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It is an eternal phenomenon: the avidious will can always, by means of an illusion spread over things, detain its creatures in life and compel them to live on. One is chained by the Socratic love of knowledge and the vain hope of being able thereby to heal the eternal wound of existence; another is ensnared by art's seductive veil of beauty fluttering before his eyes; still another by the metaphysical comfort that eternal life flows on indestructibly beneath the whirl of phenomena: to say nothing of the more ordinary and almost more powerful illusions which the will has always at hand. These three specimens of illusion are on the whole designed only for the more nobly endowed natures, who in general feel profoundly the weight and burden of existence, and must be deluded into forgetfulness of their displeasure by exquisite stimulants. All that we call culture is made up of these stimulants; and, according to the proportion of the ingredients, we have either a specially Socratic or artistic or tragic culture: or, if historical exemplifications are wanted, there is either an Alexandrine or a Hellenic or a Buddhistic culture.

This is an eternal phenomenon: the grasping will can always keep its creatures alive by casting an illusion over things. It can compel them to live on. One person is bound by the Socratic love of knowledge and the vain hope that knowledge can heal existence’s eternal wound. Another is caught by art’s seductive veil of beauty, fluttering before their eyes. Still another is held by the metaphysical comfort that eternal life flows on indestructibly beneath the whirl of appearances. These say nothing of the more ordinary and almost more powerful illusions the will always has at hand. These three kinds of illusion are generally meant only for more nobly gifted people. Such people generally feel the weight and burden of existence deeply. They must be tricked into forgetting their discontent by exquisite stimulants. All that we call culture is made up of these stimulants. Depending on their proportions, we have a distinctly Socratic, artistic, or tragic culture. Or, to give historical examples, we have an Alexandrine, a Hellenic, or a Buddhistic culture.

Our whole modern world is entangled in the meshes of Alexandrine culture, and recognises as its ideal the theorist equipped with the most potent means of knowledge, and labouring in the service of science, of whom the archetype and progenitor is Socrates. All our educational methods have originally this ideal in view: every other form of existence must struggle onwards wearisomely beside it, as something tolerated, but not intended. In an almost alarming manner the cultured man was here found for a long time only in the form of the scholar: even our poetical arts have been forced to evolve from learned imitations, and in the main effect of the rhyme we still recognise the origin of our poetic form from artistic experiments with a non-native and thoroughly learned language. How unintelligible must Faust, the modern cultured man, who is in himself intelligible, have appeared to a true Greek,—Faust, storming discontentedly through all the faculties, devoted to magic and the devil from a desire for knowledge, whom we have only to place alongside of Socrates for the purpose of comparison, in order to see that modern man begins to divine the boundaries of this Socratic love of perception and longs for a coast in the wide waste of the ocean of knowledge. When Goethe on one occasion said to Eckermann with reference to Napoleon: "Yes, my good friend, there is also a productiveness of deeds," he reminded us in a charmingly naïve manner that the non-theorist is something incredible and astounding to modern man; so that the wisdom of Goethe is needed once more in order to discover that such a surprising form of existence is comprehensible, nay even pardonable.

Our entire modern world is caught in the web of Alexandrine culture. Its ideal is the theorist, equipped with the most powerful tools of knowledge and working in the service of science. Socrates is the original model and forefather of this theorist. All our educational methods were originally designed with this ideal in mind. Every other way of life must struggle wearily alongside it, tolerated but not intended. For a long time, the cultured person was found almost alarmingly often only in the form of the scholar. Even our poetic arts were forced to develop from learned imitations. The chief effect of rhyme still reveals the origin of our poetic form. It arose from artistic experiments with a foreign and thoroughly learned language. How incomprehensible Faust, the modern cultured man who is intelligible to himself, must have seemed to a true Greek. Faust storms discontentedly through all the branches of learning. In his desire for knowledge, he turns to magic and the devil. We need only compare him with Socrates to see that modern man is beginning to sense the limits of this Socratic love of knowledge. Modern man longs for a shore in the vast emptiness of the ocean of knowledge. Once, speaking of Napoleon, Goethe said to Eckermann: "Yes, my good friend, there is also a productiveness of deeds." In a charmingly naive way, Goethe reminded us that modern man finds the non-theorist incredible and astonishing. So Goethe's wisdom is needed once again to discover that this surprising way of life is understandable, even forgivable.

Now, we must not hide from ourselves what is concealed in the heart of this Socratic culture: Optimism, deeming itself absolute! Well, we must not be alarmed if the fruits of this optimism ripen,—if society, leavened to the very lowest strata by this kind of culture, gradually begins to tremble through wanton agitations and desires, if the belief in the earthly happiness of all, if the belief in the possibility of such a general intellectual culture is gradually transformed into the threatening demand for such an Alexandrine earthly happiness, into the conjuring of a Euripidean deus ex machina. Let us mark this well: the Alexandrine culture requires a slave class, to be able to exist permanently: but, in its optimistic view of life, it denies the necessity of such a class, and consequently, when the effect of its beautifully seductive and tranquillising utterances about the "dignity of man" and the "dignity of labour" is spent, it gradually drifts towards a dreadful destination. There is nothing more terrible than a barbaric slave class, who have learned to regard their existence as an injustice, and now prepare to take vengeance, not only for themselves, but for all generations. In the face of such threatening storms, who dares to appeal with confident spirit to our pale and exhausted religions, which even in their foundations have degenerated into scholastic religions?—so that myth, the necessary prerequisite of every religion, is already paralysed everywhere, and even in this domain the optimistic spirit—which we have just designated as the annihilating germ of society—has attained the mastery.

We must not ignore what lies at the heart of this Socratic culture: an optimism that considers itself absolute! So we should not be alarmed when this optimism bears fruit. This culture has spread through society to its lowest levels. We should not be alarmed if society gradually begins to tremble with reckless unrest and desires. Nor should we be alarmed if belief in earthly happiness for all gradually becomes a threatening demand for such Alexandrine earthly happiness. The same is true of the belief that such an intellectual culture is possible for all. These beliefs become a demand for happiness and a call for a Euripidean deus ex machina. Let us be clear: Alexandrine culture needs a slave class if it is to endure. But its optimistic view of life denies this necessity. Its lovely, seductive, and soothing words about the "dignity of man" and the "dignity of labour" eventually lose their effect. Then Alexandrine culture gradually drifts toward a dreadful fate. Nothing is more terrible than a barbaric slave class that has learned to see its existence as an injustice. It now prepares to take revenge, not only for itself, but for all generations. In the face of such threatening storms, who dares to appeal confidently to our pale and exhausted religions? Even at their foundations, they have degenerated into scholastic religions. Myth, the necessary foundation of every religion, is already paralyzed everywhere. Even here, the optimistic spirit has gained mastery. We have just called this spirit the seed of society’s destruction.

While the evil slumbering in the heart of theoretical culture gradually begins to disquiet modern man, and makes him anxiously ransack the stores of his experience for means to avert the danger, though not believing very much in these means; while he, therefore, begins to divine the consequences his position involves: great, universally gifted natures have contrived, with an incredible amount of thought, to make use of the apparatus of science itself, in order to point out the limits and the relativity of knowledge generally, and thus definitely to deny the claim of science to universal validity and universal ends: with which demonstration the illusory notion was for the first time recognised as such, which pretends, with the aid of causality, to be able to fathom the innermost essence of things. The extraordinary courage and wisdom of Kant and Schopenhauer have succeeded in gaining the most, difficult, victory, the victory over the optimism hidden in the essence of logic, which optimism in turn is the basis of our culture. While this optimism, resting on apparently unobjectionable æterna veritates, believed in the intelligibility and solvability of all the riddles of the world, and treated space, time, and causality as totally unconditioned laws of the most universal validity, Kant, on the other hand, showed that these served in reality only to elevate the mere phenomenon, the work of Mâyâ, to the sole and highest reality, putting it in place of the innermost and true essence of things, thus making the actual knowledge of this essence impossible, that is, according to the expression of Schopenhauer, to lull the dreamer still more soundly asleep (Welt als Wille und Vorstellung, I. 498). With this knowledge a culture is inaugurated which I venture to designate as a tragic culture; the most important characteristic of which is that wisdom takes the place of science as the highest end,—wisdom, which, uninfluenced by the seductive distractions of the sciences, turns with unmoved eye to the comprehensive view of the world, and seeks to apprehend therein the eternal suffering as its own with sympathetic feelings of love. Let us imagine a rising generation with this undauntedness of vision, with this heroic desire for the prodigious, let us imagine the bold step of these dragon-slayers, the proud and daring spirit with which they turn their backs on all the effeminate doctrines of optimism in order "to live resolutely" in the Whole and in the Full: would it not be necessary for the tragic man of this culture, with his self-discipline to earnestness and terror, to desire a new art, the art of metaphysical comfort,—namely, tragedy, as the Hellena belonging to him, and that he should exclaim with Faust:

The evil sleeping at the heart of theoretical culture is gradually beginning to trouble modern man. He anxiously searches his experience for ways to avert the danger, though he has little faith in them. Thus he begins to sense the consequences of his position. Meanwhile, great, universally gifted thinkers have used the tools of science itself, with an incredible amount of thought, to show the limits and relativity of knowledge in general. In doing so, they have decisively denied science’s claim to universal validity and universal ends. Their demonstration exposed an illusion for the first time: the belief that causality can reveal the innermost essence of things. With extraordinary courage and wisdom, Kant and Schopenhauer won the most difficult victory. They overcame the optimism hidden in the nature of logic, which is also the basis of our culture. This optimism rested on apparently indisputable æterna veritates and believed that all the world’s riddles could be understood and solved. It treated space, time, and causality as completely unconditional laws of the most universal validity. Kant, by contrast, showed that these laws served only to raise mere appearance, the work of Mâyâ, to the status of the sole and highest reality. They put appearance in place of the innermost and true essence of things, making knowledge of that essence impossible. In Schopenhauer’s words, they lulled the dreamer into an even deeper sleep (Welt als Wille und Vorstellung, I. 498). This knowledge gives rise to a culture that I venture to call tragic. Its most important feature is that wisdom replaces science as the highest goal. Wisdom is not swayed by the seductive distractions of the sciences. It gazes steadily at the world as a whole and seeks, with sympathy and love, to feel the eternal suffering it finds there as its own. Let us imagine a rising generation with this fearless vision and this heroic desire for the immense. Let us imagine the bold stride of these dragon-slayers. With proud and daring spirits, they turn their backs on all the effeminate doctrines of optimism, in order "to live resolutely" in the Whole and in the Full. Would not the tragic man of this culture, who trains himself to face seriousness and terror, need to desire a new art? Would he not desire the art of metaphysical comfort, namely tragedy, as his own Hellena, and exclaim with Faust:

But now that the Socratic culture has been shaken from two directions, and is only able to hold the sceptre of its infallibility with trembling hands,—once by the fear of its own conclusions which it at length begins to surmise, and again, because it is no longer convinced with its former naïve trust of the eternal validity of its foundation, —it is a sad spectacle to behold how the dance of its thought always rushes longingly on new forms, to embrace them, and then, shuddering, lets them go of a sudden, as Mephistopheles does the seductive Lamiæ. It is certainly the symptom of the "breach" which all are wont to speak of as the primordial suffering of modern culture that the theoretical man, alarmed and dissatisfied at his own conclusions, no longer dares to entrust himself to the terrible ice-stream of existence: he runs timidly up and down the bank. He no longer wants to have anything entire, with all the natural cruelty of things, so thoroughly has he been spoiled by his optimistic contemplation. Besides, he feels that a culture built up on the principles of science must perish when it begins to grow illogical, that is, to avoid its own conclusions. Our art reveals this universal trouble: in vain does one seek help by imitating all the great productive periods and natures, in vain does one accumulate the entire "world-literature" around modern man for his comfort, in vain does one place one's self in the midst of the art-styles and artists of all ages, so that one may give names to them as Adam did to the beasts: one still continues the eternal hungerer, the "critic" without joy and energy, the Alexandrine man, who is in the main a librarian and corrector of proofs, and who, pitiable wretch goes blind from the dust of books and printers' errors.

But Socratic culture has now been shaken from two directions. It can hold the scepter of its infallibility only with trembling hands. For one thing, it has begun to sense and fear its own conclusions. For another, it no longer has its former naive faith in the eternal validity of its foundation. It is a sad sight to see its thought dance, rushing longingly toward new forms to embrace them. Then it suddenly lets them go with a shudder, as Mephistopheles does the seductive Lamiæ. Everyone speaks of the “breach” as the original suffering of modern culture. The theoretical man shows a clear symptom of it. Alarmed and dissatisfied by his own conclusions, he no longer dares surrender himself to the terrible ice stream of existence. He runs timidly up and down the bank. He no longer wants to accept anything whole, with all the natural cruelty of things. His optimistic way of looking at the world has spoiled him so thoroughly. Besides, he feels that a culture built on scientific principles must perish when it becomes illogical, that is, when it avoids its own conclusions. Our art reveals this universal trouble. It is useless to seek help by imitating all the great creative periods and minds. It is useless to gather the whole of “world-literature” around modern man for his comfort. It is useless to surround oneself with the art styles and artists of every age, so as to name them as Adam named the beasts. One remains eternally hungry, a “critic” without joy or energy. One remains the Alexandrine man, who is chiefly a librarian and proofreader. The pitiful wretch goes blind from the dust of books and the mistakes of printers.