desires, similar satisfaction would -necessarily be sought, and the same pleasure found in this -satisfaction. If he inquired into what it was that most consoled him -and revived his spirits in his sorrow, what it was that succeeded best -in counteracting his affliction, it was with joyful certainty that he -discovered this force only in music and myth, the latter of which he -had already recognised as the people's creation and their language of -distress. It seemed to him that the origin of music must be similar, -though perhaps more mysterious. In both of these elements he steeped -and healed his soul; they constituted his most urgent need:—in this -way he was able to ascertain how like his sorrow was to that of the -people, when they came into being, and how they must arise anew if -<i>many Wagners</i> are going to appear. What part did myth and music play in -modern society, wherever they had not been actually sacrificed to it? -They shared very much the same fate, a fact which only tends to prove -their close relationship: myth had been sadly debased and usurped by -idle tales and stories; completely divested of its earnest and sacred -virility, it was transformed into the plaything and pleasing bauble of -children and women of the afflicted people. Music had kept <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span>itself -alive among the poor, the simple, and the isolated; the German -musician had not succeeded in adapting himself to the luxurious -traffic of the arts; he himself had become a fairy tale full Of -monsters and mysteries, full of the most touching omens and -auguries—a helpless questioner, something bewitched and in need of -rescue. Here the artist distinctly heard the command that concerned -him alone—to recast myth and make it virile, to break the spell lying -over music and to make music speak: he felt his strength for drama -liberated at one stroke, and the foundation of his sway established -over the hitherto undiscovered province lying between myth and music. -His new masterpiece, which included all the most powerful, effective, -and entrancing forces that he knew, he now laid before men with this -great and painfully cutting question: "Where are ye all who suffer and -think as I do? Where is that number of souls that I wish to see become -a people, that ye may share the same joys and comforts with me? In -your joy ye will reveal your misery to me." These were his questions -in Tannhäuser and Lohengrin, in these operas he looked about him for -his equals—the anchorite yearned for the number.</p> - -<p>But what were his feelings withal? Nobody answered him. Nobody had -understood his question. Not that everybody remained silent: on the -contrary, answers were given to thousands of questions which he had -never put; people gossipped about the new masterpieces as though they -had only been composed for the express purpose of supplying subjects -for conversation. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>The whole mania of æsthetic scribbling and small -talk overtook the Germans like a pestilence, and with that lack of -modesty which characterises both German scholars and German -journalists, people began measuring, and generally meddling with, -these masterpieces, as well as with the person of the artist. Wagner -tried to help the comprehension of his question by writing about it; -but this only led to fresh confusion and more uproar,—for a musician -who writes and thinks was, at that time, a thing unknown. The cry -arose: "He is a theorist who wishes to remould art with his -far-fetched notions—stone him!" Wagner was stunned: his question was -not understood, his need not felt; his masterpieces seemed a message -addressed only to the deaf and blind; his people—an hallucination. -He staggered and vacillated. The feasibility of a complete upheaval of -all things then suggested itself to him, and he no longer shrank from -the thought: possibly, beyond this revolution and dissolution, there -might be a chance of a new hope; on the other hand, there might not. -But, in any case, would not complete annihilation be better than the -wretched existing state of affairs? Not very long afterwards, he was a -political exile in dire distress.</p> - -<p>And then only, with this terrible change in his environment and in his -soul, there begins that period of the great man's life over which as a -golden reflection there is stretched the splendour of highest mastery. -Now at last the genius of dithyrambic drama doffs its last disguise. -He is isolated; the age seems empty to him; he ceases <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>to hope; and his -all-embracing glance descend once more into the deep, and finds the -bottom, there he sees suffering in the nature of things, and -henceforward, having become more impersonal, he accepts his portion of -sorrow more calmly. The desire for great power which was but the -inheritance of earlier conditions is now directed wholly into the -channel of creative art; through his art he now speaks only to -himself, and no longer to a public or to a people, and strives to lend -this intimate conversation all the distinction and other qualities in -keeping with such a mighty dialogue. During the preceding period -things had been different with his art; then he had concerned himself, -too, albeit with refinement and subtlety, with immediate effects: that -artistic production was also meant as a question, and it ought to have -called forth an immediate reply. And how often did Wagner not try to -make his meaning clearer to those he questioned! In view of their -inexperience in having questions put to them, he tried to meet them -half way and to conform with older artistic notions and means of -expression. When he feared that arguments couched in his own terms -would only meet with failure, he had tried to persuade and to put his -question in a language half strange to himself though familiar to his -listeners. Now there was nothing to induce him to continue this -indulgence: all he desired now was to come to terms with himself, to -think of the nature of the world in dramatic actions, and to -philosophise in music; <i>what desires</i> he still possessed turned in the -direction of the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span><i>latest philosophical views</i>. He who is worthy of -knowing what took place in him at that time or what questions were -thrashed out in the darkest holy of holies in his soul—and not many -are worthy of knowing all this—must hear, observe, and experience -Tristan and Isolde, the real <i>opus metaphysicum</i> of all art, a work upon -which rests the broken look of a dying man with his insatiable and -sweet craving for the secrets of night and death, far away from life -which throws a horribly spectral morning light, sharply, upon all that -is evil, delusive, and sundering: moreover, a drama austere in the -severity of its form, overpowering in its simple grandeur, and in -harmony with the secret of which it treats—lying dead in the midst of -life, being one in two. And yet there is something still more -wonderful than this work, and that is the artist himself, the man who, -shortly after he had accomplished it, was able to create a picture of -life so full of clashing colours as the Meistersingers of Nürnberg, -and who in both of these compositions seems merely to have refreshed -and equipped himself for the task of completing at his ease that -gigantic edifice in four parts which he had long ago planned and -begun—the ultimate result of all his meditations and poetical flights -for over twenty years, his Bayreuth masterpiece, the Ring of the -Nibelung! He who marvels at the rapid succession of the two operas, -Tristan and the Meistersingers, has failed to understand one important -side of the life and nature of all great Germans: he does not know the -peculiar soil out of which that essentially German gaiety, which -characterised <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>Luther, Beethoven, and Wagner, can grow, the gaiety -which other nations quite fail to understand and which even seems to -be missing in the Germans of to-day—that clear golden and thoroughly -fermented mixture of simplicity, deeply discriminating love, -observation, and roguishness which Wagner has dispensed, as the most -precious of drinks, to all those who have suffered deeply through -life, but who nevertheless return to it with the smile of -convalescents. And, as he also turned upon the world the eyes of one -reconciled, he was more filled with rage and disgust than with sorrow, -and more prone to renounce the love of power than to shrink in awe -from it. As he thus silently furthered his greatest work and gradually -laid score upon score, something happened which caused him to stop and -listen: <i>friends</i> were coming, a kind of subterranean movement of many -souls approached with a message for him—it was still far from being -the people that constituted this movement and which wished to bear him -news, but it may have been the nucleus and first living source of a -really human community which would reach perfection in some age still -remote. For the present they only brought him the warrant that his -great work could be entrusted to the care and charge of faithful men, -men who would watch and be worthy to watch over this most magnificent -of all legacies to posterity. In the love of friends his outlook began -to glow with brighter colours; his noblest care—the care that his -work should be accomplished and should find a refuge before the -evening of his life—was not his only preoccupation. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>Then something -occurred which he could only understand as a symbol: it was as much as -a new comfort and a new token of happiness to him. A great German war -caused him to open his eyes, and he observed that those very Germans -whom he considered so thoroughly degenerate and so inferior to the -high standard of real Teutonism, of which he had formed an ideal both -from self-knowledge and the conscientious study of other great Germans -in history; he observed that those very Germans were, in the midst of -terrible circumstances, exhibiting two virtues of the highest -order—simple bravery and prudence; and with his heart bounding with -delight he conceived the hope that he might not be the last German, -and that some day a greater power would perhaps stand by his works -than that devoted yet meagre one consisting of his little band of -friends—a power able to guard it during that long period preceding -its future glory, as the masterpiece of this future. Perhaps it was -not possible to steel this belief permanently against doubt, more -particularly when it sought to rise to hopes of immediate results: -suffice it that he derived a tremendous spur from his environment, -which constantly reminded him of a lofty duty ever to be fulfilled.</p> - -<p>His work would not have been complete had he handed it to the world -only in the form of silent manuscript. He must make known to the world -what it could not guess in regard to his productions, what was his -alone to reveal—the new style for the execution and presentation of -his works, so that he might set that example which nobody else could -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>set, and thus establish a <i>tradition of style</i>, not on paper, not by -means of signs, but through impressions made upon the very souls of -men. This duty had become all the more pressing with him, seeing that -precisely in regard to the style of their execution his other works -had meanwhile succumbed to the most insufferable and absurd of fates: -they were famous and admired, yet no one manifested the slightest sign -of indignation when they were mishandled. For, strange to say, whereas -he renounced ever more and more the hope of success among his -contemporaries, owing to his all too thorough knowledge of them, and -disclaimed all desire for power, both "success" and "power" came to -him, or at least everybody told him so. It was in vain that he made -repeated attempts to expose, with the utmost clearness, how worthless -and humiliating such successes were to him: people were so unused to -seeing an artist able to differentiate at all between the effects of -his works that even his most solemn protests were never entirely -trusted. Once he had perceived the relationship existing between our -system of theatres and their success, and the men of his time, his -soul ceased to be attracted by the stage at all. He had no further -concern with æsthetic ecstasies and the exultation of excited crowds, -and he must even have felt angry to see his art being gulped down -indiscriminately by the yawning abyss of boredom and the insatiable -love of distraction. How flat and pointless every effect proved under -these circumstances—more especially as it was much more a case of -having to minister to one quite insatiable <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>than of cloying the hunger -of a starving man—Wagner began to perceive from the following -repeated experience: everybody, even the performers and promoters, -regarded his art as nothing more nor less than any other kind of -stage-music, and quite in keeping with the repulsive style of -traditional opera; thanks to the efforts of cultivated conductors, his -works were even cut and hacked about, until, after they had been -bereft of all their spirit, they were held to be nearer the -professional singer's plane. But when people tried to follow Wagner's -instructions to the letter, they proceeded so clumsily and timidly -that they were not incapable of representing the midnight riot in the -second act of the Meistersingers by a group of ballet-dancers. They -seemed to do all this, however, in perfectly good faith—without the -smallest evil intention. Wagner's devoted efforts to show, by means of -his own example, the correct and complete way of performing his works, -and his attempts at training individual singers in the new style, were -foiled time after time, owing only to the thoughtlessness and iron -tradition that ruled all around him. Moreover, he was always induced -to concern himself with that class of theatricals which he most -thoroughly loathed. Had not even Goethe, in his time, once grown tired -of attending the rehearsals of his Iphigenia? "I suffer unspeakably," -he explained, "when I have to tumble about with these spectres, which -never seem to act as they should." Meanwhile Wagner's "success" in the -kind of drama which he most disliked steadily increased; so much so, -indeed, that the largest <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>theatres began to subsist almost entirely -upon the receipts which Wagner's art, in the guise of operas, brought -into them. This growing passion on the part of the theatre-going -public bewildered even some of Wagner's friends; but this man who had -endured so much, had still to endure the bitterest pain of all—he had -to see his friends intoxicated with his "successes" and "triumphs" -everywhere where his highest ideal was openly belied and shattered. It -seemed almost as though a people otherwise earnest and reflecting had -decided to maintain an attitude of systematic levity only towards its -most serious artist, and to make him the privileged recipient of all -the vulgarity, thoughtlessness, clumsiness, and malice of which the -German nature is capable. When, therefore, during the German War, a -current of greater magnanimity and freedom seemed to run through every -one, Wagner remembered the duty to which he had pledged himself, -namely, to rescue his greatest work from those successes and affronts -which were so largely due to misunderstandings, and to present it in -his most personal rhythm as an example for all times. Thus he -conceived <i>the idea of Bayreuth</i>. In the wake of that current of better -feeling already referred to, he expected to notice an enhanced sense -of duty even among those with whom he wished to entrust his most -precious possession. Out of this two-fold duty, that event took shape -which, like a glow of strange sunlight, will illumine the few years -that lie behind and before us, and was designed to bless that distant -and problematic future which to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>our time and to the men of our time -can be little more than a riddle or a horror, but which to the few -who are allowed to assist in its realisation is a foretaste of coming -joy, a foretaste of love in a higher sphere, through which they know -themselves to be blessed, blessing and fruitful, far beyond their span -of years; and which to Wagner himself is but a cloud of distress, -care, meditation, and grief, a fresh passionate outbreak of -antagonistic elements, but all bathed in the starlight of <i>selfless -fidelity</i>, and changed by this light into indescribable joy.</p> - -<p>It scarcely need be said that it is the breath of tragedy that fills -the lungs of the world. And every one whose innermost soul has a -presentiment of this, every one unto whom the yoke of tragic deception -concerning the aim of life, the distortion and shattering of -intentions, renunciation and purification through love, are not -unknown things, must be conscious of a vague reminiscence of Wagner's -own heroic life, in the masterpieces with which the great man now -presents us. We shall feel as though Siegfried from some place far -away were relating his deeds to us: the most blissful of touching -recollections are always draped in the deep mourning of waning summer, -when all nature lies still in the sable twilight.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> -</p> -<h4>IX.</h4> - -<p>All those to whom the thought of Wagner's development as a man may -have caused pain will find it both restful and healing to reflect upon -what he was as an artist, and to observe how his ability and daring -attained to such a high degree of independence. If art mean only the -faculty of communicating to others what one has oneself experienced, -and if every work of art confutes itself which does not succeed in -making itself understood, then Wagner's greatness as an artist would -certainly lie in the almost demoniacal power of his nature to -communicate with others, to express itself in all languages at once, -and to make known its most intimate and personal experience with the -greatest amount of distinctness possible. His appearance in the -history of art resembles nothing so much as a volcanic eruption of the -united artistic faculties of Nature herself, after mankind had grown -to regard the practice of a special art as a necessary rule. It is -therefore a somewhat moot point whether he ought to be classified as a -poet, a painter, or a musician, even using each these words in its -widest sense, or whether a new word ought not to be invented in order -to describe him.</p> - -<p>Wagner's <i>poetic</i> ability is shown by his thinking in visible and actual -facts, and not in ideas; that is to say, he thinks mythically, as the -people have always done. No particular thought lies at the bottom of a -myth, as the children of an artificial <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>culture would have us believe; -but it is in itself a thought: it conveys an idea of the world, but -through the medium of a chain of events, actions, and pains. The Ring -of the Nibelung is a huge system of thought without the usual -abstractness of the latter. It were perhaps possible for a philosopher -to present us with its exact equivalent in pure thought, and to purge -it of all pictures drawn from life, and of all living actions, in -which case we should be in possession of the same thing portrayed in -two completely different forms—the one for the people, and the other -for the very reverse of the people; that is to say, men of theory. But -Wagner makes no appeal to this last class, for the man of theory can -know as little of poetry or myth as the deaf man can know of music; -both of them being conscious only of movements which seem meaningless -to them. It is impossible to appreciate either one of these completely -different forms from the standpoint of the other: as long as the -poet's spell is upon one, one thinks with him just as though one were -merely a feeling, seeing, and hearing creature; the conclusions thus -reached are merely the result of the association of the phenomena one -sees, and are therefore not logical but actual causalities.</p> - -<p>If, therefore, the heroes and gods of mythical dramas, as understood -by Wagner, were to express themselves plainly in words, there would be -a danger (inasmuch as the language of words might tend to awaken the -theoretical side in us) of our finding ourselves transported from the -world of myth to the world of ideas, and the result would <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>be not only -that we should fail to understand with greater ease, but that we -should probably not understand at all. Wagner thus forced language -back to a more primeval stage in its development a stage at which it -was almost free of the abstract element, and was still poetry, -imagery, and feeling; the fearlessness with which Wagner undertook -this formidable mission shows how imperatively he was led by the -spirit of poetry, as one who must follow whithersoever his phantom -leader may direct him. Every word in these dramas ought to allow of -being sung, and gods and heroes should make them their own—that was -the task which Wagner set his literary faculty. Any other person in -like circumstances would have given up all hope; for our language -seems almost too old and decrepit to allow of one's exacting what -Wagner exacted from it; and yet, when he smote the rock, he brought -forth an abundant flow. Precisely owing to the fact that he loved his -language and exacted a great deal from it, Wagner suffered more than -any other German through its decay and enfeeblement, from its manifold -losses and mutilations of form, from its unwieldy particles and clumsy -construction, and from its unmusical auxiliary verbs. All these are -things which have entered the language through sin and depravity. On -the other hand, he was exceedingly proud to record the number of -primitive and vigorous factors still extant in the current speech; and -in the tonic strength of its roots he recognised quite a wonderful -affinity and relation to real music, a quality which distinguished it -from the highly <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>evolved and artificially rhetorical Latin languages. -Wagner's poetry is eloquent of his affection for the German language, -and there is a heartiness and candour in his treatment of it which are -scarcely to be met with in any other German writer, save perhaps -Goethe. Forcibleness of diction, daring brevity, power and variety in -rhythm, a remarkable wealth of strong and striking words, simplicity -in construction, an almost unique inventive faculty in regard to -fluctuations of feeling and presentiment, and therewithal a perfectly -pure and overflowing stream of colloquialisms—these are the qualities -that have to be enumerated, and even then the greatest and most -wonderful of all is omitted. Whoever reads two such poems as Tristan -and the Meistersingers consecutively will be just as astonished and -doubtful in regard to the language as to the music; for he will wonder -how it could have been possible for a creative spirit to dominate so -perfectly two worlds as different in form, colour, and arrangement, as -in soul. This is the most wonderful achievement of Wagner's talent; -for the ability to give every work its own linguistic stamp and to -find a fresh body and a new sound for every thought is a task which -only the great master can successfully accomplish. Where this rarest -of all powers manifests itself, adverse criticism can be but petty and -fruitless which confines itself to attacks upon certain excesses and -eccentricities in the treatment, or upon the more frequent obscurities -of expression and ambiguity of thought. Moreover, what seemed to -electrify <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>and scandalise those who were most bitter in their criticism -was not so much the language as the spirit of the Wagnerian -operas—that is to say, his whole manner of feeling and suffering. It -were well to wait until these very critics have acquired another -spirit themselves; they will then also speak a different tongue, and, -by that time, it seems to me things will go better with the German -language than they do at present.</p> - -<p>In the first place, however, no one who studies Wagner the poet and -word-painter should forget that none of his dramas were meant to be -read, and that it would therefore be unjust to judge them from the -same standpoint as the spoken drama. The latter plays upon the -feelings by means of words and ideas, and in this respect it is under -the dominion of the laws of rhetoric. But in real life passion is -seldom eloquent: in spoken drama it perforce must be, in order to be -able to express itself at all. When, however, the language of a people -is already in a state of decay and deterioration, the word-dramatist -is tempted to impart an undue proportion of new colour and form both -to his medium and to his thoughts; he would elevate the language in -order to make it a vehicle capable of conveying lofty feelings, and by -so doing he runs the risk of becoming abstruse. By means of sublime -phrases and conceits he likewise tries to invest passion with some -nobility, and thereby runs yet another risk, that of appearing false -and artificial. For in real life passions do not speak in sentences, -and the poetical element often draws suspicion upon their genuineness -when it departs too palpably from reality. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>Now Wagner, who was the -first to detect the essential feeling in spoken drama, presents every -dramatic action threefold: in a word, in a gesture, and in a sound. -For, as a matter of fact, music succeeds in conveying the deepest -emotions of the dramatic performers direct to the spectators, and -while these see the evidence of the actors' states of soul in their -bearing and movements, a third though more feeble confirmation of -these states, translated into conscious will, quickly follows in the -form of the spoken word. All these effects fulfil their purpose -simultaneously, without disturbing one another in the least, and urge -the spectator to a completely new understanding and sympathy, just as -if his senses had suddenly grown more spiritual and his spirit more -sensual, and as if everything which seeks an outlet in him, and which -makes him thirst for knowledge, were free and joyful in exultant -perception. Because every essential factor in a Wagnerian drama is -conveyed to the spectator with the utmost clearness, illumined and -permeated throughout by music as by an internal flame, their author -can dispense with the expedients usually employed by the writer of the -spoken play in order to lend light and warmth to the action. The whole -of the dramatist's stock in trade could be more simple, and the -architect's sense of rhythm could once more dare to manifest itself in -the general proportions of the edifice; for there was no more need of -"the deliberate confusion and involved variety of styles, whereby the -ordinary playwright strove in the interests of his work to produce -that feeling of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>wonder and thrilling suspense which he ultimately -enhanced to one of delighted amazement. The impression of ideal -distance and height was no more to be induced by means of tricks and -artifices. Language withdrew itself from the length and breadth of -rhetoric into the strong confines of the speech of the feelings, and -although the actor spoke much less about all he did and felt in the -performance, his innermost sentiments, which the ordinary playwright -had hitherto ignored for fear of being undramatic, was now able to -drive the spectators to passionate sympathy, while the accompanying -language of gestures could be restricted to the most delicate -modulations. Now, when passions are rendered in song, they require -rather more time than when conveyed by speech; music prolongs, so to -speak, the duration of the feeling, from which it follows, as a rule, -that the actor who is also a singer must overcome the extremely -unplastic animation from which spoken drama suffers. He feels himself -incited all the more to a certain nobility of bearing, because music -envelopes his feelings in a purer atmosphere, and thus brings them -closer to beauty.</p> - -<p>The extraordinary tasks which Wagner set his actors and singers will -provoke rivalry between them for ages to come, in the personification -of each of his heroes with the greatest possible amount of clearness, -perfection, and fidelity, according to that perfect incorporation -already typified by the music of drama. Following this leader, the eye -of the plastic artist will ultimately behold the marvels of another -visible world, which, previous <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>to him, was seen for the first time -only by the creator of such works as the Ring of the Nibelung—that -creator of highest rank, who, like Æschylus, points the way to a -coming art. Must not jealousy awaken the greatest talent, if the -plastic artist ever compares the effect of his productions with that -of Wagnerian music, in which there is so much pure and sunny happiness -that he who hears it feels as though all previous music had been but -an alien, faltering, and constrained language; as though in the past -it had been but a thing to sport with in the presence of those who -were not deserving of serious treatment, or a thing with which to -train and instruct those who were not even deserving of play? In the -case of this earlier kind of music, the joy we always experience while -listening to Wagner's compositions is ours only for a short space of -time, and it would then seem as though it were overtaken by certain -rare moments of forgetfulness, during which it appears to be communing -with its inner self and directing its eyes upwards, like Raphael's -Cecilia, away from the listeners and from all those who demand -distraction, happiness, or instruction from it.</p> - -<p>In general it may be said of Wagner the Musician, that he endowed -everything in nature which hitherto had had no wish to speak with the -power of speech: he refuses to admit that anything must be dumb, and, -resorting to the dawn, the forest, the mist, the cliffs, the hills, -the thrill of night and the moonlight, he observes a desire common to -them all—they too wish to sing their own melody. If the philosopher -says it <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>is will that struggles for existence in animate and inanimate -nature, the musician adds: And this will wherever it manifests itself, -yearns for a melodious existence.</p> - -<p>Before Wagner's time, music for the most part moved in narrow limits: -it concerned itself with the permanent states of man, or with what the -Greeks call <i>ethos</i>. And only with Beethoven did it begin to find the -language of pathos, of passionate will, and of the dramatic -occurrences in the souls of men. Formerly, what people desired was to -interpret a mood, a stolid, merry, reverential, or penitential state -of mind, by means of music; the object was, by means of a certain -striking uniformity of treatment and the prolonged duration of this -uniformity, to compel the listener to grasp the meaning of the music -and to impose its mood upon him. To all such interpretations of mood -or atmosphere, distinct and particular forms of treatment were -necessary: others were established by convention. The question of -length was left to the discretion of the musician, whose aim was not -only to put the listener into a certain mood, but also to avoid -rendering that mood monotonous by unduly protracting it. A further -stage was reached when the interpretations of contrasted moods were -made to follow one upon the other, and the charm of light and shade -was discovered; and yet another step was made when the same piece of -music was allowed to contain a contrast of the <i>ethos</i>—for instance, -the contest between a male and a female theme. All these, however, are -crude and primitive stages in the development of music. The fear of -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>passion suggested the first rule, and the fear of monotony the second; -all depth of feeling and any excess thereof were regarded as -"unethical." Once, however, the art of the <i>ethos</i> had repeatedly been -made to ring all the changes on the moods and situations which -convention had decreed as suitable, despite the most astounding -resourcefulness on the part of its masters, its powers were exhausted. -Beethoven was the first to make music speak a new language—till then -forbidden—the language of passion; but as his art was based upon the -laws and conventions of the <i>ethos</i>, and had to attempt to justify -itself in regard to them, his artistic development was beset with -peculiar difficulties and obscurities. An inner dramatic factor—and -every passion pursues a dramatic course—struggled to obtain a new -form, but the traditional scheme of "mood music" stood in its way, and -protested—almost after the manner in which morality opposes -innovations and immorality. It almost seemed, therefore, as if -Beethoven had set himself the contradictory task of expressing pathos -in the terms of the <i>ethos</i>. This view does not, however, apply to -Beethoven's latest and greatest works; for he really did succeed in -discovering a novel method of expressing the grand and vaulting arch -of passion. He merely selected certain portions of its curve; imparted -these with the utmost clearness to his listeners, and then left it to -them to <i>divine</i> its whole span. Viewed superficially, the new form -seemed rather like an aggregation of several musical compositions, of -which every one appeared to represent a sustained situation, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>but was -in reality but a momentary stage in the dramatic course of a passion. -The listener might think that he was hearing the old "mood" music over -again, except that he failed to grasp the relation of the various -parts to one another, and these no longer conformed with the canon of -the law. Even among minor musicians, there flourished a certain -contempt for the rule which enjoined harmony in the general -construction of a composition and the sequence of the parts in their -works still remained arbitrary. Then, owing to a misunderstanding, the -discovery of the majestic treatment of passion led back to the use of -the single movement with an optional setting, and the tension between -the parts thus ceased completely. That is why the symphony, as -Beethoven understood it, is such a wonderfully obscure production, -more especially when, here and there, it makes faltering attempts at -rendering Beethoven's pathos. The means ill befit the intention, and -the intention is, on the whole, not sufficiently clear to the -listener, because it was never really clear, even in the mind of the -composer. But the very injunction that something definite must be -imparted, and that this must be done as distinctly as possible, -becomes ever more and more essential, the higher, more difficult, and -more exacting the class of work happens to be.</p> - -<p>That is why all Wagner's efforts were concentrated upon the one object -of discovering those means which best served the purpose of -<i>distinctness</i>, and to this end it was above all necessary for him to -emancipate himself from all the prejudices <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>and claims of the old -"mood" music, and to give his compositions—the musical -interpretations of feelings and passion—a perfectly unequivocal mode -of expression. If we now turn to what he has achieved, we see that his -services to music are practically equal in rank to those which that -sculptor-inventor rendered to sculpture who introduced "sculpture in -the round." All previous music seems stiff and uncertain when compared -with Wagner's, just as though it were ashamed and did not wish to be -inspected from all sides. With the most consummate skill and -precision, Wagner avails himself of every degree and colour in the -realm of feeling; without the slightest hesitation or fear of its -escaping him, he seizes upon the most delicate, rarest, and mildest -emotion, and holds it fast, as though it had hardened at his touch, -despite the fact that it may seem like the frailest butterfly to every -one else. His music is never vague or dreamy; everything that is -allowed to speak through it, whether it be of man or of nature, has a -strictly individual passion; storm and fire acquire the ruling power -of a personal will in his hands. Over all the clamouring characters -and the clash of their passions, over the whole torrent of contrasts, -an almighty and symphonic understanding hovers with perfect serenity, -and continually produces concord out of war. Taken as a whole, -Wagner's music is a reflex of the world as it was understood by the -great Ephesian poet—that is to say, a harmony resulting from strife, -as the union of justice and enmity. I admire the ability which could -describe the grand line of universal passion <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>out of a confusion of -passions which all seem to be striking out in different directions: -the fact that this was a possible achievement I find demonstrated in -every individual act of a Wagnerian drama, which describes the -individual history of various characters side by side with a general -history of the whole company. Even at the very beginning we know we -are watching a host of cross currents dominated by one great violent -stream; and though at first this stream moves unsteadily over hidden -reefs, and the torrent seems to be torn asunder as if it were -travelling towards different points, gradually we perceive the central -and general movement growing stronger and more rapid, the convulsive -fury of the contending waters is converted into one broad, steady, and -terrible flow in the direction of an unknown goal; and suddenly, at -the end, the whole flood in all its breadth plunges into the depths, -rejoicing demoniacally over the abyss and all its uproar. Wagner is -never more himself than when he is overwhelmed with difficulties and -can exercise power on a large scale with all the joy of a law-giver. To -bring restless and contending masses into simple rhythmic movement, -and to exercise one will over a bewildering host of claims and -desires—these are the tasks for which he feels he was born, and in -the performance of which he finds freedom. And he never loses his -breath withal, nor does he ever reach his goal panting. He strove just -as persistently to impose the severest laws upon himself as to lighten -the burden of others in this respect. Life and art weigh heavily upon -him when he cannot play wit <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>their most difficult questions. If one -considers the relation between the melody of song and that of speech, -one will perceive how he sought to adopt as his natural model the -pitch, strength, and tempo of the passionate man's voice in order to -transform it into art; and if one further considers the task of -introducing this singing passion into the general symphonic order of -music, one gets some idea of the stupendous difficulties he had to -overcome. In this behalf, his inventiveness in small things as in -great, his omniscience and industry are such, that at the sight of one -of Wagner's scores one is almost led to believe that no real work or -effort had ever existed before his time. It seems almost as if he too -could have said, in regard to the hardships of art, that the real -virtue of the dramatist lies in self-renunciation. But he would -probably have added, There is but one kind of hardship—that of the -artist who is not yet free: virtue and goodness are trivial -accomplishments.</p> - -<p>Viewing him generally as an artist, and calling to mind a more famous -type, we see that Wagner is not at all unlike Demosthenes: in him also -we have the terrible earnestness of purpose and that strong prehensile -mind which always obtains a complete grasp of a thing; in him, too, we -have the hand's quick clutch and the grip as of iron. Like -Demosthenes, he conceals his art or compels one to forget it by the -peremptory way he calls attention to the subject he treats; and yet, -like his great predecessor, he is the last and greatest of a whole -line of artist-minds, and therefore has more to conceal than his -forerunners: his art acts like <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>nature, like nature recovered and -restored. Unlike all previous musicians, there is nothing bombastic -about him; for the former did not mind playing at times with their -art, and making an exhibition of their virtuosity. One associates -Wagner's art neither with interest nor with diversion, nor with Wagner -himself and art in general. All one is conscious of is of the great -necessity of it all. No one will ever be able to appreciate what -severity evenness of will, and self-control the artist required during -his development, in order, at his zenith, to be able to do the -necessary thing joyfully and freely. Let it suffice if we can -appreciate how, in some respects, his music, with a certain cruelty -towards itself, determines to subserve the course of the drama, which -is as unrelenting as fate, whereas in reality his art was ever -thirsting for a free ramble in the open and over the wilderness.</p> - - - -<h4>X.</h4> - - -<p>An artist who has this empire over himself subjugates all other -artists, even though he may not particularly desire to do so. For him -alone there lies no danger or stemming-force in those he has -subjugated—his friends and his adherents; whereas the weaker natures -who learn to rely on their friends pay for this reliance by forfeiting -their independence. It is very wonderful to observe how carefully, -throughout his life, Wagner avoided anything in the nature of heading -a party, notwithstanding the fact that at the close of every phase in -his career a circle of adherents formed, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>presumably with the view of -holding him fast to his latest development He always succeeded, -however, in wringing himself free from them, and never allowed himself -to be bound; for not only was the ground he covered too vast for one -alone to keep abreast of him with any ease, but his way was so -exceptionally steep that the most devoted would have lost his breath. -At almost every stage in Wagner's progress his friends would have -liked to preach to him, and his enemies would fain have done so -too—but for other reasons. Had the purity of his artist's nature been -one degree less decided than it was, he would have attained much -earlier than he actually did to the leading position in the artistic -and musical world of his time. True, he has reached this now, but in a -much higher sense, seeing that every performance to be witnessed in -any department of art makes its obeisance, so to speak, before the -judgment-stool of his genius and of his artistic temperament. He has -overcome the most refractory of his contemporaries; there is not one -gifted musician among them but in his innermost heart would willingly -listen to him, and find Wagner's compositions more worth listening to -than his own and all other musical productions taken together. Many -who wish, by hook or by crook, to make their mark, even wrestle with -Wagner's secret charm, and unconsciously throw in their lot with the -older masters, preferring to ascribe their "independence" to Schubert -or Handel rather than to Wagner. But in vain! Thanks to their very -efforts in contending against the dictates of their own consciences, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>they become ever meaner and smaller artists; they ruin their own -natures by forcing themselves to tolerate undesirable allies and -friends. And in spite of all these sacrifices, they still find perhaps -in their dreams, that their ear turns attentively to Wagner. These -adversaries are to be pitied: they imagine they lose a great deal when -they lose themselves, but here they are mistaken.</p> - -<p>Albeit it is obviously all one to Wagner whether musicians compose in -his style, or whether they compose at all, he even does his utmost to -dissipate the belief that a school of composers should now necessarily -follow in his wake; though, in so far as he exercises a direct -influence upon musicians, he does indeed try to instruct them -concerning the art of grand execution. In his opinion, the evolution -of art seems to have reached that stage when the honest endeavour to -become an able and masterly exponent or interpreter is ever so much -more worth talking about than the longing to be a creator at all -costs. For, at the present stage of art, universal creating has this -fatal result, that inasmuch as it encourages a much larger output, it -tends to exhaust the means and artifices of genius by everyday use, -and thus to reduce the real grandeur of its effect. Even that which is -good in art is superfluous and detrimental when it proceeds from the -imitation of what is best. Wagnerian ends and means are of one piece: -to perceive this, all that is required is honesty in art matters, and -it would be dishonest to adopt his means in order to apply them to -other and less significant ends.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> -If, therefore, Wagner declines to live on amid a multitude of creative -musicians, he is only the more desirous of imposing upon all men of -talent the new duty of joining him in seeking the <i>law of style for -dramatic performances</i>. He deeply feels the need of establishing a -<i>traditional style</i> for his art, by means of which his work may continue -to live from one age to another in a pure form, until it reaches that -<i>future</i> which its creator ordained for it.</p> - -<p>Wagner is impelled by an undaunted longing to make known everything -relating to that foundation of a style, mentioned above, and, -accordingly, everything relating to the continuance of his art. To -make his work—as Schopenhauer would say—a sacred depository and the -real fruit of his life, as well as the inheritance of mankind, and to -store it for the benefit of a posterity better able to appreciate -it,—these were <i>the supreme objects</i> of his life, and for these he bore -that crown of thorns which, one day, will shoot forth leaves of bay. -Like the insect which, in its last form, concentrates all its energies -upon the one object of finding a safe depository for its eggs and of -ensuring the future welfare of its posthumous brood,—then only to die -content, so Wagner strove with equal determination to find a place of -security for his works.</p> - -<p>This subject, which took precedence of all others with him, constantly -incited him to new discoveries; and these he sought ever more and more -at the spring of his demoniacal gift of communicability, the more -distinctly he saw himself in conflict with an age that was both -perverse <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>and unwilling to lend him its ear. Gradually however, even -this same age began to mark his indefatigable efforts, to respond to -his subtle advances, and to turn its ear to him. Whenever a small or a -great opportunity arose, however far away, which suggested to Wagner a -means wherewith to explain his thoughts, he availed himself of it: he -thought his thoughts anew into every fresh set of circumstances, and -would make them speak out of the most paltry bodily form. Whenever a -soul only half capable of comprehending him opened itself to him, he -never failed to implant his seed in it. He saw hope in things which -caused the average dispassionate observer merely to shrug his -shoulders; and he erred again and again, only so as to be able to -carry his point against that same observer. Just as the sage, in -reality, mixes with living men only for the purpose of increasing his -store of knowledge, so the artist would almost seem to be unable to -associate with his contemporaries at all, unless they be such as can -help him towards making his work eternal. He cannot be loved otherwise -than with the love of this eternity, and thus he is conscious only of -one kind of hatred directed at him, the hatred which would demolish -the bridges bearing his art into the future. The pupils Wagner -educated for his own purpose, the individual musicians and actors whom -he advised and whose ear he corrected and improved, the small and -large orchestras he led, the towns which witnessed him earnestly -fulfilling the duties of us calling, the princes and ladies who half -boastfully <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>and half lovingly participated in the framing of his plans, -the various European countries to which he temporarily belonged as the -judge and evil conscience of their arts,—everything gradually became -the echo of his thought and of his indefatigable efforts to attain to -fruitfulness in the future. Although this echo often sounded so -discordant as to confuse him, still the tremendous power of his voice -repeatedly crying out into the world must in the end call forth -reverberations, and it will soon be impossible to be deaf to him or to -misunderstand him. It is this reflected sound which even now causes -the art-institutions of modern men to shake: every time the breath of -his spirit blew into these coverts, all that was overripe or withered -fell to the ground; but the general increase of scepticism in all -directions speaks more eloquently than all this trembling. Nobody any -longer dares to predict where Wagner's influence may not unexpectedly -break out. He is quite unable to divorce the salvation of art from any -other salvation or damnation: wherever modern life conceals a danger, -he, with the discriminating eye of mistrust, perceives a danger -threatening art. In his imagination he pulls the edifice of modern -civilisation to pieces, and allows nothing rotten, no unsound -timber-work to escape: if in the process he should happen to encounter -weather-tight walls or anything like solid foundations, he immediately -casts about for means wherewith he can convert them into bulwarks and -shelters for his art. He lives like a fugitive, whose will is not to -preserve his own life, but to keep a secret—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>like an unhappy woman -who does not wish to save her own soul, but that of the child lying in -her lap: in short, he lives like Sieglinde, "for the sake of love."</p> - -<p>For life must indeed be full of pain and shame to one who can find -neither rest nor shelter in this world, and who must nevertheless -appeal to it, exact things from it, contemn it, and still be unable to -dispense with the thing contemned,—this really constitutes the -wretchedness of the artist of the future, who, unlike the philosopher, -cannot prosecute his work alone in the seclusion of a study, but who -requires human souls as messengers to this future, public institutions -as a guarantee of it, and, as it were, bridges between now and -hereafter. His art may not, like the philosopher's, be put aboard the -boat of written documents: art needs <i>capable men</i>, not letters and -notes, to transmit it. Over whole periods in Wagner's life rings a -murmur of distress—his distress at not being able to meet with these -capable interpreters before whom he longed to execute examples of his -work, instead of being confined to written symbols; before whom he -yearned to practise his art, instead of showing a pallid reflection of -it to those who read books, and who, generally speaking, therefore are -not artists.</p> - -<p>In Wagner the man of letters we see the struggle of a brave fighter, -whose right hand has, as it were, been lopped off, and who has -continued the contest with his left. In his writings he is always the -sufferer, because a temporary and insuperable destiny deprives him of -his own and the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>correct way of conveying his thoughts—that is to say, -in the form of apocalyptic and triumphant examples. His writings -contain nothing canonical or severe: the canons are to be found in his -works as a whole. Their literary side represents his attempts to -understand the instinct which urged him to create his works and to get -a glimpse of himself through them. If he succeeded in transforming his -instincts into terms of knowledge, it was always with the hope that -the reverse process might take place in the souls of his readers—it -was with this intention that he wrote. Should it ultimately be proved -that, in so doing, Wagner attempted the impossible, he would still -only share the lot of all those who have meditated deeply on art; and -even so he would be ahead of most of them in this, namely, that the -strongest instinct for all arts harboured in him. I know of no written -æsthetics that give more light than those of Wagner; all that can -possibly be learnt concerning the origin of a work of art is to be -found in them. He is one of the very great, who appeared amongst us a -witness, and who is continually improving his testimony and making it -ever clearer and freer; even when he stumbles as a scientist, sparks -rise from the ground. Such tracts as "Beethoven," "Concerning the Art -of Conducting," "Concerning Actors and Singers," "State and Religion," -silence all contradiction, and, like sacred reliquaries, impose upon -all who approach them a calm, earnest, and reverential regard. Others, -more particularly the earlier ones, including "Opera and Drama," -excite and agitate <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>one; their rhythm is so uneven that, as prose they -are bewildering. Their dialectics is constantly interrupted, and their -course is more retarded than accelerated by outbursts of feeling; a -certain reluctance on the part of the writer seems to hang over them -like a pall, just as though the artist were somewhat ashamed of -speculative discussions. What the reader who is only imperfectly -initiated will probably find most oppressive is the general tone of -authoritative dignity which is peculiar to Wagner, and which is very -difficult to describe: it always strikes me as though Wagner were -continually <i>addressing enemies</i>; for the style of all these tracts more -resembles that of the spoken than of the written language, hence they -will seem much more intelligible if heard read aloud, in the presence -of his enemies, with whom he cannot be on familiar terms, and towards -whom he must therefore show some reserve and aloofness. The entrancing -passion of his feelings, however, constantly pierces this intentional -disguise, and then the stilted and heavy periods, swollen with -accessary words, vanish, and his pen dashes off sentences, and even -whole pages, which belong to the best in German prose. But even -admitting that while he wrote such passages he was addressing friends, -and that the shadow of his enemies had been removed for a while, all -the friends and enemies that Wagner, as a man of letters, has, possess -one factor in common, which differentiates them fundamentally from the -"people" for whom he worked as an artist. Owing to the refining and -fruitless nature of their education, they are <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span><i>quite devoid of the -essential traits of the national character</i>, and he who would appeal to -them must speak in a way which is not of the people—that is to say, -after the manner of our best prose-writers and Wagner himself; though -that he did violence to himself in writing thus is evident. But the -strength of that almost maternal instinct of prudence in him, which is -ready to make any sacrifice, rather tends to reinstall him among the -scholars and men of learning, to whom as a creator he always longed to -bid farewell. He submits to the language of culture and all the laws -governing its use, though he was the first to recognise its profound -insufficiency as a means of communication.</p> - -<p>For if there is anything that distinguishes his art from every other -art of modern times, it is that it no longer speaks the language of -any particular caste, and refuses to admit the distinctions "literate" -and "illiterate." It thus stands as a contrast to every culture of the -Renaissance, which to this day still bathes us modern men in its light -and shade. Inasmuch as Wagner's art bears us, from time to time, -beyond itself, we are enabled to get a general view of its uniform -character: we see Goethe and Leopardi as the last great stragglers of -the Italian philologist-poets, Faust as the incarnation of a most -unpopular problem, in the form of a man of theory thirsting for life; -even Goethe's song is an imitation of the song of the people rather -than a standard set before them to which they are expected to attain, -and the poet knew very well how truly he spoke when he seriously -assured his adherents: "My <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>compositions cannot become popular; he who -hopes and strives to make them so is mistaken."</p> - -<p>That an art could arise which would be so clear and warm as to flood -the base and the poor in spirit with its light, as well as to melt the -haughtiness of the learned—such a phenomenon had to be experienced -though it could not be guessed. But even in the mind of him who -experiences it to-day it must upset all preconceived notions -concerning education and culture; to such an one the veil will seem to -have been rent in twain that conceals a future in which no highest -good or highest joys exist that are not the common property of all. -The odium attaching to the word "common" will then be abolished.</p> - -<p>If presentiment venture thus into the remote future, the discerning -eye of all will recognise the dreadful social insanity of our present -age, and will no longer blind itself to the dangers besetting an art -which seems to have roots only in the remote and distant future, and -which allows its burgeoning branches to spread before our gaze when it -has not yet revealed the ground from which it draws its sap. How can -we protect this homeless art through the ages until that remote future -is reached? How can we so dam the flood of a revolution seemingly -inevitable everywhere, that the blessed prospect and guarantee of a -better future—of a freer human life—shall not also be washed away -with all that is destined to perish and deserves to perish?</p> - -<p>He who asks himself this question shares Wagner's care: he will feel -himself impelled with <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197</a></span>Wagner to seek those established powers that -have the goodwill to protect the noblest passions of man during the -period of earthquakes and upheavals. In this sense alone Wagner -questions the learned through his writings, whether they intend -storing his legacy to them—the precious Ring of his art—among their -other treasures. And even the wonderful confidence which he reposes in -the German mind and the aims of German politics seems to me to arise -from the fact that he grants the people of the Reformation that -strength, mildness, and bravery which is necessary in order to divert -"the torrent of revolution into the tranquil river-bed of a calmly -flowing stream of humanity": and I could almost believe that this and -only this is what he meant to express by means of the symbol of his -Imperial march.</p> - -<p>As a rule, though, the generous impulses of the creative artist and -the extent of his philanthropy are too great for his gaze to be -confined within the limits of a single nation. His thoughts, like -those of every good and great German, are <i>more than German</i>, and the -language of his art does not appeal to particular races but to mankind -in general.</p> - -<p><i>But to the men of the future</i>.</p> - -<p>This is the belief that is proper to him; this is his torment and his -distinction. No artist, of what past soever, has yet received such a -remarkable portion of genius; no one, save him, has ever been obliged -to mix this bitterest of ingredients with the drink of nectar to which -enthusiasm helped him. It is not as one might expect, the -misunderstood <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>and mishandled artist, the fugitive of his age, who -adopted this faith in self-defence: success or failure at the hands of -his contemporaries was unable either to create or to destroy it -Whether it glorified or reviled him, he did not belong to this -generation: that was the conclusion to which his instincts led him. -And the possibility of any generation's ever belonging to him is -something which he who disbelieves in Wagner can never be made to -admit. But even this unbeliever may at least ask, what kind of -generation it will be in which Wagner will recognise his "people," and -in which he will see the type of all those who suffer a common -distress, and who wish to escape from it by means of an art common to -them all. Schiller was certainly more hopeful and sanguine; he did not -ask what a future must be like if the instinct of the artist that -predicts it prove true; his command to every artist was rather—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -Soar aloft in daring flight<br /> -Out of sight of thine own years!<br /> -In thy mirror, gleaming bright,<br /> -Glimpse of distant dawn appears.<br /> -</p> - - - -<h4>XI.</h4> - - -<p>May blessed reason preserve us from ever thinking that mankind will at -any time discover a final and ideal order of things, and that -happiness will then and ever after beam down upon us uniformly, like -the rays of the sun in the tropics. Wagner has nothing to do with such -a hope; he is <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>no Utopian. If he was unable to dispense with the belief -in a future, it only meant that he observed certain properties in -modern men which he did not hold to be essential to their nature, and -which did not seem to him to form any necessary part of their -constitution; in fact, which were changeable and transient; and that -precisely <i>owing to these properties</i> art would find no home among them, -and he himself had to be the precursor and prophet of another epoch. -No golden age, no cloudless sky will fall to the portion of those -future generations, which his instinct led him to expect, and whose -approximate characteristics may be gleaned from the cryptic characters -of his art, in so far as it is possible to draw conclusions concerning -the nature of any pain from the kind of relief it seeks. Nor will -superhuman goodness and justice stretch like an everlasting rainbow -over this future land. Belike this coming generation will, on the -whole, seem more evil than the present one—for in good as in evil it -will be more <i>straightforward</i>. It is even possible, if its soul were -ever able to speak out in full and unembarrassed tones, that it might -convulse and terrify us, as though the voice of some hitherto -concealed and evil spirit had suddenly cried out in our midst. Or how -do the following propositions strike our ears?—That passion is better -than stoicism or hypocrisy; that straightforwardness, even in evil, is -better than losing oneself in trying to observe traditional morality; -that the free man is just as able to be good as evil, but that the -unemancipated man is a disgrace to nature, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>has no share in -heavenly or earthly bliss; finally, that all who wish to be free must -become so through themselves, and that freedom falls to nobody's lot -as a gift from Heaven. However harsh and strange these propositions -may sound, they are nevertheless reverberations from that future -world, which <i>is verily in need of art</i>, and which expects genuine -pleasure from its presence; they are the language of -nature—<i>reinstated</i> even in mankind; they stand for what I have already -termed correct feeling as opposed to the incorrect feeling that reigns -to-day.</p> - -<p>But real relief or salvation exists only for nature not for that which -is contrary to nature or which arises out of incorrect feeling. When -all that is unnatural becomes self-conscious, it desires but one -thing—nonentity; the natural thing, on the other hand, yearns to be -transfigured through love: the former would fain <i>not</i> be, the latter -would fain be <i>otherwise</i>. Let him who has understood this recall, in -the stillness of his soul, the simple themes of Wagner's art, in order -to be able to ask himself whether it were nature or nature's opposite -which sought by means of them to achieve the aims just described.</p> - -<p>The desperate vagabond finds deliverance from his distress in the -compassionate love of a woman who would rather die than be unfaithful -to him: the theme of the Flying Dutchman. The sweet-heart, renouncing -all personal happiness, owing to a divine transformation of Love into -Charity, becomes a saint, and saves the soul of her loved one: the -theme of Tannhäuser. The sublimest <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>and highest thing descends a -suppliant among men, and will not be questioned whence it came; when, -however, the fatal question is put, it sorrowfully returns to its -higher life: the theme of Lohengrin. The loving soul of a wife, and -the people besides, joyfully welcome the new benevolent genius, -although the retainers of tradition and custom reject and revile him: -the theme of the Meistersingers. Of two lovers, that do not know they -are loved, who believe rather that they are deeply wounded and -contemned, each demands of the other that he or she should drink a cup -of deadly poison, to all intents and purposes as an expiation of the -insult; in reality, however, as the result of an impulse which neither -of them understands: through death they wish to escape all possibility -of separation or deceit. The supposed approach of death loosens their -fettered souls and allows them a short moment of thrilling happiness, -just as though they had actually escaped from the present, from -illusions and from life: the theme of Tristan and Isolde.</p> - -<p>In the Ring of the Nibelung the tragic hero is a god whose heart -yearns for power, and who, since he travels along all roads in search -of it, finally binds himself to too many undertakings, loses his -freedom, and is ultimately cursed by the curse inseparable from power. -He becomes aware of his loss of freedom owing to the fact that he no -longer has the means to take possession of the golden Ring—that -symbol of all earthly power, and also of the greatest dangers to -himself as long as it lies in the hands of his enemies. The fear of -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>the end and the twilight of all gods overcomes him, as also the -despair at being able only to await the end without opposing it. He is -in need of the free and fearless man who, without his advice or -assistance—even in a struggle against gods—can accomplish -single-handed what is denied to the powers of a god. He fails to see -him, and just as a new hope finds shape within him, he must obey the -conditions to which he is bound: with his own hand he must murder the -thing he most loves, and purest pity must be punished by his sorrow. -Then he begins to loathe power, which bears evil and bondage in its -lap; his will is broken, and he himself begins to hanker for the end -that threatens him from afar off. At this juncture something happens -which had long been the subject of his most ardent desire: the free -and fearless man appears, he rises in opposition to everything -accepted and established, his parents atone for having been united by -a tie which was antagonistic to the order of nature and usage; they -perish, but Siegfried survives. And at the sight of his magnificent -development and bloom, the loathing leaves Wotan's soul, and he follows -the hero's history with the eye of fatherly love and anxiety. How he -forges his sword, kills the dragon, gets possession of the ring, -escapes the craftiest ruse, awakens Brunhilda; how the curse abiding -in the ring gradually overtakes him; how, faithful in faithfulness, he -wounds the thing he most loves, out of love; becomes enveloped in the -shadow and cloud of guilt, and, rising out of it more brilliantly than -the sun, ultimately goes down, firing the whole <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>heavens with his -burning glow and purging the world of the curse,—all this is seen by -the god whose sovereign spear was broken in the contest with the -freest man, and who lost his power through him, rejoicing greatly over -his own defeat: full of sympathy for the triumph and pain of his -victor, his eye burning with aching joy looks back upon the last -events; he has become free through love, free from himself.</p> - -<p>And now ask yourselves, ye generation of to-day, Was all this composed -<i>for you</i>? Have ye the courage to point up to the stars of the whole of -this heavenly dome of beauty and goodness and to say, This is our -life, that Wagner has transferred to a place beneath the stars?</p> - -<p>Where are the men among you who are able to interpret the divine image -of Wotan in the light of their own lives, and who can become ever -greater while, like him, ye retreat? Who among you would renounce -power, knowing and having learned that power is evil? Where are they -who like Brunhilda abandon their knowledge to love, and finally rob -their lives of the highest wisdom, "afflicted love, deepest sorrow, -opened my eyes"? and where are the free and fearless, developing and -blossoming in innocent egoism? and where are the Siegfrieds, among -you?</p> - -<p>He who questions thus and does so in vain, will find himself compelled -to look around him for signs of the future; and should his eye, on -reaching an unknown distance, espy just that "people" which his own -generation can read out of the signs contained in Wagnerian art, he -will then also understand <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span><i>what Wagner will mean to this -people</i>—something that he cannot be to all of us, namely, not the -prophet of the future, as perhaps he would fain appear to us, but the -interpreter and clarifier of the past.</p> - - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Thoughts out of Season, Part I, by -Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON, PART I *** - -***** This file should be named 51710-h.htm or 51710-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/7/1/51710/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Hathi Trust.) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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