Section 18
Original German
Es ist ein ewiges Phänomen: immer findet der gierige Wille ein Mittel, durch eine über die Dinge gebreitete Illusion seine Geschöpfe im Leben festzuhalten und zum Weiterleben zu zwingen. Diesen fesselt die sokratische Lust des Erkennens und der Wahn, durch dasselbe die ewige Wunde des Daseins heilen zu können, jenen umstrickt der vor seinen Augen wehende verführerische Schönheitsschleier der Kunst, jenen wiederum der metaphysische Trost, dass unter dem Wirbel der Erscheinungen das ewige Leben unzerstörbar weiterfliesst: um von den gemeineren und fast noch kräftigeren Illusionen, die der Wille in jedem Augenblick bereithält, zu schweigen. Jene drei Illusionsstufen sind überhaupt nur für die edler ausgestatteten Naturen, von denen die Last und Schwere des Daseins überhaupt mit tieferer Unlust empfunden wird und die durch ausgesuchte Reizmittel über diese Unlust hinwegzutäuschen sind. Aus diesen Reizmitteln besteht alles, was wir Cultur nennen: je nach der Proportion der Mischungen haben wir eine vorzugsweise sokratische oder künstlerische oder tragische Cultur: oder wenn man historische Exemplificationen erlauben will: es giebt entweder eine alexandrinische oder eine hellenische oder eine buddhaistische Cultur.
Unsere ganze moderne Welt ist in dem Netz der alexandrinischen Cultur befangen und kennt als Ideal den mit höchsten Erkenntnisskräften ausgerüsteten, im Dienste der Wissenschaft arbeitenden theoretischen Menschen, dessen Urbild und Stammvater Sokrates ist. Alle unsere Erziehungsmittel haben ursprünglich dieses Ideal im Auge: jede andere Existenz hat sich mühsam nebenbei emporzuringen, als erlaubte, nicht als beabsichtigte Existenz. In einem fast erschreckenden Sinne ist hier eine lange Zeit der Gebildete allein in der Form des Gelehrten gefunden worden; selbst unsere dichterischen Künste haben sich aus gelehrten Imitationen entwickeln müssen, und in dem Haupteffect des Reimes erkennen wir noch die Entstehung unserer poetischen Form aus künstlichen Experimenten mit einer nicht heimischen, recht eigentlich gelehrten Sprache. Wie unverständlich müsste einem ächten Griechen der an sich verständliche moderne Culturmensch Faust erscheinen, der durch alle Facultäten unbefriedigt stürmende, aus Wissenstrieb der Magie und dem Teufel ergebene Faust, den wir nur zur Vergleichung neben Sokrates zu stellen haben, um zu erkennen, dass der moderne Mensch die Grenzen jener sokratischen Erkenntnisslust zu ahnen beginnt und aus dem weiten wüsten Wissensmeere nach einer Küste verlangt. Wenn Goethe einmal zu Eckermann, mit Bezug auf Napoleon, äussert: „Ja mein Guter, es giebt auch eine Productivität der Thaten“, so hat er, in anmuthig naiver Weise, daran erinnert, dass der nicht theoretische Mensch für den modernen Menschen etwas Unglaubwürdiges und Staunenerregendes ist, so dass es wieder der Weisheit eines Goethe bedarf, um auch eine so befremdende Existenzform begreiflich, ja verzeihlich zu finden.
Und nun soll man sich nicht verbergen, was im Schoosse dieser sokratischen Cultur verborgen liegt! Der unumschränkt sich wähnende Optimismus! Nun soll man nicht erschrecken, wenn die Früchte dieses Optimismus reifen, wenn die von einer derartigen Cultur bis in die niedrigsten Schichten hinein durchsäuerte Gesellschaft allmählich unter üppigen Wallungen und Begehrungen erzittert, wenn der Glaube an das Erdenglück Aller, wenn der Glaube an die Möglichkeit einer solchen allgemeinen Wissenscultur allmählich in die drohende Forderung eines solchen alexandrinischen Erdenglückes, in die Beschwörung eines Euripideischen deus ex machina umschlägt! Man soll es merken: die alexandrinische Cultur braucht einen Sclavenstand, um auf die Dauer existieren zu können: aber sie leugnet, in ihrer optimistischen Betrachtung des Daseins, die Nothwendigkeit eines solchen Standes und geht deshalb, wenn der Effect ihrer schönen Verführungs und Beruhigungsworte von der „Würde des Menschen“ und der „Würde der Arbeit“ verbraucht ist, allmählich einer grauenvollen Vernichtung entgegen. Es giebt nichts Furchtbareres als einen barbarischen Sclavenstand, der seine Existenz als ein Unrecht zu betrachten gelernt hat und sich anschickt, nicht nur für sich, sondern für alle Generationen Rache zu nehmen. Wer wagt es, solchen drohenden Stürmen entgegen, sicheren Muthes an unsere blassen und ermüdeten Religionen zu appelliren, die selbst in ihren Fundamenten zu Gelehrtenreligionen entartet sind: so dass der Mythus, die nothwendige Voraussetzung jeder Religion, bereits überall gelähmt ist, und selbst auf diesem Bereich jener optimistische Geist zur Herrschaft gekommen ist, den wir als den Vernichtungskeim unserer Gesellschaft eben bezeichnet haben.
Während das im Schoosse der theoretischen Cultur schlummernde Unheil allmählich den modernen Menschen zu ängstigen beginnt, und er, unruhig, aus dem Schatze seiner Erfahrungen nach Mitteln greift, um die Gefahr abzuwenden, ohne selbst an diese Mittel recht zu glauben; während er also seine eigenen Consequenzen zu ahnen beginnt: haben grosse allgemein angelegte Naturen, mit einer unglaublichen Besonnenheit, das Rüstzeug der Wissenschaft selbst zu benützen gewusst, um die Grenzen und die Bedingtheit des Erkennens überhaupt darzulegen und damit den Anspruch der Wissenschaft auf universale Geltung und universale Zwecke entscheidend zu leugnen: bei welchem Nachweise zum ersten Male jene Wahnvorstellung als solche erkannt wurde, welche, an der Hand der Causalität, sich anmaasst, das innerste Wesen der Dinge ergründen zu können. Der ungeheuren Tapferkeit und Weisheit Kant's und Schopenhauer's ist der schwerste Sieg gelungen, der Sieg über den im Wesen der Logik verborgen liegenden Optimismus, der wiederum der Untergrund unserer Cultur ist. Wenn dieser an die Erkennbarkeit und Ergründlichkeit aller Welträthsel, gestützt auf die ihm unbedenklichen aeternae veritates, geglaubt und Raum, Zeit und Causalität als gänzlich unbedingte Gesetze von allgemeinster Gültigkeit behandelt hatte, offenbarte Kant, wie diese eigentlich nur dazu dienten, die blosse Erscheinung, das Werk der Maja, zur einzigen und höchsten Realität zu erheben und sie an die Stelle des innersten und wahren Wesens der Dinge zu setzen und die wirkliche Erkenntniss von diesem dadurch unmöglich zu machen, d.h., nach einem Schopenhauer'schen Ausspruche, den Träumer noch fester einzuschläfern (W. a. W. u. V. I, p. 498). Mit dieser Erkenntniss ist eine Cultur eingeleitet, welche ich als eine tragische zu bezeichnen wage: deren wichtigstes Merkmal ist, dass an die Stelle der Wissenschaft als höchstes Ziel die Weisheit gerückt wird, die sich, ungetäuscht durch die verführerischen Ablenkungen der Wissenschaften, mit unbewegtem Blicke dem Gesammtbilde der Welt zuwendet und in diesem das ewige Leiden mit sympathischer Liebesempfindung als das eigne Leiden zu ergreifen sucht. Denken wir uns eine heranwachsende Generation mit dieser Unerschrockenheit des Blicks, mit diesem heroischen Zug ins Ungeheure, denken wir uns den kühnen Schritt dieser Drachentödter, die stolze Verwegenheit, mit der sie allen den Schwächlichkeitsdoctrinen jenes Optimismus den Rücken kehren, um im Ganzen und Vollen „resolut zu leben“: sollte es nicht nöthig sein, dass der tragische Mensch dieser Cultur, bei seiner Selbsterziehung zum Ernst und zum Schrecken, eine neue Kunst, die Kunst des metaphysischen Trostes, die Tragödie als die ihm zugehörige Helena begehren und mit Faust ausrufen muss:
Und sollt' ich nicht, sehnsüchtigster Gewalt,In's Leben ziehn die einzigste Gestalt?
Nachdem aber die sokratische Cultur von zwei Seiten aus erschüttert ist und das Scepter ihrer Unfehlbarkeit nur noch mit zitternden Händen zu halten vermag, einmal aus Furcht vor ihren eigenen Consequenzen, die sie nachgerade zu ahnen beginnt, sodann weil sie selbst von der ewigen Gültigkeit ihres Fundamentes nicht mehr mit dem früheren naiven Zutrauen überzeugt ist: so ist es ein trauriges Schauspiel, wie sich der Tanz ihres Denkens sehnsüchtig immer auf neue Gestalten stürzt, um sie zu umarmen, und sie dann plötzlich wieder, wie Mephistopheles die verführerischen Lamien, schaudernd fahren lässt. Das ist ja das Merkmal jenes „Bruches“, von dem Jedermann als von dem Urleiden der modernen Cultur zu reden pflegt, dass der theoretische Mensch vor seinen Consequenzen erschrickt und unbefriedigt es nicht mehr wagt sich dem furchtbaren Eisstrome des Daseins anzuvertrauen: ängstlich läuft er am Ufer auf und ab. Er will nichts mehr ganz haben, ganz auch mit aller der natürlichen Grausamkeit der Dinge. Soweit hat ihn das optimistische Betrachten verzärtelt. Dazu fühlt er, wie eine Cultur, die auf dem Princip der Wissenschaft aufgebaut ist, zu Grunde gehen muss, wenn sie anfängt, unlogisch zu werden d.h. vor ihren Consequenzen zurück zu fliehen. Unsere Kunst offenbart diese allgemeine Noth: umsonst dass man sich an alle grossen productiven Perioden und Naturen imitatorisch anlehnt, umsonst dass man die ganze „Weltlitteratur“ zum Troste des modernen Menschen um ihn versammelt und ihn mitten unter die Kunststile und Künstler aller Zeiten hinstellt, damit er ihnen, wie Adam den Thieren, einen Namen gebe: er bleibt doch der ewig Hungernde, der „Kritiker“ ohne Lust und Kraft, der alexandrinische Mensch, der im Grunde Bibliothekar und Corrector ist und an Bücherstaub und Druckfehlern elend erblindet.
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.
It is an eternal phenomenon: the greedy will always finds a means, through an illusion spread over things, to hold its creatures fast in life and compel them to go on living. One person is bound by the Socratic pleasure in knowledge and the delusion that through it the eternal wound of existence can be healed; another is ensnared by art’s seductive veil of beauty, fluttering before his eyes; another, in turn, by the metaphysical consolation that beneath the whirl of appearances eternal life flows on indestructibly—not to speak of the more commonplace and almost still more powerful illusions the will keeps ready at every moment. Those three stages of illusion are, in general, only for more nobly gifted natures, who feel the burden and weight of existence with a deeper displeasure and must be deceived out of that displeasure by choice stimulants. Everything we call culture consists of these stimulants: according to the proportions of their mixture, we have a predominantly Socratic, artistic, or tragic culture. Or, if historical examples may be permitted: there is either an Alexandrian, a Hellenic, or a Buddhist culture.
Our entire modern world is caught in the net of Alexandrian culture and recognizes as its ideal the theoretical human being, equipped with the highest powers of knowledge and working in the service of science, whose archetype and forefather is Socrates. All our educational methods originally have this ideal in view: every other existence must struggle laboriously upward alongside it, as a permitted rather than an intended existence. In an almost frightening sense, for a long time the cultivated person was found here only in the form of the scholar; even our poetic arts had to develop from learned imitations, and in the principal effect of rhyme we still recognize the origin of our poetic form in artificial experiments with a language not native to us, a learned language in the strictest sense. How incomprehensible a genuine Greek would have to find Faust, the modern man of culture, in himself comprehensible—Faust, storming unsatisfied through all the faculties of learning, devoted to magic and the devil out of his drive for knowledge. We need only set him beside Socrates for comparison to recognize that modern humanity is beginning to divine the limits of that Socratic pleasure in knowledge and longs, from the vast, desolate sea of knowledge, for a shore. When Goethe once remarks to Eckermann, with reference to Napoleon, “Yes, my dear fellow, there is also a productivity of deeds,” he reminds us, with charming naivety, that the non-theoretical person is something incredible and astonishing to the modern person, so that it takes the wisdom of a Goethe once again to find even so strange a form of existence comprehensible, indeed pardonable.
And now we must not conceal from ourselves what lies hidden in the womb of this Socratic culture! Optimism that imagines itself without limits! Now we must not be horrified when the fruits of this optimism ripen, when society, leavened by such a culture down to its lowest strata, gradually begins to tremble with exuberant stirrings and desires; when faith in earthly happiness for everyone, faith in the possibility of such a universal culture of knowledge, gradually turns into the threatening demand for such an Alexandrian happiness on earth, into the invocation of a Euripidean god from the machine! We must take note: Alexandrian culture needs a slave class if it is to endure, but in its optimistic view of existence it denies the necessity of such a class, and therefore, once the effect of its fair words of seduction and reassurance about the “dignity of humanity” and the “dignity of labor” is spent, it gradually moves toward a horrifying annihilation. There is nothing more terrible than a barbaric slave class that has learned to regard its existence as an injustice and prepares to take revenge not only for itself but for all generations. In the face of such threatening storms, who dares appeal with confident courage to our pale and weary religions, which have degenerated even in their foundations into scholars’ religions, so that myth, the necessary precondition of every religion, is already paralyzed everywhere, and even in this sphere that optimistic spirit has come to power which we have just identified as the seed of our society’s annihilation?
While the disaster slumbering in the womb of theoretical culture gradually begins to frighten the modern person, and he reaches anxiously into the treasury of his experiences for means to avert the danger without quite believing in those means himself; while he thus begins to divine his own consequences, great natures of universal breadth have known how, with incredible deliberation, to use the instruments of science itself to demonstrate the limits and conditioned character of knowledge in general, and thereby decisively to deny science’s claim to universal validity and universal aims. In this demonstration, the delusional idea that presumes, guided by causality, to fathom the innermost essence of things was recognized as such for the first time. The tremendous courage and wisdom of Kant and Schopenhauer won the hardest victory, the victory over the optimism hidden in the essence of logic, which in turn forms the foundation of our culture. Supported by eternal truths that it took without question, this optimism had believed that all the riddles of the world could be known and fathomed, and had treated space, time, and causality as wholly unconditioned laws of the most universal validity. Kant revealed how these actually served only to elevate mere appearance, the work of Maya, into the sole and highest reality, putting it in the place of the innermost and true essence of things and thereby making genuine knowledge of that essence impossible—that is, in Schopenhauer’s phrase, lulling the dreamer into a still deeper sleep (W. a. W. u. V. I, p. 498). This insight has inaugurated a culture I dare to call tragic. Its most important feature is that wisdom replaces science as the highest goal: undeceived by the seductive distractions of the sciences, it turns an unwavering gaze upon the total image of the world and seeks, with loving sympathy, to embrace the eternal suffering within it as its own. Let us imagine a rising generation with this fearlessness of vision, this heroic impulse toward the tremendous; let us imagine the bold stride of these dragon slayers, the proud daring with which they turn their backs on all the doctrines of weakness belonging to that optimism, in order to “live resolutely,” wholly and fully. Must not the tragic person of this culture, in educating himself to seriousness and terror, necessarily desire a new art, the art of metaphysical consolation, tragedy as the Helen who belongs to him, and cry out with Faust:
And should I not, with longing’s utmost force,Draw into life that one and only form?
But now that Socratic culture has been shaken from two sides and can hold the scepter of its infallibility only in trembling hands—first from fear of its own consequences, which it is at last beginning to divine, and then because it is no longer convinced of the eternal validity of its foundation with its former naive confidence—it is a sad spectacle to see how the dance of its thought keeps flinging itself longingly upon new forms to embrace them, only suddenly to release them again with a shudder, as Mephistopheles releases the seductive Lamias. This is precisely the sign of that “rupture” everyone speaks of as the primal affliction of modern culture: the theoretical person recoils before his consequences and, unsatisfied, no longer dares entrust himself to the terrible, icy torrent of existence. Anxiously he runs up and down the bank. He no longer wants anything whole, whole also with all the natural cruelty of things. So far has the optimistic way of looking at things pampered him. Moreover, he feels how a culture built upon the principle of science must perish when it begins to become illogical, that is, to flee from its consequences. Our art reveals this universal distress: in vain do we lean in imitation on all the great productive periods and natures; in vain do we gather the whole of “world literature” around the modern person for his consolation and place him amid the artistic styles and artists of every age, so that, like Adam with the animals, he may give them names. He remains nonetheless the eternally hungry one, the “critic” without pleasure or power, the Alexandrian person, who is at bottom a librarian and proofreader and goes miserably blind from book dust and printing errors.
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.
It is an eternal phenomenon. The greedy will always finds some way to keep its creatures in life and force them to go on living, by spreading an illusion over things. One person is held fast by the Socratic delight in knowing, and by the delusion that knowing can heal the eternal wound of existence. Another is caught in the seductive veil of beauty that art waves before their eyes. Yet another is caught by metaphysical comfort, the belief that beneath the whirl of appearances eternal life flows on, indestructible. I will say nothing of the commoner illusions, which are almost stronger still, and which the will keeps ready at every moment. Those three levels of illusion exist only for the more nobly endowed natures. These natures feel the weight and burden of existence with a deeper displeasure, and they can only be tricked out of that displeasure by specially chosen stimulants. Everything we call culture is made of these stimulants. Depending on the proportions of the mixture, we get a culture that is mainly Socratic, or artistic, or tragic. Or, if you will allow examples from history: there is either an Alexandrian culture, or a Hellenic one, or a Buddhist one.
Our whole modern world is caught in the net of Alexandrian culture. Its ideal is the theoretical person, equipped with the highest powers of knowing and working in the service of science. The original model and ancestor of that person is Socrates. All our means of education had this ideal in view from the start. Every other kind of existence has to struggle up painfully on the side, as an existence that is allowed, not one that is intended. In an almost frightening way, for a long time the educated person was found only in the form of the scholar. Even our poetic arts had to develop out of scholarly imitations. And in the main effect of rhyme we can still see how our poetic form arose from artificial experiments with a language that was not native, a truly scholarly one. How incomprehensible a true Greek would find Faust, the modern cultured person, who is perfectly understandable to us. This is the Faust who storms through all the academic faculties without being satisfied, and who, out of a drive for knowledge, gives himself over to magic and the devil. We only need to set him beside Socrates for comparison to see that modern people are beginning to sense the limits of that Socratic delight in knowing. Out of the wide, barren sea of knowledge, they long for a shore. Once, speaking to Eckermann about Napoleon, Goethe remarked: “Yes, my good friend, there is also a productivity of deeds.” In his charming, naive way he was reminding us that the person who is not theoretical strikes modern people as something hard to believe and astonishing. It takes the wisdom of a Goethe all over again to find such a strange form of existence understandable, even forgivable.
And now we must not hide from ourselves what lies concealed in the womb of this Socratic culture. It is an optimism that imagines itself to have no limits! We must not be alarmed now when the fruits of this optimism ripen. Such a culture has leavened society through and through, down to its lowest layers, and that society gradually begins to tremble with extravagant surges and desires. The belief in earthly happiness for everyone, and the belief that such a universal culture of knowledge is possible, gradually turn into the threatening demand for an Alexandrian earthly happiness. They turn into the summoning of a Euripidean god from the machine! We should take note: Alexandrian culture needs a class of slaves if it is to last. But in its optimistic view of existence it denies that such a class is necessary. So when its beautiful words of seduction and reassurance about the “dignity of the human being” and the “dignity of labor” have lost their effect, it moves gradually toward a horrifying destruction. There is nothing more terrible than a barbarian class of slaves that has learned to see its existence as a wrong and is getting ready to take revenge, not only for itself but for all generations. Who will dare, in the face of such threatening storms, to appeal with confident courage to our pale and tired religions? Down to their foundations they have degenerated into religions for scholars. Myth, the necessary precondition of every religion, is already paralyzed everywhere. Even in this realm that optimistic spirit has come to rule, the very spirit we have just named the seed of destruction in our society.
The disaster that slumbers in the womb of theoretical culture is slowly beginning to frighten modern people. Restless, they reach into the store of their experience for ways to avert the danger, without really believing in those ways themselves. In other words, they are beginning to sense their own consequences. Meanwhile, great natures with broad gifts have acted with unbelievable level-headedness. They have known how to use the very equipment of science to lay out the limits of knowing in general, and how conditioned it is. In doing so they have decisively denied the claim of science to universal validity and universal purposes. In this demonstration, for the first time, a delusion was recognized for what it is: the delusion that, with causality as its guide, claims it can fathom the innermost essence of things. The immense courage and wisdom of Kant and Schopenhauer won the hardest victory of all. It was the victory over the optimism hidden in the very nature of logic, which in turn is the foundation of our culture. That optimism believed that all the riddles of the world can be known and fathomed. It relied on the eternal truths, which it never questioned. It treated space, time and causality as completely unconditioned laws of the widest possible validity. Kant showed that these laws in fact only served to raise mere appearance, the work of Maya, to the one highest reality. They put appearance in the place of the innermost and true essence of things, and so they made real knowledge of that essence impossible. That is, to use a saying of Schopenhauer’s, they put the dreamer to sleep even more soundly (W. a. W. u. V. I, p. 498). With this insight a culture is ushered in that I dare to call tragic. Its most important mark is that wisdom takes the place of science as the highest goal. Wisdom is not deceived by the seductive distractions of the sciences. It turns with an unmoved gaze to the picture of the world as a whole, and tries to take the eternal suffering into itself, with a feeling of sympathetic love, as its own suffering. Imagine a rising generation with this fearless gaze, with this heroic reach toward the immense. Imagine the bold stride of these dragon-slayers, and the proud daring with which they turn their backs on all the weakling doctrines of that optimism, in order to “live resolutely” in the whole and the full. Must the tragic person of this culture not long for a new art, as they educate themselves toward seriousness and terror? Must they not long for the art of metaphysical comfort, for tragedy, as the Helen who belongs to them, and cry out with Faust:
And should I not, by the most yearning force,Draw into life that one and only form?
Socratic culture has now been shaken from two sides. It can hold the scepter of its infallibility only with trembling hands. First, it is afraid of its own consequences, which it is at last beginning to sense. Second, it is no longer convinced, with its earlier naive confidence, that its foundation is valid forever. So it is a sad spectacle to watch the dance of its thinking. Longingly, it keeps throwing itself at new figures to embrace them, and then suddenly, shuddering, lets them go again, as Mephistopheles lets go of the seductive lamias. This is indeed the mark of that “break” which everyone is in the habit of calling the primal suffering of modern culture. The theoretical person is frightened by the consequences, and, unsatisfied, no longer dares to trust themselves to the terrible icy stream of existence. Anxiously they run up and down the bank. They no longer want to have anything whole, whole even with all the natural cruelty of things. That is how far the optimistic way of looking at things has made them soft. On top of that, they feel that a culture built on the principle of science must perish once it begins to become illogical, that is, once it begins to flee back from its own consequences. Our art reveals this general distress. It is useless to lean on all the great productive periods and natures by imitating them. It is useless to gather the whole “world literature” around modern people for their comfort, and to set them down among the art styles and artists of every age, so that they can give them names, as Adam did with the animals. They still remain the eternally hungry, the “critic” without desire or strength, the Alexandrian person. At bottom this person is a librarian and proofreader, and goes miserably blind from book dust and misprints.
About this section
Section 18 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 26 of 33 in the work, which is kept in the European tradition.
Open the work page for the full contents, every edition, and the download links, or go back to Explore to browse other complete works in the European tradition. The reader keeps your place when you are signed in and lets you compare the original with each translation, one edition at a time.