An Attempt at Self-Criticism, Section 6
Original German
Man versteht, an welche Aufgabe ich bereits mit diesem Buche zu rühren wagte?… Wie sehr bedauere ich es jetzt, dass ich damals noch nicht den Muth (oder die Unbescheidenheit?) hatte, um mir in jedem Betrachte für so eigne Anschauungen und Wagnisse auch eine eigne Sprache zu erlauben,—dass ich mühselig mit Schopenhauerischen und Kantischen Formeln fremde und neue Werthschätzungen auszudrücken suchte, welche dem Geiste Kantens und Schopenhauers, ebenso wie ihrem Geschmacke, von Grund aus entgegen giengen! Wie dachte doch Schopenhauer über die Tragödie? „Was allem Tragischen den eigenthümlichen Schwung zur Erhebung giebt—sagt er, Welt als Wille und Vorstellung II, 495—ist das Aufgehen der Erkenntniss, dass die Welt, das Leben kein rechtes Genügen geben könne, mithin unsrer Anhänglichkeit nicht werth sei: darin besteht der tragische Geist -, er leitet demnach zur Resignation hin“. Oh wie anders redete Dionysos zu mir! Oh wie ferne war mir damals gerade dieser ganze Resignationismus!—Aber es giebt etwas viel Schlimmeres an dem Buche, das ich jetzt noch mehr bedauere, als mit Schopenhauerischen Formeln dionysische Ahnungen verdunkelt und verdorben zu haben: dass ich mir nämlich überhaupt das grandiose griechische Problem, wie mir es aufgegangen war, durch Einmischung der modernsten Dinge verdarb! Dass ich Hoffnungen anknüpfte, wo Nichts zu hoffen war, wo Alles allzudeutlich auf ein Ende hinwies! Dass ich, auf Grund der deutschen letzten Musik, vom „deutschen Wesen“ zu fabeln begann, wie als ob es eben im Begriff sei, sich selbst zu entdecken und wiederzufinden—und das zu einer Zeit, wo der deutsche Geist, der nicht vor Langem noch den Willen zur Herrschaft über Europa, die Kraft zur Führung Europa's gehabt hatte, eben letztwillig und endgültig abdankte und, unter dem pomphaften Vorwande einer Reichs-Begründung, seinen Uebergang zur Vermittelmässigung, zur Demokratie und den „modernen Ideen“ machte! In der That, inzwischen lernte ich hoffnungslos und schonungslos genug von diesem „deutschen Wesen“ denken, insgleichen von der jetzigen deutschen Musik, als welche Romantik durch und durch ist und die ungriechischeste aller möglichen Kunstformen: überdies aber eine Nervenverderberin ersten Ranges, doppelt gefährlich bei einem Volke, das den Trunk liebt und die Unklarheit als Tugend ehrt, nämlich in ihrer doppelten Eigenschaft als berauschendes und zugleich benebelndes Narkotikum.—Abseits freilich von allen übereilten Hoffnungen und fehlerhaften Nutzanwendungen auf Gegenwärtigstes, mit denen ich mir damals mein erstes Buch verdarb, bleibt das grosse dionysische Fragezeichen, wie es darin gesetzt ist, auch in Betreff der Musik, fort und fort bestehen: wie müsste eine Musik beschaffen sein, welche nicht mehr romantischen Ursprungs wäre, gleich der deutschen,—sondern dionysischen?…
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.
Is it understood what task I was already daring to touch on with this book?… How deeply I regret now that I did not yet have the courage (or the immodesty?) to allow myself, in every respect, a language of my own for visions and ventures so much my own—that I laboriously sought to express in Schopenhauerian and Kantian formulas strange and new valuations that ran fundamentally counter to the spirit of Kant and Schopenhauer, as well as to their taste! What did Schopenhauer think of tragedy? “What gives everything tragic its distinctive upward sweep toward exaltation,” he says, Welt als Wille und Vorstellung II, 495, “is the dawning recognition that the world, life, cannot offer true satisfaction and is therefore not worth our attachment: in this consists the tragic spirit—it thus leads to resignation.” Oh, how differently Dionysus spoke to me! Oh, how remote from me then was precisely this whole doctrine of resignation!—But there is something much worse about the book, something I now regret still more than having obscured and spoiled Dionysian intimations with Schopenhauerian formulas: namely, that I spoiled the magnificent Greek problem as it had dawned on me by mixing in the very latest concerns! That I attached hopes where there was nothing to hope for, where everything pointed all too clearly toward an end! That, on the basis of the latest German music, I began spinning fables about the “German essence,” as though it were on the point of discovering itself and finding itself again—and this at a time when the German spirit, which not long before had possessed the will to rule Europe, the strength to lead Europe, was just then abdicating, by last will and testament and for good, and, under the pompous pretext of founding an empire, making its transition to mediocrity, to democracy and “modern ideas”! In fact, in the meantime I have learned to think hopelessly and unsparingly enough about this “German essence,” and likewise about present-day German music, which is romanticism through and through and the most un-Greek of all possible art forms; moreover, a corrupter of the nerves of the first order, doubly dangerous among a people that loves drink and honors obscurity as a virtue—namely, in its double capacity as an intoxicating and at the same time befogging narcotic.—Apart, however, from all the rash hopes and mistaken applications to the most immediate present with which I spoiled my first book for myself at the time, the great Dionysian question mark as it is placed there remains standing, on and on, with regard to music as well: what would a music have to be like that was no longer romantic in origin—as German music is—but Dionysian?…
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.
Do you understand what task I was already daring to touch on with this book?… How much I now regret that I did not yet have the courage—or the immodesty?—to allow myself, in every respect, a language of my own for such personal views and ventures. Instead I struggled to express unfamiliar, new valuations in formulas taken from Schopenhauer and Kant, valuations fundamentally opposed to both their spirit and their taste! What did Schopenhauer think about tragedy? “What gives everything tragic its distinctive upward sweep,” he says in Welt als Wille und Vorstellung II, 495, “is the dawning recognition that the world, life, can give no true satisfaction, and is therefore not worth our attachment. That is the tragic spirit: it therefore leads toward resignation.” Oh, how differently Dionysus spoke to me! How far from me, precisely then, was this whole doctrine of resignation!—But there is something much worse about the book, something I now regret even more than having darkened and spoiled Dionysian intuitions with Schopenhauer’s formulas. I spoiled the whole magnificent Greek problem, as it had dawned on me, by mixing in the most modern concerns! I attached hopes where there was nothing to hope for, where everything pointed all too clearly to an end! On the basis of the latest German music, I began to spin tales about the “German character,” as if it were just about to discover and rediscover itself. And this at a time when the German spirit, which not long before had still possessed the will to rule Europe and the strength to lead it, was making its last and final abdication. Under the pompous pretext of founding an empire, it was moving toward mediocrity, democracy, and “modern ideas”! In fact, since then I have learned to think hopelessly and unsparingly enough about this “German character,” and likewise about present-day German music. This music is romantic through and through, the most un-Greek of all possible art forms. It is also a destroyer of nerves of the first rank. It is doubly dangerous among a people who love drinking and honor lack of clarity as a virtue, because it is a drug that both intoxicates and befogs.—Of course, apart from all the hasty hopes and mistaken applications to the most recent events with which I spoiled my first book, the great Dionysian question mark placed in it remains. This also applies to music: what would music have to be like if, instead of having a romantic origin like German music, it had a Dionysian origin?…
About this section
An Attempt at Self-Criticism, Section 6 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 6 of 33 in the work, which is kept in the European tradition.
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