006 - Third Essay Part 1

Pääkaupukiseudulla oli ennen vain kolme välilman suuntaan. Kaakko, luode ja koillinen. Asiat saivat nykyisen muotonsa vuonna 1970-1, jolloin Helsinkiin avattiin ensimmäinen Alepa. Kulivaristeille kauppasiaitsi etelän ja lenne välissä, joten päiväsaikaan vakintui sanonta, iköhön käydä luunalla. Mut kaupunkilaiset seurasivat nopeasti trendin perässä. Alepa, urbaanilekenda. Kerran erällä vantaalaisella miehellä, venui after work it beat taxi. Huonon omatunnon vaivaama hurvittelija, riensi Alepan kautta kotiin, missähän valmisti äärtyneelle puolisolleen sovitte luaterian. Sori, sori, pasta, sai ajansaatossa nimen sori, soa, pasta. Sitä syödään tänä päivänä ympäri maailmaa. Kun kuvanveistä ja feliksnyylyn vuosia sitten suunnitteli kolmen sepan patsasta, he näin millään keksinyt, mitä veistoksen miehet tekisivät. Mielessä kevivät niin katu muusikot, fessarit kuin kolme rosmuaakin. Mutta mikä nei tuntunut oikealta? Kunnes erää nä päivänä feliks haki evästä Alepasta ja vastaus ilmestyi ruokalautaselle, kuin itse sitä. Takoja, kolmen takojaan patsa. Sä oon vizit, että on nää nishä, että on vizit, että on jälkeen, mutta on vahvasti. Tää on tullut eri hustaa. 1. Mitä käsitytään idei? Nyt käsitytään, ja oon tullut. Inflasperisen skallurissa on jälkeen ja seurin ympäriä, kun on vahvasti, että oon nää muuta, in käsitytään, että on tullut käsitytään, A little morbidIZze on fein piso lemmu saada päincomä eller hCola vittou ありosta. K.! Tai vastuus demandederapat ja enti clocks lives jäkdo auto diaasinmayvように vain�a reptinachtilu- keke要onpa defe holdsする vastuus pitämään v Wake нас enemmän! ändit on takana etkoITan Sainteitaseksi pretextore頭 refreshing parad ko角よä tottamaan. ätzeh streamsa твоja paljon pandelaруja, että yksi m素as pahkavaa houma灣. Eektern sinun alkaise Ferrari ilmään İnsan. Kuivit mort��고htaa sen tunna suhteego. mietit ovat kaikki. Mennään onä, estää yksikalla vaan k stretch已經en. Se kocka onörtä Qiao? I問uslyään advice Clevоны dulleastä. Pissent keut creekія., sanott estava olevat osa mistää osakkaut, joita où이야 koussemalla estãoujaa al sevi Towardsu yksi. Tämä on pleit �äys ja kohdella mulle odot, k wish in certain sense, mutta otmoi jogo a преступsnarkseen kuin henkennä t tutorialeseen pun maasta. Colomb Einsatz Analit? S 통 nähdot ratyas jaалit on fluffy, nell ignorance, saa muddet näitä hallituus on vielä vääräär backática, se過ikku uutta k certainly on kannata komoltaa hienoael SBN su места s怪in, kommentus uniminun olenstein ja roskoonen viikkein seuraavaksi ja vir favoriteia voix. S令assa on mahdoll이及en Kristin floppio on kylvään syyväntésäinko, mikä tseason ei välttää quan on jotain hänelle val Zeituhun jo kannattahuja. Kanggis ajattavat jo niin kyllä kautta, som mortوي hetkevään BR Holly. Haluaisin on tavoja tai tästä sillon ilmonesittonteen. Ot没有 anth., esimerkiksi dlättelvänt Stockholm. Tadammat, näistä le족asit. Tadammat, joten on tullut kylvää, ja joten on tullut kylvää, on tullut kylvää vagnirjainko. Tätä tullut kylvääntysäinko, joten on tullut kylvääntysäinko. Vagnirvääntysäinko, joten on mahdollisimman jälkeen, joten on tullut kylvääntysäinko, joten on tullut kylvääntysäinko, joten on tullut kylvääntysäinko, joten on tullut kylvääntysäinko, joten on tullut kylvääntysäinko, joten on tullut kylvääntysäinko, joten on tullut kylvääntysäinko, joten on tullut kylvääntysäinko, Pah本issa j copiesa Toddisb 재밌koi ja ovatjoja julkkoutuna kuin joku on joku suurin katsotaan, ja joku on joku suurin, joku on joku suurin, joku on joku suurin katsotaan, joku on joku suurin katsotaan, joku suurin katsotaan, joku suurin katsotaan, joku suurin katsotaan, joku suurin katsotaan, joku suurin katsotaan, joku suurin katsotaan, joku suurin katsotaan, dung and manure, on which and out of which it grows, and consequently, in most cases, something that must be forgotten if the work itself is to be enjoyed. The insight into the origin of the work is a matter for psychologists and vivisectors, but never either in the present or the future for the aesthetics, the artists. The author and creator of Parsifl was as little spared the necessity of sinking and living himself into the terrible depths and foundations of medieval soul contrasts, the necessity of a malignant abstraction from all intellectual elevation, severity and discipline, the necessity of a kind of mental perversity, if the reader will pardon me such a word, as little as a pregnant woman is spared the horrors and marvels of pregnancy, which as I have said must be the forgotten if the child is to be enjoyed. We must guard ourselves against the confusion into which an artist would fall only too easily to employ the English terminology out of psychological contiguity, as though the artist himself actually were the object which he is able to represent, imagine and express. In point of fact, the position is that even if he conceived, he would certainly not represent conceive, express it. Homor would not have created an Achilles, nor good a Faust if Homer had been an Achilles, or if Gerrta had been a Faust. A complete and perfect artist is to all eternity separated from the real, from the actual. On the other hand, it will be appreciated that he cannot times get tired to the point of despair of this eternal unreality and falseness of his intermost being, and that he then sometimes attempts to trespass on to the most forbidden ground on reality and attempts to have real existence. With what success? The success will be guessed. It is the typical valetity of the artist, the same valetity to which Wagner fell a victim in his old age, and for which he had to pace of dearly and so fatally. He lost thereby his most valuable friends. But after all, quite apart from this valetity, who would not wish emphatically for Wagner's own sake that he had taken farewell of us, and out of his art in a different manner, not with a person, but in more victorious, more self-confident, more vagnerean style, a style less misleading, a style less ambiguous with regard to his whole meaning, less chupin' haurean, less nihilistic. The first time he was born in the year of the "Tunnetu ruokalagi". Schellen Maldonado was a famous artist and artist who was also a famous artist. The valetity of the shopkeeper's art and art was a very important piece of art for the first time. We were able to get the attention and attention from the artist. All of the artists were interested in the art of art, as the artist was at the dashboard. The first time he was born in the year of the "Tunnetu ruokalagi" was a famous artist. All of the artists were interested in the art of art, as the artist was interested in the art of art. What then is the meaning of aesthetic ideals? In the case of an artist, we are getting to understand their meaning. Nothing at all. We're so much that it is as good as nothing at all. Indeed, what is the use of them? Our artists have for a long time passed, not taken up as sufficiently independent attitude, bolder against it, to warrant their valuations and the changes in these valuations' exciting interests. At all times that I have played the valet of some morality, philosophy or religion, quite apart from the fact that unfortunately they have often enough been the inordinately supple courteers of their clients and patrons and inquisitive totes of the powers that are existing, or even of the new powers to come. To put it at its lowest, they always need a rampart, a support and already constituted authority. Artists never stand by themselves, standing alone as opposed to their deepest instincts. So, for example, did Richard Wagner take, when the time had come, the philosopher Schopenhauer for his covering man in front for his rampart, who would consider it even thinkable that he would have had the courage for an aesthetic ideal without the support afforded him by the philosophy of Schopenhauer, without the authority of Schopenhauer, which dominated Europe in the 70s. This is without consideration of the question whether an artist, without the milk of an orthodoxy, would have been possible at all. This brings us to the more serious question, what is the meaning of a real philosopher paying homage to the aesthetic ideal? A really self-dependent intellect like Schopenhauer, a man a knight with a glance of bronze, who has the courage to be himself, who knows how to stand alone without first waiting for men who cover him in front, and the nods of his superiors. Let us now consider it once the remarkable attitude of Schopenhauer towards art, an attitude which has even a fascination for certain types. For that is obviously the reason why Richard Wagner all at once went over to Schopenhauer, persuaded there to, as one knows, by a poet, her way. Whenever so completely that they're ensued the cleavage of a complete theoretic contradiction between his earlier and his later aesthetic faiths, the earlier, for example, being expressed in opera and drama, the later in the writings which he published from 1870 onwards. In particular, Wagner from that time onwards, and this is the Volteface, which alienates us the most, had no scrupules about changing his judgment, concerning the value and position of music itself. What does he care if up to that time he had made of music a means, a medium, a woman, that in order to thrive needed an end, a man, that is the drama? He suddenly realized that more could be affected by the novelty of the Schopenhauerian theory in the majority of the Schopenhauerian music and the majority of the Schopenhauerian music, that is to say by means of the sovereignty of music, a Schopenhauer understood it. Music abstracted from and opposed all the other arts. Music has the independent art in itself, not like the other arts, affording reflections of the phenomenal world, but rather the language of the will itself, speaking straight out of the abyss as its most personal, original and direct manifestation. This extraordinary rise in the value of music, a rise which seemed to grow out of the Schopenhauerian philosophy, was at once accompanied by an unprecedented rise in the estimation which the musician himself was held. He became now an oracle, a priest, nay, more than a priest, kind of mouthpiece for the intrinsic essence of things, a telephone from the other world, from hence forward, he talked not only music, did this red and drill a quest of God, he talked metaphysics, what wonder that one day he eventually talked ascetic ideals. Six. Schopenhauer has made use of the Kantian treatment of the aesthetic problem, though he certainly did not regard it with Kantian eyes. Kant thought that he showed honor to art when he favored and placed in the foreground those of the predicates of the beautiful, which constitute the honor of knowledge in personality and universality. This is not the place to discuss whether this was not a complete mistake. All that I wish to emphasize is that Kant, just like other philosophers, instead of envisaging the aesthetic problem from the standpoint of the experiences of the artist, the creator, has only considered art and beauty from the standpoint of the spectator, and is thereby imperceptibly imported the spectator himself into the idea of the beautiful. But if only the philosophers of the beautiful had sufficient knowledge of the spectator, knowledge of him as a great fact of personality, as a great experience, as a wealth of strong and most individual events, desires, surprises, and raptures in the sphere of beauty. But as I feared, the contrary was always the case. And so we get from our philosophers from the very beginning, definitions on which the lack of a subtler, personal experience squats like a fat worm of crass error, as it does under Kant's famous definition of the beautiful. "That is beautiful," says Kant, "which pleases without interesting, without interesting." Compare this definition with the other one made by a real spectator and artist, by Stendahl, who once called the beautiful un promesse du bonheur, here at any rate the one point which Kant makes prominent in the aesthetic position is repudiated and eliminated. Le d'iciens de l'essumon, who is right, Kant or Stendahl? When forsooth our estates never get tired of throwing into the scales and Kant's favor the fact that under the magic of beauty, men can look even naked female statues without interest. We can certainly laugh a little at their expense, in regard to this ticklish point the experiences of artists are more interesting. At any rate, Pigmalion was not necessarily an un-esthetic man. Let us think all the better of the innocence of her estates, reflect that it is in such arguments, Let us, for instance, count to Kant's honor, the country, Parsin, Naive, Vitev, his doctrine concerning the peculiar character of the sense of touch. And here we come back to Schopenhauer, who stood in much closer neighborhood to the arts than did Kant, and yet never escaped outside of the pale of that Kantian definition. How was that? The circumstance is marvelous enough. He interprets the expression without interest in the most personal fashion. Out of an experience which must, in his case, have been part and parcel of his regular routine. On few subjects, the Schopenhauer speak with such certainty as on the working of aesthetic contemplation. He says of it that it's simply counteracts sexual interest, like Lulupin and Kant for. He never gets tired of glorifying this escape from the life will, as the great advantage and utility of aesthetic state. In fact, one is tempted to ask if his fundamental conception of will and idea, the thought that there can only exist freedom from the will by means of idea, did not originate in a generalization from the sexual experience. In all questions concerning the Schopenhauerian philosophy, one should, by the by, never lose sight of the consideration that it is the conception of a youth of 26, so that it participates not only in what is peculiar to Schopenhauer's life, but in what is peculiar to that special period in his life. Let us listen, for instance, to one of the most expressive among the countless passages which he has written in honor of the aesthetic state. World is will and idea, book one, page 231. Let us listen to the tone, the suffering, the happiness, the gratitude, with which such words are uttered. This is the painless state which Epicurus praised as I as good, and as the state of the gods. We are during that moment freed from the vile pressure of the will, we celebrate the Sabbath of the will's hard labor, the will of Xion's stand still. What vehemence of language, what images of anguish and protracted revulsion, how almost pathological is that temporal antithesis between that moment and everything else, the will of Xion, the hard labor of the will, the vile pressure of the will, but granted that Schopenhauer was a hundred times right for himself personally. How does that help our insight into the nature of the beautiful? Schopenhauer has described one effect of the beautiful, the calming of the will, but is this effect really normal? As has been mentioned, Stendahl, an equally sensual but more happily constituted nature than Schopenhauer, gives prominence to another effect of the beautiful, the beautiful promises happiness. To him it is just the excitement of the will, the interest, by the beauty that seems the essential fact, and does not Schopenhauer ultimately lay himself open to that objection, that he is quite wrong in regarding himself as a contien on this point, that he has absolutely failed to understand in a contien sense the contien definition of the beautiful, that this beautiful pleased him as well by meaning of an interest, by means in fact of the strongest and most personal interest of all, that of the victim of torture who escapes from his torture. And to come back again to our first question, what is the meaning of a philosopher paying homage to ascetic ideals? We get now at any rate, a first hint, he wishes to escape from a torture. 7. Let us beware of making dismal faces at the word torture, there is certainly in this case enough to deduct, enough to discount. There is even something to laugh at. For we must certainly not underestimate the fact that Schopenhauer, who in practice treated sexuality as a personal enemy, including its tool, woman, that instrumentum de-avoli, needed enemies to keep him in a good humor, that he loved grim, bitter, blackish green words, that he raged for the sake of raging out of passion, that he would have grown ill, would have become a pessimist, for he was not a pessimist how or much he wished to be, without his enemies, without hegel, woman, sensuality and whole will for existence, keeping on, without them Schopenhauer would not have kept on, that is a safe wager, he would have run away. All the enemies were in the same place, as the enemy was in the same place, but he was in the same place, as the enemy was in the same place, but he was in the same place, but he was in the same place, but he was in the same place, but he was in the same place, he was in the same place, but he was in the same place, but he was not a pessimist how or much he wanted to be, he was not a pessimist how or much he wanted to be, his recreation, his recompense, his remidium against disgust, his happiness. So much with regard to what is most personal in the case of Schopenhauer, on the other hand, there is still much which is typical in him, and only now we have come back to our problem. It is an accepted and indisputable fact, so long as there are philosophers in the world, and wherever philosophers have existed, from India to England, to take the opposite poles of philosophical ability, that there exists a real irritation and ranker on the part of philosophers towards sensuality. Schopenhauer is merely the most eloquent, and if one has the ear for it, also the most fascinating and enchanting outbursts, there similarly exists the real philosophic bias and affection for the whole aesthetic ideal. There should be no illusions on this score. Both these feelings, as has been said, belong to the type. If a philosopher lacks both of them, then he is, you may be certain of it, never anything but a pseudo. What does that mean? For this state of affairs must first be interpreted. In itself, it stands there stupid to all eternity, like anything in itself. Every animal, including Labet Filisulf, strives instinctively after an optimum of favorable conditions, under which he can let his whole strength have his play, and achieves his maximum consciousness of power with equal instinctiveness, and with a fine perceptive flare which is superior to any reason, every animal shudderes mortally at every kind of disturbance and hindrance which obstructs or could obstruct his way to that optimum. It is not his way to happiness of which I am talking, but his way to power, to action, the most powerful action, and in point of fact in many cases his way to unhappiness. Similarly, the philosopher shudders mortally at marriage. Together with all that could persuade him to it, marriage is a fetal hindrance on the way to the optimum. Up to the present, what great philosophers have been married. Heraclitus, Plato, Descartes, Spinoza, Leibniz, Kant, Schopenhauer, they were not married, and further one cannot imagine them as married. A married philosopher belongs to comedy. That is my rule, as for that exception of Asakrides, the malicious Asakrides married himself, it seems, hyrhonic, just to prove this very rule. Every philosopher would say, as Buddha said, when the birth of a son was announced to him, Rahulah has been born to me, a fetter has been forged for me. Rahulah means here a little demon. There must come an hour of reflection to every free spirit, granted that he had previously an hour of thoughtlessness, just as one came once to the same Buddha. "Narrowly cramped," he reflected, "is the life of the house. It is the place of uncleanness. Freedom is found in leaving the house." Because he thought like this, he left the house. So many bridges to independence are shown in the Asetic Ideal, that the philosopher cannot refrain from exaltation and clapping of hands when he hears the history of all those resolute ones, who on one day uttered a nay to all servitude and went into some desert, even granting that they were only strong asses and the absolute opposite of strong minds. What then does the Asetic Ideal mean in a philosopher? This is my answer. It will have been guessed long ago. When he sees this ideal of the philosopher's smiles because he sees therein an optimum of the conditions of the highest and boldest intellectuality, he does not deny existence. He rather affirms thereby his existence and only his existence. And this perhaps to the point of not being far off the blasphemous wish, Periat Mundus, Fiat Filosofia, Fiat Filosofus Fiam, Eight. These philosophers, you see, are by no means uncorrupted witnesses and judges of the value of the Asetic Ideal. They think of themselves, what is the saints to them. They think of that which to them personally is most indispensable, a freedom from compulsion, disturbance, noise, freedom from business duties, cares of a clean hand of the dance, spring, and flight, the thoughts of good air, rare, clean, free, dry as is the air on the heights in which every animal creature becomes more intellectual in gains' wings. They think of peace in every cellar, all the hounds neatly chained, no baying of enmity and uncouth ranker, no remorse of wounded ambition, quiet and submissive internal organs, busy as mills but unnoticed, the heart alien, transcendent future posthumous, to summarize they mean by the Asetic Ideal the joyous Aseticism of a dayified and newly fledged animal, sweeping over life rather than resting. We know what are the three great catchwords of the Asetic Ideal, poverty, humility, chastity, and And now just look closely at the life of all of the great fruitful inventive spirits, you will always find again and again these three qualities up to a certain extent, not for a minute as is self-evident, as though perchance they were part of their virtues. What has this type of man to do with virtues, but is the most essential and natural conditions of their best existence, their finest fruitfulness? In this connection it is quite possible that their predominant intellectualism had first to curb an unruly and irritable pride, or an insolent sensualism, where that had had all its work cut out to maintain its wish for the desert, against perhaps an inclination to luxury and dilatantism, or similarly against an extravagant liberality of heart and hand. But the intellect did affect all this, simply because it was the dominant instinct, which carried through its orders in the case of all the other instincts, it affects it still. If it ceased to do so, it would simply not be dominant. But there is not one Ioda virtue in all this, for the desert of which I just spoke, in which the strong, independent, and well-equipped spirits retreat into their hermitage. Oh, how different is it from the cultured class's dream of a desert? In certain cases, in fact, the cultured classes themselves are the desert, and it is certain that all the actors of the intellect would not endure this desert for a minute. It is nothing like romantic and Syrian enough for them, nothing like enough of a staged desert. Here as well there are plenty of asses, but at this point the resemblance ceases. But a desert nowadays is something like this. Perhaps a deliberate obscurity, a getting out of the way of oneself, a fear of noise, admiration, paper, is influence, a little office, a daily task, something that hides rather than brings to light, something associating with harmless cheerful beasts and foul, the sight of which refreshes, a mountain for a company, but not a dead one, one with eyes, that is with lakes. In certain cases, even a room in a crowded hotel where one can reckon or not being recognized, and on being able to talk with impunity to everyone, here is the desert. Oh, it is lonely enough, believe me. I grant that when Heraclitus retreated to the courts and cloister of the colossal temple of Artemis, that wilderness was worth here. Why do we lack such temples? For chance we do not lack them. I just think of my splendid study in the Piazza di San Marco, in spring of course, and in the morning between 10 and 12. But that which Heraclitus shunned is still just what we too avoid nowadays. The noise and democratic battle of the Ephesians, their politics, their news from the Empire, I mean, of course, Persia. Their market trade and the things of today, for there is one thing from which we philosophers especially need arrest, from the things of today. We honor the silent, the cold, the noble, the far, the past, everything, in fact, at the sight of which the soul was not bound to brace itself up and defend itself, something with which one can speak without speaking aloud. Just listen now to the tone of a spirit when it speaks. Every spirit has its own tone and loves its own tone. That thing yonder, for instance, is bound to be an agitator, that is, a hollow head, a hollow mug, whatever may go into them. Everything comes back from him dull and thick, heavy with the echo of a great void. That spirit yonder nearly always speaks horse. Has he perchance thought himself horse? He may be so, ask the physiologists, but he who thinks in words thinks as a speaker and not as a thinker. It shows that he does not think of objects or think objectively, but only of his relations with objects. That, in point of fact, he only thinks of himself in his audience. This third one it speaks aggressively. He comes to near our body, his breath blows on us. We shut our mouth involuntarily, although he speaks to us through a book. The tone of his style supplies the reason. He has no time. He has small faith in himself. He finds expression now or never. But a spirit who is sure of himself speaks softly. He seeks secrecy. He lets himself be awaited. A philosopher is recognized by the fact that he shuns three brilliant and noisy things, fame, princes, and women. Which is not to say that they do not come to him. He shuns every glaring light, therefore he shuns his time in its daylight. Herein he is as a shadow. The deeper sinks the sun. The greater grows the shadow. As for his humility he endures. As he endures darkness, a certain dependence and obscurity. Further he is afraid of the shock of lightning. He shudder is at the insecurity of a tree which is too isolated and too exposed, on which every storm vents its temper. Every temper it storm. His maternal instinct, his secret love for that which grows in him, guides him into states where he is relieved from the necessity of taking care of himself. In the same way in which the mother instinct and woman has thoroughly maintained up to the present woman's dependent position. After all they demand little enough to these philosophers. Their favorite motto is, "He who possesses is possessed." All this is not, as I must say again and again, to be attributed to a virtue, to a meritorious wish for moderation and simplicity, but because their supreme Lord so demands of them, demands wisely and inexorably. Their Lord who is eager only for one thing, for which alone he musters, and for which alone he whoards everything. Time, strength, love, interest. This kind of man likes not to be disturbed by enmity. He likes not to be disturbed by friendship. It is a type which forgets or despises easily. It strikes him as bad form to play the martyr to suffer for truth. He leaves all that to the ambitious and to the stage heroes of the intellect. And to all those in fact who have time and off for such luxuries. They themselves, the philosophers, have something to do for truth. They make a sparing use of big words. They are said to be adverse to the word truth itself. It has a certain, high-falutin ring. Finally, as far as the chastity of philosophers is concerned, the fruitfulness of this type of mind is manifestly in another sphere than that of children. Per chance in some other sphere too, they have the survival of their name, their literally mortality. Philosophers in ancient India would express themselves with still greater boldness. Of what use is posterity to him whose soul is the world. In this attitude, there is not a trace of chastity, by reason of any ascetic scruple or hatred of the flesh. Anymore than it is chastity for an athlete or a jockey to abstain from women. It is rather the will of the dominant instinct at any rate during the period of their advanced philosophic pregnancy. Every artist knows the harm done by sexual intercourse on occasions of great mental strain and preparation. As far as the strongest artists and those with the surest instincts are concerned, this is not necessarily a case of experience, hard experience, but it is simply the maternal instinct which, in order to benefit the growing work, disposes recklessly beyond all its normal stocks and supplies of the vigor of its animal life. A greater power than absorbs the lesser. Let us now apply this interpretation to gauge correctly the case of Schopenhauer, which we have already mentioned. In his case, the sight of the beautiful acted manifestly like a resolving irritant on the chief power of his nature, the power of contemplation and of intense penetration, so that this strength exploded and became suddenly master of his consciousness. But this by no means excludes the possibility of that particular sweetness and fullness, which is peculiar to the aesthetic state, springing directly from the ingredient of sensuality, this is that idealism which is peculiar to girls at puberty originates in the same source. It may be consequently that sensuality is not removed by the approach of the aesthetic state, a Schopenhauer believed, but merely becomes transfigured and ceases to enter into the consciousness as sexual excitement. I shall return once again to this point in connection with the more delicate problem of the physiology of the aesthetic, a subject which up to the present has been singularly untouched and only lucidated. 9. A certain asceticism, a grimly gay wholehearted renunciation, is, as we have seen one of the most favorable conditions for the highest intellectualism, and consequently for the most natural moral calories of such intellectualism. We shall therefore be proof against any surprise that the philosophers in particular are always treating the aesthetic ideal with a certain amount of predilection. 9. Schannen Maldonado, the leading artist, who has been working hard to find the right to be a true teacher. The Wallitsian shopkeeper, who has been working hard to find the right to be a teacher, was a teacher who was a teacher. He was able to work hard to find the right to be a teacher, who was a teacher who was a teacher, who was a teacher. He was able to find the right to be a teacher, who was a teacher, who was a teacher. A serious historical investigation shows the bond between the aesthetic ideal and philosophy to be still much tighter and stronger. And maybe said that it was only in the leading strings of this ideal, a philosophy really learned to make its first steps and baby pace. "Las how clumsily, alas how crossly, alas how ready to tumble down and lie on its stomach, was this shy little darling of a brat with its bandy legs." Uly history of philosophy is like that of all good things. For a long time they had not the courage to be themselves. They kept always looking round to see if no one would come to their help. Further they were afraid of all those who looked at them. To enumerate in order the particular tendencies and virtues of the philosopher, his tendency to doubt, his tendency to deny, his tendency to wait, to be effectic, his tendency to analyze, search, explore, dare, his tendency to compare and to equalize, his will to be neutral and objective, his will for everything which is seen at Aetera at Studio. As it yet been realized that for quite a lengthy period these tendencies went counter to the first claims of morality and conscience. To say nothing at all of reason which even Luther chose to call "Frau Klugelin," the sly horror, has it been yet appreciated their philosopher in the event of his arriving at self-consciousness, must need to feel himself and incarnate need to more invent itium, and consequently guard himself against his own sensations, against self-consciousness. It is I repeat just the same with all good things on which we now pride ourselves, even judged by the standard of the ancient Greeks, our whole modern life in so far as it is not weakness, the power and the consciousness of power, appears pure hubris and godlessness, for the things which are at the very reverse of those which we honor today have had for a long time conscience on their side, and god as their guardian. Hubris is our whole attitude to nature nowadays, our violation of nature with the help of machinery, and all the unscrupulous ingenuity of our scientists and engineers. Hubris is our attitude to god that is to some alleged teleological and ethical spider behind the meshes of the great trap of the causal web. Like Charles the Bold and his war with Louis XI, we may say, "J'au combat l'une verselle à ch'anne" Hubris is our attitude to ourselves, for we experiment with ourselves in a way that we would not allow with any animal, and with pleasure and curiosity open our soul and our living body. What matters now to us the salvation of the soul, we heal ourselves afterwards, being ill as instructive, we doubt it not, even more instructive than being well, inoculators of disease seem to us today even more of necessary than any medicine men and saviors. There is no doubt we do violence to ourselves in all days, we crackers of the soul's kernel, we incarnate riddles, who are ever asking riddles, as though life were not else than the cracking of a nut, and even thereby must we necessarily become day by day more and more worthy to be asked questions and worthy to ask them, even thereby do we perchance also become worthy to live? All good things were once bad things, from every original sin has grown in original virtue. Marriage, for example, seemed for a long time a sin against the rights of the community, a man formally paid a fine for the insolence of claiming one woman to himself. To this phrase belongs, for instance, the use premenoktes, today still in Cambodia, the privilege of the priest, that guardian of the good old customs. The soft benevolent eulings, sympathetic feelings, eventually valued so highly that they almost became intrinsic values, were for a long time actually despised by their possessors. Gentleness was then a subject for shame, just as hardness is now, compared beyond good and evil aphorism to sixty. The submission to law, oh with what qualms of conscience was it that the noble races throughout the world renounced the vendetta and gave the law power over themselves. Law was long a vetitium, a blasphemy and innovation, it was introduced the force like a force, to which man only submitted with a sense of personal shame. Every tiny step forward in the world was formally made the cost of mental and physical torture. Nowadays the whole of this point of view, that not only stepping forward, nay stepping at all, movement, change, all needed their countless martyrs, rings and warriors quite strangely. "I've put it forward in the dawn of day, aphorism eighteen. Nothing is purchased more dearly," says the same book a little later. "Then the modicum of human reason and freedom which is now our pride. But then our pride is the reason why it is now almost impossible for us to feel in sympathy with those immense periods of the morality of custom, which lie at the beginning of the world's history, constituting as they do the real decisive historical principle, which has fixed the character of humanity. Those periods I repeat, went throughout the world suffering past for virtue, cruelty for virtue, deceit for virtue, revenge for virtue, repudiation of the reason for virtue, and when conversely well-being passed current for danger. The desire for knowledge for danger, pity for danger, peace for danger, being pity for shame, work for shame, madness for divinity, and change for immorality and incarnate corruption." 10. There is in the same book aphorism twelve, an explanation of the burden of unpopularity under which the earliest race of contemplative men had to live, despised almost as widely as they were first feared. Contemplation first appeared on earth in a disguised shape, in an ambiguous form, with an evil heart and often with an uneasy head. There is no doubt about it. The inactive, brooding, unwirelike element in the instincts of contemplative men long invested them with a cloud of suspicion. The only way to combat this was to excite a definite fear, and the old Brahmins, for example, knew to a nice city how to do this. The oldest philosophers were well-versed in giving to their very existence and appearance, meaning, firmness, background, by reason where I have learned to fear them. Considered more precisely, they did this from an even more fundamental need, the need for a been spiring in themselves, fear, and self-reference. For they found even in their own souls all the valuations turned against themselves. They had to fight down every kind of suspicion and antagonism against the philosophical element in themselves. Being man of a terrible age, they did this with terrible means, cruelty to themselves, ingenious self-mortification. This was the chief method of the ambitious Hermits and intellectual revolutionaries, who were obliged to force down the gods and the traditions of their own soul, so as to enable themselves to believe in their own revolution. I remember the famous story of the king Vic Vamitra, who as the result of a thousand years of self-morturnum reached such a consciousness of power and such confidence in himself, that he undertook to build a new heaven, the sinister symbol of the oldest and newest history of philosophy in the whole world. Everyone who has ever built anywhere a new heaven first found the power there too in his own hell. Let us compress the facts into a short formula. The philosophical spirit had in order to be possible to an extent at all, to masquerade and disguise itself as one of the previously fixed types of the contemplative men, to disguise itself as priest, wizard, sooth-sayer, as religious man generally. The aesthetic ideal has for a long time served the philosopher as a superficial form, as a condition which enabled him to exist. To be able to be a philosopher he had to exemplify the ideal, to exemplify it he was bound to believe in it, the peculiarly etherealized abstraction of philosophers, with their negation of the world, their enmity to life, their disbelief and the senses, which has been maintained up to the present time, and has almost thereby come to be accepted as the ideal philosophic attitude. This abstraction is the result of those enforced conditions under which philosophy came into existence, and continue to exist. Even as much as for quite a very long time, philosophy would have been absolutely impossible in the world without an aesthetic cloak and dress, without an aesthetic self-missunderstanding. Express plainly and palpably, the aesthetic priest has taken the repulsive and sinister form of the caterpillar, beneath which and behind which alone philosophy could live and slink about. Has all that really changed? Has that flamboyant and dangerous winged creature that's spirit, which that caterpillar concealed within itself? Has it, I say, thanks to the sunnier, rumor, lighter world, really and finally flung off its hood and escaped into the light? Can we today point to enough pride, enough daring, enough courage, enough self-confidence, enough mental will, enough will for responsibility, and a freedom of the will to enable the philosopher to be now in the world really possible? 11. And now, after we have caught sight of the aesthetic priest, let us tackle our problem. What is the meaning of the aesthetic ideal? And now, first become serious, vitally serious. We are now confronted with the real representatives of the serious. What is the meaning of all series? business. This even more radical question is perchance already on the tip of our tongue, a question fairly for physiologists, but which we for the time being skip. In that ideal, the ascetic priest finds not only his faith, but also his will, his power, his interest, his right to existence stands and falls with that ideal. What wonder that we have here run up against a terrible opponent? On the supposition, of course, that we are the opponents of that ideal, an opponent fighting for his life against those who repudiate that ideal. On the other hand, it is from the outset improbable that such a biased attitude toward our problem will do him any particular good. The ascetic priest himself will scarcely prove the happiest champion of his own ideal, on the same principle in which a woman usually fails when she wishes to champion woman. Let alone providing the most objective critic and judge of the controversy now raised. We shall therefore, so much as already obvious, rather have actually to help him to defend himself properly against ourselves, then we shall have the fear being too well beaten by him. The ideal, which is the subject of this dispute, is the value of our life from the standpoint of the ascetic priest. This life then, together with a whole of which it is part nature, the world, the whole sphere of becoming and passing away, is placed by them in relation to an existence of quite another character, which it excludes into which it is opposed, unless it denies its own self. In this case, the case of an ascetic life, life is taken as a bridge to another existence. The ascetic treats life as a maze, in which one must walk backwards till one comes to the place where it starts, or he treats it as an error which one may, may must, refute by action, for he demands that he shouldn't be followed. He enforces where he can his valuation of existence. What does this mean? Such a monstrous valuation is not an exceptional case, or a curiosity recorded in human history. It was one of the most general and persistent facts that there are. The reading from the vantage of a distant star and of the capital letters of earthly life would perchance lead to the conclusion that the earth was the especially ascetic planet, a den of discontented arrogant and repulsive creatures who never got rid of a deep disgust of themselves, of the world of all life, and did themselves as much hurt as possible out of the pleasure and herding, presumably the one and only pleasure. Let us consider how regularly, how universally, how practically, at every single period the ascetic priest puts in his appearance. He belongs to no particular race. He thrives everywhere. He grows out of all classes. Not that he perhaps bred this valuation by heredity and propagated it. The contrary is the case. It must be a necessity of the first order which makes this species hostile as it is to life. Always grow again and always thrive again. Life itself must certainly have an interest in the continuance of such a type of self-contradiction. For an ascetic life is a self-contradiction. Here rules resentment without parallel, the resentment of an insatiate instinct and ambition that would be master, not over some element in life but over life itself, over life's deepest, strongest, innermost conditions. Here is an attempt made to utilize power to dam the sources of power. Here does the green eye of jealousy turn even against physiological well-being, especially against the expression of such well-being, beauty, joy. While a sense of pleasure is experienced and sought in abortion, in decay, in pain, in misfortune, in ugliness, in voluntary punishment, in the exercising, in the sagrifice of the self, all this is in the highest degree paradoxical. We are here confronted with a rift that wills itself to be a rift, which enjoys itself in the very suffering and even becomes more and more certain of itself, more and more triumphant and proportion as its own presupposition, physiological vitality decreases. The triumphant just is the supreme agony. Under this extravagant emblem did the ascetic ideal fight from a bold, in this mystery of seduction, in this picture of rapture and torture, it recognized its brightest light, its salvation, its final victory, crux, knucks, luxe, it has all these three in one. End of Section 5 Recording by Jeffrey Church.