An Attempt at Self-Criticism, Section 7
Original German
—Aber, mein Herr, was in aller Welt ist Romantik, wenn nicht Ihr Buch Romantik ist? Lässt sich der tiefe Hass gegen „Jetztzeit“, „Wirklichkeit“ und „moderne Ideen“ weiter treiben, als es in Ihrer Artisten-Metaphysik geschehen ist?—welche lieber noch an das Nichts, lieber noch an den Teufel, als an das „Jetzt“ glaubt? Brummt nicht ein Grundbass von Zorn und Vernichtungslust unter aller Ihrer contrapunktischen Stimmen-Kunst und Ohren-Verführerei hinweg, eine wüthende Entschlossenheit gegen Alles, was „jetzt“ ist, ein Wille, welcher nicht gar zu ferne vom praktischen Nihilismus ist und zu sagen scheint „lieber mag Nichts wahr sein, als dass ihr Recht hättet, als dass eure Wahrheit Recht behielte!“ Hören Sie selbst, mein Herr Pessimist und Kunstvergöttlicher, mit aufgeschlossnerem Ohre eine einzige ausgewählte Stelle Ihres Buches an, jene nicht unberedte Drachentödter-Stelle, welche für junge Ohren und Herzen verfänglich-rattenfängerisch klingen mag: wie? ist das nicht das ächte rechte Romantiker-Bekenntniss von 1830, unter der Maske des Pessimismus von 1850? hinter dem auch schon das übliche Romantiker-Finale präludirt,—Bruch, Zusammenbruch, Rückkehr und Niedersturz vor einem alten Glauben, vor dem alten Gotte… Wie? ist Ihr Pessimisten-Buch nicht selbst ein Stück Antigriechenthum und Romantik, selbst etwas „ebenso Berauschendes als Benebelndes“, ein Narkotikum jedenfalls, ein Stück Musik sogar, deutscher Musik? Aber man höre:
„Denken wir uns eine heranwachsende Generation mit dieser Unerschrockenheit des Blicks, mit diesem heroischen Zug in's Ungeheure, denken wir uns den kühnen Schritt dieser Drachentödter, die stolze Verwegenheit, mit der sie allen den Schwächlichkeitsdoktrinen des 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 zieh'n die einzigste Gestalt?“
„Sollte es nicht nöthig sein?“… Nein, drei Mal nein! ihr jungen Romantiker: es sollte nicht nöthig sein! Aber es ist sehr wahrscheinlich, dass es so endet, dass ihr so endet, nämlich „getröstet“, wie geschrieben steht, trotz aller Selbsterziehung zum Ernst und zum Schrecken, „metaphysisch getröstet“, kurz, wie Romantiker enden, christlich… Nein! Ihr solltet vorerst die Kunst des diesseitigen Trostes lernen,—ihr solltet lachen lernen, meine jungen Freunde, wenn anders ihr durchaus Pessimisten bleiben wollt; vielleicht dass ihr darauf hin, als Lachende, irgendwann einmal alle metaphysische Trösterei zum Teufel schickt—und die Metaphysik voran! Oder, um es in der Sprache jenes dionysischen Unholds zu sagen, der Zarathustra heisst:
„Erhebt eure Herzen, meine Brüder, hoch, höher! Und vergesst mir auch die Beine nicht! Erhebt auch eure Beine, ihr guten Tänzer, und besser noch: ihr steht auch auf dem Kopf!
„Diese Krone des Lachenden, diese Rosenkranz-Krone: ich selber setzte mir diese Krone auf, ich selber sprach heilig mein Gelächter. Keinen Anderen fand ich heute stark genug dazu.
„Zarathustra der Tänzer, Zarathustra der Leichte, der mit den Flügeln winkt, ein Flugbereiter, allen Vögeln zuwinkend, bereit und fertig, ein Selig-Leichtfertiger:—
„Zarathustra der Wahrsager, Zarathustra der Wahrlacher, kein Ungeduldiger, kein Unbedingter, Einer, der Sprünge und Seitensprünge liebt: ich selber setzte mir diese Krone auf!
„Diese Krone des Lachenden, diese Rosenkranz-Krone: euch, meinen Brüdern, werfe ich diese Krone zu! Das Lachen sprach ich heilig: ihr höheren Menschen, lernt mir—lachen!“
Also sprach Zarathustra, vierter Theil S. 87.
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.
—But, my dear sir, what in the world is romanticism if your book is not romanticism? Can the deep hatred of the “present day,” of “reality” and “modern ideas,” be carried any further than it has been in your artists’ metaphysics—which would sooner believe in nothingness, sooner even in the devil, than in the “now”? Does a ground bass of wrath and lust for destruction not rumble on beneath all your contrapuntal artistry of voices and seduction of the ear, a raging determination against everything that is “now,” a will not very far from practical nihilism, which seems to say, “Better that nothing should be true than that you should be right, than that your truth should prevail!” Listen for yourself, Mr. Pessimist and Deifier of Art, with a more open ear to a single chosen passage from your book, that not ineloquent dragon-slayer passage, which may sound dangerously like a pied piper to young ears and hearts: what? Is this not the genuine, authentic romantic’s confession of 1830 beneath the mask of the pessimism of 1850? And behind it the usual romantic finale is already sounding its prelude—break, breakdown, return, and prostration before an old faith, before the old God… What? Is your pessimist’s book not itself a piece of anti-Hellenism and romanticism, itself something “as intoxicating as it is befogging,” a narcotic at any rate, even a piece of music, of German music? But listen:
“Let us imagine a rising generation with this fearlessness of vision, this heroic urge 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 feeble doctrines of optimism in order to ‘live resolutely,’ wholly and fully: should it not be necessary that the tragic human being of this culture, in educating himself for seriousness and terror, should 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?”
“Should it not be necessary?”… No, three times no! You young romantics: it should not be necessary! But it is very likely to end that way, that you will end that way, namely “consoled,” as it is written, despite all your self-education for seriousness and terror, “metaphysically consoled,” in short, as romantics end, Christian… No! First you should learn the art of this-worldly consolation—you should learn to laugh, my young friends, if you are determined to remain pessimists; perhaps then, as laughing people, you will one day send all metaphysical consolation-mongering to the devil—and metaphysics first of all! Or, to say it in the language of that Dionysian monster called Zarathustra:
“Lift up your hearts, my brothers, high, higher! And do not forget your legs either! Lift up your legs too, you good dancers, and better yet: stand on your heads as well!
“This crown of the laughing one, this crown of rose garlands: I myself placed this crown upon my head, I myself pronounced my laughter holy. I found no one else strong enough for it today.
“Zarathustra the dancer, Zarathustra the light-footed, who beckons with his wings, poised for flight, beckoning to all birds, ready and prepared, a blissful lighthearted one:—
“Zarathustra the truth-sayer, Zarathustra the truth-laugher, no impatient man, no man of absolutes, one who loves leaps and sidesteps: I myself placed this crown upon my head!
“This crown of the laughing one, this crown of rose garlands: to you, my brothers, I throw this crown! I pronounced laughter holy: you higher human beings, learn—to laugh!”
Also sprach Zarathustra, vierter Theil S. 87.
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.
—But sir, what in the world is romanticism if your book is not romantic? Could a deep hatred of the “present age,” “reality,” and “modern ideas” be taken any further than in your artist’s metaphysics? It would sooner believe in nothingness, sooner believe in the devil, than in the “now”! Beneath all your contrapuntal art of voices and seduction of the ears, isn’t there a rumbling bass of anger and a desire to destroy? A furious determination against everything that exists “now,” a will not very far from practical nihilism, which seems to say: “Better that nothing should be true than that you should be right, than that your truth should win out!” Listen for yourself, Mr. Pessimist and Worshiper of Art, with a more open ear, to just one selected passage from your book. That eloquent passage about dragon-slayers may sound dangerously like the Pied Piper to young ears and hearts. What? Isn’t it the genuine romantic creed of 1830 under the mask of the pessimism of 1850? And behind it the usual romantic finale is already being sounded: a break, a collapse, a return, and a headlong fall before an old faith, before the old God… What? Isn’t your pessimistic book itself a piece of hostility to the Greeks and a piece of romanticism? Isn’t it itself something “as intoxicating as it is befogging,” a drug in any case, even a piece of music, of German music? But listen:
“Let us imagine a growing generation with this fearlessness of vision, this heroic drive 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 feeble doctrines of optimism, in order to ‘live resolutely,’ wholly and fully. Wouldn’t it be necessary for the tragic person of this culture, as he trains himself for seriousness and terror, to desire a new art, the art of metaphysical comfort, tragedy as the Helen who belongs to him, and to cry out with Faust:
“And shouldn’t I, with all the force of longing,Draw that one and only figure into life?”
“Wouldn’t it be necessary?”… No, three times no, you young romantics: it should not be necessary! But it is very likely that this is how it ends, how you end: “comforted,” as it is written, despite all your training for seriousness and terror, “metaphysically comforted.” In short, as romantics end, as Christians… No! First you should learn the art of comfort in this world. You should learn to laugh, my young friends, if you absolutely insist on remaining pessimists. Perhaps then, as people who laugh, you will one day send all metaphysical comforting to the devil—and metaphysics first of all! Or, to put it in the language of that Dionysian monster called Zarathustra:
“Lift up your hearts, my brothers, high, higher! And don’t forget your legs either! Lift up your legs too, you good dancers, and better still: stand on your heads as well!
“This crown of the laughing man, this crown of roses: I put this crown on myself, I myself pronounced my laughter holy. I found no one else strong enough for that today.
“Zarathustra the dancer, Zarathustra the light one, who waves his wings, ready to fly, waving to all the birds, ready and prepared, blissfully lighthearted:—
“Zarathustra the soothsayer, Zarathustra the truth-laugher, not impatient, not someone who insists on absolutes, someone who loves leaps and leaps to the side: I put this crown on myself!
“This crown of the laughing man, this crown of roses: to you, my brothers, I throw this crown! I pronounced laughter holy: you higher people, learn—to laugh!”
Also sprach Zarathustra, vierter Theil S. 87.
About this section
An Attempt at Self-Criticism, Section 7 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 7 of 33 in the work, which is kept in the European tradition.
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