“Reason” in Philosophy

You ask me what all idiosyncrasy is in philosophers? ... For instance their lack of the historical sense, their hatred even of the idea of Becoming, their Egyptianism. They imagine that they do honour to a thing by divorcing it from history _sub specie æterni,—_when they make a mummy of it. All the ideas that philosophers have treated for thousands of years, have been mummied concepts; nothing real has ever come out of their hands alive. These idolaters of concepts merely kill and stuff things when they worship,—they threaten the life of everything they adore. Death, change, age, as well as procreation and growth, are in their opinion objections,—even refutations. That which is cannot evolve; that which evolves is not. Now all of them believe, and even with desperation, in Being. But, as they cannot lay hold of it, they try to discover reasons why this privilege is withheld from them. “Some merely apparent quality, some deception must be the cause of our not being able to ascertain the nature of Being: where is the deceiver?” “We have him,” they cry rejoicing, “it is sensuality!” These senses, which in other things are so immoral, cheat us concerning the true world. Moral: we must get rid of the deception of the senses, of Becoming, of history, of falsehood.—History is nothing more than the belief in the senses, the belief in falsehood. Moral: we must say “no” to everything in which the senses believe: to all the rest of mankind: all that belongs to the “people.” Let us be philosophers, mummies, monotono-theists, grave-diggers!—And above all, away with the body, this wretched idée fixe of the senses, infected with all the faults of logic that exist, refuted, even impossible, although it be impudent enough to pose as if it were real!

You ask me what is peculiar to all philosophers? ... For example, they lack any sense of history. They even hate the idea of Becoming. They have their Egyptianism. They imagine they honor something by separating it from history, sub specie æterni, by making a mummy of it. For thousands of years, all the ideas philosophers have dealt with have been mummified concepts. Nothing real has ever come out of their hands alive. When these idolaters of concepts worship something, they merely kill and stuff it. They threaten the life of everything they adore. In their opinion, death, change, age, procreation, and growth are objections, even refutations. What is cannot change. What changes is not. Now all of them believe, even desperately, in Being. But they cannot grasp it, so they try to explain why it remains beyond their reach. “Some appearance, some deception must be preventing us from discovering the nature of Being. Where is the deceiver?” “We have him,” they cry with delight, “it is sensuality!” The senses cheat us about the true world. And in other matters they are so immoral, too. Moral: we must rid ourselves of the deception of the senses, of Becoming, of history, of falsehood. History is nothing more than belief in the senses, belief in falsehood. Moral: we must say “no” to everything the senses believe in, to the rest of mankind, to everything that belongs to the “people.” Let us be philosophers, mummies, monotono-theists, grave-diggers! And above all, away with the body, that miserable idée fixe of the senses! It is infected with every fault in logic, refuted, even impossible, though it has the nerve to pretend to be real!

With a feeling of great reverence I except the name of Heraclitus. If the rest of the philosophic gang rejected the evidences of the senses, because the latter revealed a state of multifariousness and change, he rejected the same evidence because it revealed things as if they possessed permanence and unity. Even Heraclitus did an injustice to the senses. The latter lie neither as the Eleatics believed them to lie, nor as he believed them to lie,—they do not lie at all. The interpretations we give to their evidence is what first introduces falsehood into it; for instance the lie of unity, the lie of matter, of substance and of permanence. Reason is the cause of our falsifying the evidence of the senses. In so far as the senses show us a state of Becoming, of transiency, and of change, they do not lie. But in declaring that Being was an empty illusion, Heraclitus will remain eternally right. The “apparent” world is the only world: the “true world” is no more than a false adjunct thereto.

With a feeling of great reverence, I make an exception for Heraclitus. The rest of the philosophical gang rejected the evidence of the senses because it revealed diversity and change. Heraclitus, by contrast, rejected that evidence because it made things seem permanent and unified. Even Heraclitus was unfair to the senses. The senses do not lie as the Eleatics believed, or as Heraclitus believed. They do not lie at all. Our interpretations of their evidence are what introduce falsehood. These include the lies of unity, matter, substance, and permanence. Reason is what makes us falsify the evidence of the senses. When the senses show us Becoming, impermanence, and change, they do not lie. But Heraclitus will remain eternally right in declaring that Being was an empty illusion. The “apparent” world is the only world: the “true world” is nothing more than a false addition to it.

And what delicate instruments of observation we have in our senses! This human nose, for instance, of which no philosopher has yet spoken with reverence and gratitude, is, for the present, the most finely adjusted instrument at our disposal: it is able to register even such slight changes of movement as the spectroscope would be unable to record. Our scientific triumphs at the present day extend precisely so far as we have accepted the evidence of our senses,—as we have sharpened and armed them, and learned to follow them up to the end. What remains is abortive and not yet science—that is to say, metaphysics, theology, psychology, epistemology, or formal science, or a doctrine of symbols, like logic and its applied form mathematics. In all these things reality does not come into consideration at all, even as a problem; just as little as does the question concerning the general value of such a convention of symbols as logic.

And what delicate instruments of observation our senses are! Take the human nose, for example. No philosopher has yet spoken of it with reverence and gratitude. Yet for now, it is the most finely tuned instrument we have. It can register changes in movement too slight for a spectroscope to record. Our scientific triumphs today extend exactly as far as we have accepted the evidence of our senses. We have sharpened and equipped our senses and learned to follow their evidence to the end. What remains is a failed effort and not yet science. This includes metaphysics, theology, psychology, epistemology, and formal science, or systems of symbols like logic and its applied form, mathematics. In all these fields, reality is not considered at all, not even as a problem. Nor is the question of the general value of a system of symbols like logic.

The other idiosyncrasy of philosophers is no less dangerous; it consists in confusing the last and the first things. They place that which makes its appearance last—unfortunately! for it ought not to appear at all!—the “highest concept,” that is to say, the most general, the emptiest, the last cloudy streak of evaporating reality, at the beginning as the beginning. This again is only their manner of expressing their veneration: the highest thing must not have grown out of the lowest, it must not have grown at all.... Moral: everything of the first rank must be causa sui. To have been derived from something else, is as good as an objection, it sets the value of a thing in question. All superior values are of the first rank, all the highest concepts—that of Being, of the Absolute, of Goodness, of Truth, and of Perfection; all these things cannot have been evolved, they must therefore be causa sui. All these things cannot however be unlike one another, they cannot be opposed to one another. Thus they attain to their stupendous concept “God.” The last, most attenuated and emptiest thing is postulated as the first thing, as the absolute cause, as ens realissimum. Fancy humanity having to take the brain diseases of morbid cobweb-spinners seriously!—And it has paid dearly for having done so.

The other peculiarity of philosophers is no less dangerous. They confuse what comes last with what comes first. They put what appears last at the beginning, as the starting point. Unfortunately, it appears at all, though it should not! This is the “highest concept”, the most general and emptiest concept, the last cloudy trace of evaporating reality. Once again, this is just how philosophers express their reverence. The highest thing must not have grown out of the lowest. It must not have grown at all.... The moral: everything of the first rank must be causa sui, the cause of itself. For something to come from anything else is practically an objection to it. It calls the thing’s value into question. All superior values are of the first rank. So are all the highest concepts: Being, the Absolute, Goodness, Truth, and Perfection. None of these can have developed, so they must be causa sui. Nor can they be unlike or opposed to one another. This is how philosophers arrive at their astounding concept of “God”. They claim that the last, most diluted, and emptiest thing is the first thing, the absolute cause, the ens realissimum, the most real being. Imagine humanity having to take the brain diseases of sickly cobweb spinners seriously! And humanity has paid dearly for doing so.

—Against this let us set the different manner in which we (—you observe that I am courteous enough to say “we”) conceive the problem of the error and deceptiveness of things. Formerly people regarded change and evolution in general as the proof of appearance, as a sign of the fact that something must be there that leads us astray. To-day, on the other hand, we realise that precisely as far as the rational bias forces us to postulate unity, identity, permanence, substance, cause, materiality and being, we are in a measure involved in error, driven necessarily to error; however certain we may feel, as the result of a strict examination of the matter, that the error lies here. It is just the same here as with the motion of the sun: In its case it was our eyes that were wrong; in the matter of the concepts above mentioned it is our language itself that pleads most constantly in their favour. In its origin language belongs to an age of the most rudimentary forms of psychology: if we try to conceive of the first conditions of the metaphysics of language, i.e. in plain English, of reason, we immediately find ourselves in the midst of a system of fetichism. For here, the doer and his deed are seen in all circumstances, will is believed in as a cause in general; the ego is taken for granted, the ego as Being, and as substance, and the faith in the ego as substance is projected into all things—in this way, alone, the concept “thing” is created. Being is thought into and insinuated into everything as cause; from the concept “ego,” alone, can the concept “Being” proceed. At the beginning stands the tremendously fatal error of supposing the will to be something that actuates,—a faculty. Now we know that it is only a word.¹ Very much later, in a world a thousand times more enlightened, the assurance, the subjective certitude, in the handling of the categories of reason came into the minds of philosophers as a surprise. They concluded that these categories could not be derived from experience,—on the contrary, the whole of experience rather contradicts them. Whence do they come therefore? In India, as in Greece, the same mistake was made: “we must already once have lived in a higher world (—instead of in a much lower one, which would have been the truth!), we must have been divine, for we possess reason!” ... Nothing indeed has exercised a more simple power of persuasion hitherto than the error of Being, as it was formulated by the Eleatics for instance: in its favour are every word and every sentence that we utter!—Even the opponents of the Eleatics succumbed to the seductive powers of their concept of Being. Among others there was Democritus in his discovery of the atom. “Reason” in language!—oh what a deceptive old witch it has been! I fear we shall never be rid of God, so long as we still believe in grammar.

Against this, let us set the different way we understand the problem of error and deception in things. (You see that I am courteous enough to say “we”.) In the past, people regarded change and development in general as proof that things were mere appearances. They took change as a sign that something must be misleading us. Today, by contrast, we realize that reason's bias forces us to assume unity, identity, permanence, substance, cause, materiality, and being. To that extent, we are caught up in error and driven inevitably to it. A strict examination of the matter may make us feel certain that this is where the error lies. It is just the same as with the motion of the sun. In that case, our eyes were wrong. With the concepts just mentioned, it is language itself that constantly argues in their favor. Language originated in an age of the most rudimentary psychology. If we try to understand the earliest conditions of the metaphysics of language, i.e. in plain English, of reason, we immediately find ourselves in a system of fetishism. For language sees a doer and a deed in every case. It treats the will as a cause in general. It takes the ego for granted, the ego as Being and as substance. It projects this belief in the ego as substance onto all things. Only in this way is the concept “thing” created. Being is imagined and smuggled into everything as a cause. The concept “Being” can come only from the concept “ego”. At the beginning stands the enormously fatal error of supposing that the will is something that acts, a faculty. Now we know that it is only a word.¹ Much later, in a world a thousand times more enlightened, philosophers were surprised by the confidence and subjective certainty with which they used the categories of reason. They concluded that these categories could not come from experience. On the contrary, experience as a whole contradicts them. Where do they come from, then? In India, as in Greece, people made the same mistake: “we must once have lived in a higher world (instead of a much lower one, which would have been the truth!), we must have been divine, for we possess reason!” ... Nothing has had a simpler power to persuade than the error of Being, as the Eleatics formulated it, for example. Every word and every sentence we speak argues in its favor! Even the opponents of the Eleatics fell under the seductive power of their concept of Being. Among them was Democritus, in his discovery of the atom. “Reason” in language! Oh, what a deceptive old witch it has been! I fear we shall never get rid of God as long as we still believe in grammar.

People will feel grateful to me if I condense a point of view, which is at once so important and so new, into four theses: by this means I shall facilitate comprehension, and shall likewise challenge contradiction.

People will be grateful if I sum up this important and new point of view in four theses. This will make it easier to understand and also invite disagreement.

Proposition One. The reasons upon which the apparent nature of “this” world have been based, rather tend to prove its reality,—any other kind of reality defies demonstration.

Proposition One. The reasons for calling “this” world apparent instead tend to prove that it is real. No other kind of reality can be demonstrated.

Proposition Two. The characteristics with which man has endowed the “true Being” of things, are the characteristics of non-Being, of nonentity. The “true world” has been erected upon a contradiction of the real world; and it is indeed an apparent world, seeing that it is merely a moralo-optical delusion.

Proposition Two. The qualities people have given to the “true Being” of things are the qualities of non-Being, of nonentity. The “true world” has been built in contradiction to the real world. It is indeed an apparent world, because it is merely a moralo-optical illusion.

Proposition Three. There is no sense in spinning yarns about another world, provided, of course, that we do not possess a mighty instinct which urges us to slander, belittle, and cast suspicion upon this life: in this case we should be avenging ourselves on this life with the phantasmagoria of “another,” of a “better” life.

Proposition Three. There is no point in making up stories about another world. That is, of course, unless we have a powerful instinct that drives us to slander, belittle, and cast suspicion on this life. In that case, we would be taking revenge on this life with fantasies of “another,” “better” life.

Proposition Four. To divide the world into a “true” and an “apparent” world, whether after the manner of Christianity or of Kant (after all a Christian in disguise), is only a sign of decadence,—a symptom of degenerating life. The fact that the artist esteems the appearance of a thing higher than reality, is no objection to this statement. For “appearance” signifies once more reality here, but in a selected, strengthened and corrected form. The tragic artist is no pessimist,—he says Yea to everything questionable and terrible, he is Dionysian.

Proposition Four. Dividing the world into a “true” world and an “apparent” world is only a sign of decadence. It is a symptom of degenerating life. This is true whether one divides it as Christianity does or as Kant does. Kant, after all, is a Christian in disguise. An artist may value a thing’s appearance more highly than its reality, but this does not contradict the claim. For here, “appearance” means reality again, but in a selected, strengthened, and corrected form. The tragic artist is no pessimist. He says Yea to everything questionable and terrible. He is Dionysian.

1. The true world, attainable to the sage, the pious man and the man of virtue,—he lives in it, he is it.

1. The true world is attainable by the wise, the devout, and the virtuous. Such a person lives in it. He is it.

2. The true world which is unattainable for the moment, is promised to the sage, to the pious man and to the man of virtue (“to the sinner who repents”).

2. The true world cannot be reached yet, but it is promised to the wise, the devout, and the virtuous (“to the sinner who repents”).

3. The true world is unattainable, it cannot be proved, it cannot promise anything; but even as a thought, alone, it is a comfort, an obligation, a command.

3. The true world cannot be reached or proved, and it cannot promise anything. But even as a thought alone, it is a comfort, an obligation, a command.

4. The true world—is it unattainable? At all events it is unattained. And as unattained it is also unknown. Consequently it no longer comforts, nor saves, nor constrains: what could something unknown constrain us to?

4. Is the true world impossible to reach? In any case, we have not reached it. And since we have not reached it, it is also unknown. So it no longer comforts, saves, or constrains us. What could something unknown compel us to do?

5. The “true world”—an idea that no longer serves any purpose, that no longer constrains one to anything,—a useless idea that has become quite superfluous, consequently an exploded idea: let us abolish it!

5. The “true world” is an idea that no longer serves any purpose or obliges us to do anything. It is useless and has become completely unnecessary. It has therefore been discredited. Let us abolish it!

6. We have suppressed the true world: what world survives? the apparent world perhaps?... Certainly not! In abolishing the true world we have also abolished the world of appearance!

6. We have done away with the true world. What world remains? The apparent world, perhaps?... Certainly not! In doing away with the true world, we have also done away with the world of appearances!