An Attempt at Self-Criticism, Section 2
Original German
Was ich damals zu fassen bekam, etwas Furchtbares und Gefährliches, ein Problem mit Hörnern, nicht nothwendig gerade ein Stier, jedenfalls ein neues Problem: heute würde ich sagen, dass es das Problem der Wissenschaft selbst war—Wissenschaft zum ersten Male als problematisch, als fragwürdig gefasst. Aber das Buch, in dem mein jugendlicher Muth und Argwohn sich damals ausliess—was für ein unmögliches Buch musste aus einer so jugendwidrigen Aufgabe erwachsen! Aufgebaut aus lauter vorzeitigen übergrünen Selbsterlebnissen, welche alle hart an der Schwelle des Mittheilbaren lagen, hingestellt auf den Boden der Kunst—denn das Problem der Wissenschaft kann nicht auf dem Boden der Wissenschaft erkannt werden—, ein Buch vielleicht für Künstler mit dem Nebenhange analytischer und retrospektiver Fähigkeiten (das heisst für eine Ausnahme-Art von Künstlern, nach denen man suchen muss und nicht einmal suchen möchte…), voller psychologischer Neuerungen und Artisten-Heimlichkeiten, mit einer Artisten-Metaphysik im Hintergrunde, ein Jugendwerk voller Jugendmuth und Jugend-Schwermuth, unabhängig, trotzig-selbstständig auch noch, wo es sich einer Autorität und eignen Verehrung zu beugen scheint, kurz ein Erstlingswerk auch in jedem schlimmen Sinne des Wortes, trotz seines greisenhaften Problems, mit jedem Fehler der Jugend behaftet, vor allem mit ihrem „Viel zu lang“, ihrem „Sturm und Drang“: andererseits, in Hinsicht auf den Erfolg, den es hatte (in Sonderheit bei dem grossen Künstler, an den es sich wie zu einem Zwiegespräch wendete, bei Richard Wagner) ein bewiesenes Buch, ich meine ein solches, das jedenfalls „den Besten seiner Zeit“ genug gethan hat. Darauf hin sollte es schon mit einiger Rücksicht und Schweigsamkeit behandelt werden; trotzdem will ich nicht gänzlich unterdrücken, wie unangenehm es mir jetzt erscheint, wie fremd es jetzt nach sechzehn Jahren vor mir steht,—vor einem älteren, hundert Mal verwöhnteren, aber keineswegs kälter gewordenen Auge, das auch jener Aufgabe selbst nicht fremder wurde, an welche sich jenes verwegene Buch zum ersten Male herangewagt hat,—die Wissenschaft unter der Optik des Künstlers zu sehen, die Kunst aber unter der des Lebens….
Musean translation
Complete machine-assisted Musean translation of the 1886 issue, with the Attempt at Self-Criticism and the Preface to Richard Wagner, made directly from the German of the Fritzsch Neue Ausgabe and read against its page images; reviewed against the German before publication.
What I got hold of then, something terrible and dangerous, a problem with horns, not necessarily a bull, but in any case a new problem: today I would say that it was the problem of science itself—science grasped for the first time as problematic, as questionable. But the book in which my youthful courage and suspicion then found an outlet—what an impossible book had to grow out of a task so hostile to youth! Built entirely from premature, far-too-green personal experiences, all of them on the very threshold of what could be communicated; placed on the ground of art—for the problem of science cannot be recognized on the ground of science—a book perhaps for artists with an additional bent for analysis and retrospection (that is, for an exceptional kind of artist, whom one must seek out and would not even care to seek out…); full of psychological innovations and artists’ secrets, with an artists’ metaphysics in the background; a youthful work full of youthful courage and youthful melancholy, independent, defiantly self-reliant even where it seems to bow before an authority and its own reverence; in short, a first work in every bad sense of the word as well, despite its old man’s problem, burdened with every fault of youth, above all its “far too long,” its “Storm and Stress”: on the other hand, in view of its success (especially with the great artist to whom it addressed itself as if in a dialogue, Richard Wagner), a proven book—by which I mean one that at least satisfied “the best of its time.” On that account alone it should be treated with a measure of consideration and reserve; nevertheless, I do not want to suppress entirely how disagreeable it now seems to me, how alien it stands before me now, after sixteen years—before an eye that is older, a hundred times more exacting, but by no means colder, an eye that has grown no more estranged from the task itself that this audacious book ventured to approach for the first time—to see science through the artist’s eyes, but art through those of life….
Plain English translation
Complete machine-assisted Plain English edition, made independently and directly from the same German text, without reference to the Musean edition or to any English translation.
What I got hold of then was something terrible and dangerous: a problem with horns, not necessarily a bull, but certainly a new problem. Today I would say it was the problem of science itself. For the first time, science was understood as problematic, as something open to question. But the book in which my youthful courage and suspicion expressed themselves—what an impossible book had to grow out of a task so unsuited to youth! It was built entirely from premature, unripe personal experiences. All of them stood right at the edge of what could be communicated. It took its stand on the ground of art, since the problem of science cannot be recognized on the ground of science. Perhaps it was a book for artists with a secondary gift for analysis and looking back—that is, for an exceptional sort of artist whom one has to search for and would not even want to search for… It was full of psychological innovations and artists’ secrets, with an artist’s metaphysics in the background. A work of youth, full of youthful courage and youthful sadness, it was independent, defiantly self-reliant even where it seemed to bow to an authority and to its own admiration. In short, it was a first work in every bad sense of the word as well. Despite its aged problem, it had every fault of youth, above all youth’s “far too long” and its “storm and stress.” On the other hand, in view of its success—especially with the great artist it addressed as if in a conversation between two people, Richard Wagner—it was a proven book. I mean a book that at least satisfied “the best people of its time.” On that basis alone it should be treated with some consideration and restraint. Still, I do not want to suppress entirely how unpleasant it seems to me now, how foreign it stands before me after sixteen years. My eye is older and a hundred times harder to please, but it has by no means grown colder. Nor has it grown more distant from the task that daring book first ventured to approach: to see science from the artist’s point of view, but art from the point of view of life…
About this section
An Attempt at Self-Criticism, Section 2 is part of The Birth of Tragedy by Friedrich Nietzsche. This page sets the German original beside 2 direct-source translations, so any line can be checked against the source. It is section 2 of 33 in the work, which is kept in the European tradition.
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