"Untimely Thoughts"

The four essays composing the Thoughts out of Season are thoroughly warlike in tone. They prove that I was no mere dreamer, that I delight in drawing the sword—and perhaps, also, that my wrist is dangerously supple. The first onslaught (1873) was directed against German culture, upon which I looked down even at that time with unmitigated contempt Without either sense, substance, or goal, it was simply "public opinion." There could be no more dangerous misunderstanding than to suppose that Germany's success at arms proved anything in favour of German culture—and still less the triumph of this culture; over that of France. The second essay (1874) brings to light that which is dangerous, that which corrodes and poisons life in our manner of pursuing scientific study: Life is diseased, thanks to this dehumanised piece of clockwork and mechanism, thanks to the "impersonality" of the workman, 1 and the false economy of the "division of labour." The object, which is culture, is lost sight of: modern scientific activity as a means thereto simply produces barbarism. In this treatise, the "historical sense," of which this century is so proud, is for the first time recognised as sickness, as a typical symptom of decay. In the third and fourth essays, a sign-post is set up pointing to a higher concept of culture, to a re-establishment of the notion "culture"; and two pictures of the hardest self-love and self-discipline are presented, two essentially un-modern types, full of the most sovereign contempt for all that which lay around them and was called "Empire," "Culture," "Christianity," "Bismarck," and "Success,"—these two types were Schopenhauer and Wagner, or, in a word, Nietzsche....

The four essays that make up Thoughts out of Season are thoroughly combative in tone. They prove that I was no mere dreamer. I delight in drawing the sword, and perhaps my wrist is dangerously supple too. The first attack (1873) was directed against German culture. Even then, I looked down on it with unqualified contempt. It had no sense, substance, or goal. It was simply "public opinion." Nothing could be more dangerously mistaken than the belief that Germany's military success proved anything in favor of German culture. Still less did it prove that German culture had triumphed over French culture. The second essay (1874) exposes what is dangerous in our way of pursuing scientific study, what corrodes and poisons life. Life is diseased because of this dehumanized clockwork and machinery. It is diseased because of the worker's "impersonality" 1 and the false economy of the "division of labour." We lose sight of the goal, which is culture. Modern scientific activity, as a means to that goal, simply produces barbarism. In this essay, the "historical sense," of which this century is so proud, is recognized for the first time as a sickness, a typical symptom of decline. The third and fourth essays point toward a higher idea of culture and a restoration of the very idea of "culture". They present two portraits of the most demanding self-love and self-discipline. These are two essentially un-modern types, filled with the utmost contempt for everything around them that was called "Empire," "Culture," "Christianity," "Bismarck," and "Success,". These two types were Schopenhauer and Wagner, or, in a word, Nietzsche....

Of these four attacks, the first met with extraordinary success. The stir which it created was in every way gorgeous. I had put my finger on the vulnerable spot of a triumphant nation—I had told it that its victory was not a red-letter day for culture, but, perhaps, something very different. The reply rang out from all sides, and certainly not only from old friends of David Strauss, whom I had made ridiculous as the type of a German Philistine of Culture and a man of smug self-content—in short, as the author of that suburban gospel of his, called The Old and the New Faith (the term "Philistine of Culture" passed into the current language of Germany after the appearance of my book). These old friends, whose vanity as Würtembergians and Swabians I had deeply wounded in regarding their unique animal, their bird of Paradise, as a trifle comic, replied to me as ingenuously and as grossly as I could have wished. The Prussian replies were smarter; they contained more "Prussian blue." The most disreputable attitude was assumed by a Leipzig paper, the egregious Grentzboten; and it cost me some pains to prevent my indignant friends in Bâle from taking action against it. Only a few old gentlemen decided in my favour, and for very diverse and sometimes unaccountable reasons. Among them was one, Ewald of Göttingen, who made it clear that my attack on Strauss had been deadly. There was also the Hegelian, Bruno Bauer, who from that time became one of my most attentive readers. In his later years he liked to refer to me, when, for instance, he wanted to give Herr von Treitschke, the Prussian Historiographer, a hint as to where he could obtain information about the notion "Culture," of which he (Herr von T.) had completely lost sight. The weightiest and longest notice of my book and its author appeared in Würzburg, and was written by Professor Hoffmann, an old pupil of the philosopher von Baader. The essays made him foresee a great future for me, namely, that of bringing about a sort of crisis and decisive turning-point in the problem of atheism, of which he recognised in me the most instinctive and most radical advocate. It was atheism that had drawn me to Schopenhauer. The review which received by far the most attention, and which excited the most bitterness, was an extraordinarily powerful and plucky appreciation of my work by Carl Hillebrand, a man who was usually so mild, and the last humane German who knew how to wield a pen. The article appeared in the Augsburg Gazette, and it can be read to-day, couched in rather more cautious language, among his collected essays. In it my work was referred to as an event, as a decisive turning-point, as the first sign of an awakening, as an excellent symptom, and as an actual revival of German earnestness and of German passion in things spiritual. Hillebrand could speak only in the terms of the highest respect, of the form of my book, of its consummate taste, of its perfect tact in discriminating between persons and causes: he characterised it as the best polemical work in the German language,—the best performance in the art of polemics, which for Germans is so dangerous and so strongly to be deprecated. Besides confirming my standpoint, he laid even greater stress upon what I had dared to say about the deterioration of language in Germany (nowadays writers assume the airs of Purists¹ and can no longer even construct a sentence); sharing my contempt for the literary stars of this nation, he concluded by expressing his admiration for my courage—that "greatest courage of all which places the very favourites of the people in the dock." ... The after-effects of this essay of mine proved invaluable to me in my life. No one has ever tried to meddle with me since. People are silent. In Germany I am treated with gloomy caution: for years I have rejoiced in the privilege of such absolute freedom of speech, as no one nowadays, least of all in the "Empire," has enough liberty to claim. My paradise is "in the shadow of my sword." At bottom all I had done was to put one of Stendhal's maxims into practice: he advises one to make one's entrance into society by means of a duel. And how well I had chosen my opponent!—the foremost free-thinker of Germany. As a matter of fact, quite a novel kind of free thought found its expression in this way: up to the present nothing has been more strange and more foreign to my blood than the whole of that European and American species known as litres penseurs. Incorrigible blockheads and clowns of "modern ideas" that they are, I feel much more profoundly at variance with them than with any one of their adversaries. They also wish to "improve" mankind, after their own fashion—that is to say, in their own image; against that which I stand for and desire, they would wage an implacable war, if only they understood it; the whole gang of them still believe in an "ideal." ... I am the first Immoralist.

Of these four attacks, the first was extraordinarily successful. The stir it caused was splendid in every way. I had put my finger on a triumphant nation's vulnerable spot. I had told the nation that its victory was no great day for culture, but perhaps something very different. Replies rang out from all sides. They came not only from old friends of David Strauss, whom I had made ridiculous. I had portrayed him as the typical German “Philistine of Culture,” smug and self-satisfied. In short, he was the author of that suburban gospel called The Old and the New Faith. (After my book appeared, the term "Philistine of Culture" entered everyday German.) These old friends took pride in being Würtembergians and Swabians. I had deeply wounded their vanity by treating their unique creature, their bird of Paradise, as somewhat comic. They replied as naively and as crudely as I could have wished. The Prussian replies were cleverer. They contained more "Prussian blue." A Leipzig paper, the notorious Grentzboten, behaved most disgracefully. I had some trouble preventing my indignant friends in Bâle from taking action against it. Only a few old gentlemen took my side, for very different and sometimes puzzling reasons. One was Ewald of Göttingen, who made it clear that my attack on Strauss had been deadly. Another was the Hegelian Bruno Bauer, who became one of my most attentive readers from then on. In his later years, he liked to refer to me. For instance, he pointed Herr von Treitschke, the Prussian historian, toward me for information about "Culture." Herr von T. had completely lost sight of the idea. The most substantial and longest review of my book and its author appeared in Würzburg. It was written by Professor Hoffmann, an old pupil of the philosopher von Baader. The essays led him to predict a great future for me. He thought I would bring about a crisis and a decisive turning point in the problem of atheism. He saw me as atheism's most instinctive and most radical advocate. It was atheism that had drawn me to Schopenhauer. By far the most discussed review was also the one that caused the most bitterness. Carl Hillebrand wrote an extraordinarily forceful and courageous appreciation of my work. He was usually such a mild man, and the last humane German who knew how to wield a pen. His article appeared in the Augsburg Gazette. It can still be read today in his collected essays, though in somewhat more cautious language. He called my work an event, a decisive turning point, and the first sign of an awakening. He also called it an excellent symptom and a genuine revival of German seriousness and passion in spiritual matters. Hillebrand spoke with the highest respect for the form of my book. He praised its consummate taste and its perfect tact in distinguishing between people and causes. He called it the best polemical work in the German language. It was the finest achievement in the art of polemics, an art so dangerous for Germans and so strongly to be discouraged. Hillebrand affirmed my position and placed even greater emphasis on what I had dared to say about Germany's deteriorating language. (Nowadays writers pose as Purists¹ and can no longer even construct a sentence.) He shared my contempt for the nation's literary stars. He ended by admiring my courage, that "greatest courage of all which places the very favourites of the people in the dock." ... The aftereffects of this essay proved invaluable to me in my life. No one has tried to meddle with me since. People are silent. In Germany I am treated with gloomy caution. For years I have enjoyed the privilege of absolute freedom of speech. No one nowadays has enough liberty to claim such freedom, least of all in the "Empire." My paradise is "in the shadow of my sword." All I had really done was put one of Stendhal's maxims into practice. He advises making one's entrance into society by means of a duel. And how well I had chosen my opponent! He was Germany's foremost free-thinker. In fact, a completely new kind of free thought found expression in this way. Until now, nothing has been stranger or more foreign to my blood than that whole European and American species called litres penseurs. They are incorrigible blockheads and clowns of "modern ideas." I feel much more profoundly opposed to them than to any of their adversaries. They too want to "improve" mankind in their own fashion, that is, in their own image. They would wage relentless war on what I stand for and desire, if only they understood it. The whole gang still believes in an "ideal." ... I am the first Immoralist.

I should not like to say that the last two essays in the Thoughts out of Season, associated with the names of Schopenhauer and Wagner respectively, serve any special purpose in throwing light upon these two cases, or in formulating their psychological problems. This of course does not apply to a few details. Thus, for instance, in the second of the two essays, with a profound certainty of instinct I already characterised the elementary factor in Wagner's nature as a theatrical talent which in all his means and inspirations only draws its final conclusions. At bottom, my desire in this essay was to do something very different from writing psychology: an unprecedented educational problem, a new understanding of self-discipline and self-defence carried to the point of hardness, a road to greatness and to world-historic duties, yearned to find expression. Roughly speaking, I seized two famous and, theretofore, completely undefined types by the forelock, after the manner in which one seizes opportunities, simply in order to speak my mind on certain questions, in order to have a few more formulas, signs, and means of expression at my disposal. Indeed I actually suggest this, with most unearthly sagacity, on page 183 of Schopenhauer as Educator. Plato made use of Socrates in the same way—that is to say, as a cipher for Plato. Now that, from some distance, I can look back upon the conditions of which these essays are the testimony, I would be loth to deny that they refer simply to me. The essay Wagner in Bayreuth is a vision of my own future; on the other hand, my most secret history, my development, is written down in Schopenhauer as Educator. But, above all, the vow I made I What I am to-day, the place I now hold—at a height from which I speak no longer with words but with thunderbolts!—oh, how far I was from all this in those days! But I saw the land—I did not deceive myself for one moment as to the way, the sea, the danger—and success! The great calm in promising, this happy prospect of a future which must not remain only a promise!—In this book every word has been lived, profoundly and intimately; the most painful things are not lacking in it; it contains words which are positively running with blood. But a wind of great freedom blows over the whole; even its wounds do not constitute an objection. As to what I understand by being a philosopher,—that is to say, a terrible explosive in the presence of which everything is in danger; as to how I sever my idea of the philosopher by miles from that other idea of him which includes even a Kant, not to speak of the academic "ruminators" and other professors of philosophy,—concerning all these things this essay provides invaluable information, even granting that at bottom, it is not "Schopenhauer as Educator" but "Nietzsche as Educator," who speaks his sentiments in it. Considering that, in those days, my trade was that of a scholar, and perhaps, also, that I understood my trade, the piece of austere scholar psychology which suddenly makes its appearance in this essay is not without importance: it expresses the feeling of distance, and my profound certainty regarding what was my real life-task, and what were merely means, intervals, and accessory work to me. My wisdom consists in my having been many things, and in many places, in order to become one thing—in order to be able to attain to one thing. It was part of my fate to be a scholar for a while.

I would not say that the last two essays in Thoughts out of Season, associated with Schopenhauer and Wagner respectively, do much to illuminate either case or define its psychological problems. Of course, this does not apply to a few details. For example, in the second essay, I already identified the basic element of Wagner's nature with profound instinctive certainty. It was a theatrical talent that merely draws its final conclusions in all his methods and inspirations. But my aim in that essay was fundamentally different from writing psychology. An unprecedented problem of education yearned to find expression. So did a new understanding of self-discipline and self-defense carried to the point of hardness, and a path to greatness and to world-historic duties. Roughly speaking, I seized two famous types, which had until then remained completely undefined, just as one seizes opportunities. I did so simply to speak my mind on certain questions and to gain a few more formulas, signs, and means of expression. Indeed, I actually suggest this with almost supernatural insight on page 183 of Schopenhauer as Educator. Plato used Socrates in the same way, as a cipher for Plato. Now that I can look back from some distance on the circumstances these essays record, I would be reluctant to deny that they refer simply to me. The essay Wagner in Bayreuth is a vision of my own future. In Schopenhauer as Educator, on the other hand, I wrote down my most secret history, my development. But above all, I wrote down the vow I made! How far I was then from what I am today and the place I now hold! I stand at a height from which I no longer speak with words but with thunderbolts! But I saw the land. I did not deceive myself for one moment about the way, the sea, the danger, and success! What great calm in making that promise, what a happy prospect of a future that must not remain merely a promise! In this book, every word has been lived, deeply and intimately. The most painful things are not missing from it. It contains words that are positively running with blood. But a wind of great freedom blows over the whole book. Even its wounds are no objection to it. The essay provides invaluable information about what I mean by a philosopher: a terrible explosive, in whose presence everything is in danger. It also shows how far I set my idea of the philosopher apart from that other idea, which includes even a Kant, not to mention the academic "ruminators" and other professors of philosophy. The essay provides this information even if, at bottom, it is not "Schopenhauer as Educator" but "Nietzsche as Educator" who expresses his views in it. In those days, my trade was scholarship, and perhaps I also understood my trade. Given that, the piece of austere scholar psychology that suddenly appears in this essay is not without importance. It expresses my sense of distance and my deep certainty about what my real life's task was, and what were merely means, intervals, and supplementary work. My wisdom consists in having been many things and in many places, in order to become one thing, in order to be able to attain one thing. It was part of my fate to be a scholar for a while.