The Other Nietzsche, by Joan Stambaugh

Every person is a philosopher by nature; however, we are quickly dissuaded from this delightful activity by those who call philosophy impractical. But there is nothing more practical than knowing who you are and what you think. Try it sometime.

Re: The Other Nietzsche, by Joan Stambaugh

Postby admin » Thu Jul 02, 2015 9:12 pm

CHAPTER EIGHT: Appearance: Nihilism or Affirmation

The concept of phenomenon in Nietzsche is filled with ambiguity and complexity. Some of this ambiguity and complexity stems from the fact that there is no counter-concept of noumenon or noumena. In The Birth of Tragedy Nietzsche still had a kind of metaphysical hangover from too much Schopenhauer and spoke of a thing-in- itself, the Primal Unity (das Ur-Eine). During this early period he also makes extensive use of the concept of appearance (Erscheinung), a term that pretty much disappears from his later writings. After The Birth of Tragedy Nietzsche polemicizes vigorously against anything smacking of a counterconcept to phenomenon, anything in itself. The often-cited passage from Twilight of the idols entitled "How the 'True World' Finally Became a Fable" gives perhaps the most incisive formulation for the death of the form of thing in itself known as the True World or Platonism, a formulation not without humor.

HOW THE "TRUE WORLD" FINALLY BECAME A FABLE: THE HISTORY OF AN ERROR

1. The true world -- attainable for the sage, the pious, the virtuous man; he lives in it, he is it. (The oldest form of the idea, relatively sensible, simple, and persuasive. A circumlocution for the sentence, "I, Plato, am the truth.")

2. The true world -- unattainable for now, but promised for the sage, the pious, the virtuous man ("for the sinner who repents"). (Progress of the idea: it becomes more subtle, insidious, incomprehensible -- it becomes female, it becomes Christian.)

3. The true world -- unattainable, indemonstrable, unpromisable; but the very thought of it -- a consolation, an obligation, an imperative. (At bottom, the old sun, but seen through mist and skepticism. The idea has become sublime, pale, Nordic, Konigsbergian.)

4. The true world -- unattainable? At any rate, unattained. And being unattained, also unknown. Consequently, not consoling, redeeming or obligating: how can something unknown obligate us? (Gray morning. The first yawn of reason. The cockcrow of positivism).

5. The 'true' world -- an idea which is no longer good for anything, not even obligating -- an idea which has become useless and superfluous -- consequently, a refuted idea: let us abolish it! (Bright day; breakfast; return of bon sens and cheerfulness; Plato's embarrassed blush; pandemonium of all free spirits.)

6. The true world -- we have abolished. What world has remained? The apparent one perhaps? But no! With the true world we have also abolished the apparent one. (Noon; moment of the briefest shadow; end of the longest error; high point of humanity; INCIPIT ZARATHUSTRA.) [1]


For Nietzsche there is no such thing as being, the Platonic Form, or the god of traditional philosophy and theology. Becoming and appearance, the two concepts most traditionally opposed to being, are what make up this world, the only world that exists. The fact that there is no such thing as being, but only becoming, precisely elevates appearance to a stature of paramount importance.

Nietzsche seldom uses the term Phanomene (phenomena), a perfectly good German word in the current philosophical terminology of his time. Aside from passages speaking about the Phanomenalismus (phenomenalism) and Phanomenalitat (phenomenality) of the inner world and an occasional statement about the world of phenomena and the reality of phenomena, the term occurs infrequently. Basically, then, we are dealing with two German terms: Erscheinung, which means appearance; and Schein, which means semblance. The whole problematic of the ambiguity of the term appearance is expressed in these two terms. An appearance can be something deceptive, masking the true state of affairs. For example, he appeared to be healthy, but in reality he was quite ill. Then again, appearance can indicate or can be something real, something that actually appeared and took place. For example, he appeared in the doorway.

Even though, or perhaps especially because, there is no noumenon or thing in itself for Nietzsche, the ambiguity inherent in the word appearance permeates all of his philosophy. Within the scope of this chapter, it is obviously not possible to treat this problem exhaustively; I shall confine myself to trying briefly to clarify what Nietzsche meant by appearance by simplifying the plethora of his remarks to two possible levels of meaning; levels, however, that are not completely separable. Linguistically, Nietzsche himself makes no clear-cut distinction between Erscheinung (appearance) and Schein (semblance); he uses them both predominantly in the sense of semblance or illusion, which, however, is all that exists. In the earlier writings Erscheinung predominates, because he still has the "thing in itself" (Ding an sich) in mind. Later on, the term Schein predominates almost exclusively.

Let us examine the first level of meaning: passages like the one cited where Nietzsche says that when the true world is untenable, the phrase apparent world loses its meaning. If there is no true world, there is no apparent world either; the distinction collapses. Many of these passages concentrate on unmasking the so-called inner world of consciousness as the most apparent or illusory of all; Nietzsche's critique of true and stable things in themselves by no means confines itself to the outer realm of empirical objects.

Let us now examine the second level of meaning: passages where art as semblance or illusion becomes the "true" reality. Sometimes art is conceived as overcoming an objective "truth" that is potentially nihilistic.

In Thus Spoke Zarathustra Nietzsche speaks of the three metamorphoses of the spirit. Taking these as our guide, we might say that Nietzsche left the camel, the stage of duty, behind very quickly. Therefore what we are dealing with in Nietzsche is the lion, the stage of destroying old values, and the child, the stage of creating something new. Keeping in mind our topic of phenomena, the question becomes to what extent Nietzsche remained a diagnostician of philosophy, religion, and culture, and to what extent he succeeded in offering a way out of the pessimism and nihilism that he diagnosed. The stage of the lion would correspond to Nietzsche's statements that there is no true world, no thing in itself. The stage of the child would correspond to the question of what is now to be done in this world unmasked and liberated from the false preconceptions we have insinuated into it.

Undoubtedly the preponderance of Nietzsche's genius lies in his unswerving, uncompromising diagnosis of Western philosophical, religious, and cultural values. In a rather global way this diagnosis extends to the Eastern religions of Hinduism and Buddhism as well.

Returning to "How the True World Finally Became a Fable," we can say that there is no permanent, readymade reality behind or above the flux of appearances. There is no "reality" already "there" waiting for us.

This is what Nietzsche calls nihilism, the "uncanny guest at the door."

What does nihilism mean? That the highest values devaluate themselves. The aim is lacking; "why?" finds no answer. Radical nihilism is the conviction of an absolute untenability of existence when it comes to the highest values one recognizes; plus the realization that we lack the least right to posit a beyond or even an in itself of things that might be "divine" or morality incarnate. [2]


Nietzsche traces the roots of nihilism back to the Christian-moral interpretation of the world. Christianity is "Platonism for the people." What is the significance of all this for the question of phenomena, of appearances? According to Nietzsche, the Platonistic-Christian view posited a transcendent "backworld" (Hinterwelt) that was eternal, perfect, and provided a standard by which to judge (or misjudge) "this" world. The transcendent backworld, the true world, which for Nietzsche never existed but was rather, the projection of dissatisfaction with this world of "wishful thinking" (Wunschbarkeiten), imposed all the "false" values upon this world, thus robbing this world of whatever value, autonomy, and power it originally possessed. Now Nietzsche proclaims that the true world no longer exists, that God has died. We are left with this world, devalued and stripped of all value and power. Thus Nietzsche wanted a transvaluation of all values (Umwertung alter Werte).

The world consists of nothing but appearances, but these appearances have been deprived of whatever value and creative power they might have once possessed. If the true world no longer exists, phenomena could regain new creative possibilities. But this cannot happen of itself. As things stand, all we have are devalued, impoverished, flattened-down phenomena. In short, we do not even have the phenomenal world as it "really" is, but rather a phenomenal world upon which we nave imposed the devaluating judgments of Platonism-Christianity. Strictly speaking, there is for Nietzsche no such thing as the phenomenal world as it "really" is, because that would imply more stability and permanence in the world than there actually is. But the phenomenal world, as we now perceive it, is a falsified world. "What is 'appearance' (Schein) for me now? Certainly not the opposite of some essence: what could I say about any essence except to name the attributes of its appearance! ... Appearance is for me that which lives and is effective." [3]

Excursion

If we turn briefly to Nietzsche's own favorite of all his books, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, we might consider an intriguing facet to the problematic of phenomenon, not phenomena. In the crucial section entitled "On Vision and Enigma," Zarathustra encounters a phenomenon, ein Gesicht, literally a face or countenance. This phenomena is not just a vision in the ordinary, weak sense of the word, but something actually seen, something countenanced. It shows itself in the most direct way possible in a momentous encounter. It is a kind of singulare tanturn, totally unique.

What is this phenomenon? It is a "poetic" phenomenon, a "poetic" presentation of Nietzsche's thought of eternal recurrence that transcends ordinary, everyday conceptions of space and time. Briefly stated, past and future meet in the general gateway of the present moment; all time and space come to presence in the eternal present moment. This is an utterly unique kind of phenomenon, one whose meaning is not immediately apparent. It requires thoughtful interpretation and sensitive response. But this countenance, too, is a phenomenon in an important and significant sense and should not be entirely left out in a discussion of phenomena in Nietzsche.

To gain any kind of clarity on the subject of phenomenon, one simply has to cut through some of Nietzsche's inconsistencies in terminology, relying more on the context of what he is saying, rather than on whether he is using the term semblance (Schein) or appearance (Erscheinung). The basic question here does not lie in a distinction between semblance and appearance simply because Nietzsche makes no such consistent distinction, as well he might and perhaps should have. The basic question is, How do we experience these phenomena, what are we to do with them? Do we despair over the fact that there is nothing but appearance and becoming, succumb to nihilism and resign ourselves to a passive acceptance of our fate? Or do we experience the lack of "being," even the lack of stable things, let alone values, in the world as a dimension of freedom, as a challenge to our creativity? In the first case, we are nihilists; in the second case, artists. "'Reason' is the cause of our falsification of the evidence of the senses. Insofar as the senses show becoming, passing away, change, they do not lie.... But Heraclitus will always be right in this, that being is an empty fiction. The 'apparent' world is the only one: the 'real' world has only been lyingly added ... " [4]

Nietzsche spent a great deal of time analyzing and diagnosing nihilism in its various forms, passive and active, European and Eastern. However, he gave us not only a diagnosis, but to some extent a prescription as well. That prescription is art, art so broadly conceived that it not only encompasses art works but, more important, the shaping of "reality" and phenomenon as well. Because with regard to truth Nietzsche oscillates between saying that there is no truth and saying that the truth is something terrible, truth simply ceases to be his major consistent concern. If there is to be such a thing as truth, we must form and shape reality and phenomena. In the terminology of Nietzsche's early work, The Birth of Tragedy, we must give Apollinian form to Dionysian chaos. Either way, what is crucial is art.

We possess art lest we perish of the truth. [5]

The belief that the world as it ought to be is, really exists, is a belief of the unproductive who do not desire to create a world as it ought to be. They posit it as unavailable, they seek ways and means of reaching it.

"Will to truth" -- as the impotence of the will to create. [6]


What happens to phenomena if they are not something that appears of themselves and are true? They become a kind of challenge and potentiality for creativity. They are not already there and accessible, but must first be shaped by us. For the person with the courage to accept this challenge who is not frightened by the fact that phenomena do not come "ready-made, "this offers the possibility of tremendous freedom.

Why not? It is nothing more than a moral prejudice that truth is worth more than semblance (Schein); it is, in fact, the worst proved supposition in the world. So much must be conceded: there could have been no life at all except on the basis of perspective estimates and semblances (Scheinbarkeiten); and if, with the virtuous enthusiasm and stupidity of many philosophers, one wished to do away altogether with the "seeming world" (die 'scheinbare Welt) -- well, granted that you could do that, -- at least nothing of your "truth" would thereby remain! [7]


The question of whether we are nihilists or artists becomes a question of power, this much misunderstood and rather dangerous concept so important to Nietzsche. After all, if, as Nietzsche asserts, life is the will to power and nothing else, then power becomes of extreme importance with regard to life and the affirmation of life. Power for Nietzsche has essentially nothing to do with political power or any sort of power over others.

In Nietzsche's radically dynamic view of the world, whatever does not increase in power automatically decreases. There is no possible stasis, no status quo. This is strangely reminiscent of, in many ways, a kindred spirit of Nietzsche's, a thinker whom he admired more than most: Spinoza. In a nonmoralistical way Spinoza calls good whatever increases our power of action. Nietzsche also relates power to the self, speaking not of power over something or someone external, but of power to do something, of being empowered. This highest power is power over oneself, or discipline. Surely discipline is essential to any kind of human enterprise, and absolutely so to the artist. "Overcoming of philosophers through the destruction of the world of being: intermediary period of nihilism: before there is yet present the strength to reverse values and to deify becoming and the apparent (scheinbare) world as the only world, and to call them good." [8]

According to Nietzsche, the philosophers looked at the world passively and objectively. They reified and substantialized the flux of becoming. In contrast, the artist is active; he does not contemplate objects, but creates new forms. In so doing, he transforms the world and himself.

In this condition [9] one enriches everything out of one's own abundance: what one sees, what one desires, one sees swollen, pressing, strong, overladen with energy. The man in this condition transforms things until they mirror his power -- until they are reflections of this perfection. This compulsion to transform into the perfect is -- art. Even all that which he is not becomes for him nonetheless part of his joy in himself; in art man takes delight in himself as perfection. [10]


Among other things, this passage emphasizes the inseparability and wholeness of man and all things, of man and world. When he is in an "artistic" condition, a condition of intoxication, man experiences the oneness of himself and the world; not passively in some sort of mystic absorption, but actively in transforming everything into reflections of his power and perfection.

What alone can our teaching be? That no one gives a human being his qualities: not God, not society, not his parents or ancestors, not he himself. ... No one is accountable for existing at all, or for being constituted as he is, or for living in the circumstances and surroundings in which he lives. The fatality of his nature cannot be disentangled from the fatality of all that which has been and will be .... One is necessary, one is a piece of fate, one belongs to the whole -- there is nothing which could judge, measure, compare, condemn the whole .... But nothing exists apart from the whole! [11]


According to Nietzsche, we can place the responsibility or blame for ourselves neither on heredity, nor on environment, nor on ourselves as isolatable individuals. Each person is a necessary ingredient of the whole, which cannot be judged or even compared with anything because there is no vantage point outside the whole from which to do so.

Although Nietzsche participated to some extent in the nineteenth-century cult of the artist, and particularly the genius, his keen perception was nevertheless not blinded by mindless admiration. His later vehement rejection of Wagner is ample evidence of this. Fundamentally, Nietzsche's concern is not with art alone, although the artist is the type of higher man who comes closest to approximating the overman, the kind of human being Nietzsche hoped would he able to take the place of the old god. Nietzsche's crucial concern lies in the question of affirmation, of affirmation of life. His whole philosophical life was spent doing battle with his early mentor, Schopenhauer and, in a different way, Wagner. Nietzsche finally came up with a kind of "answer" to Schopenhauer's pessimism and doctrine of the denial of the will to live. What is ultimately at stake is our "attitude" toward life. Attitude is not intended here in a merely psychological sense, but more in the sense of a stance toward life, the posture with which we encounter it. Therefore the question here is neither merely psychological nor physical, but involves the whole being of the human being,

What is romanticism? -- In regard to all aesthetic values, I now employ this fundamental distinction: I ask in each individual case "has hunger or superabundance become creative here?" At first sight, another distinction might seem more plausible -- it is far more obvious -- namely the distinction whether the desire for rigidity, eternity, "'being" has been the cause of creation, or rather the desire for destruction, for change, for becoming. But both kinds of desire prove, when examined more closely, to be ambiguous and interpretable according to the scheme mentioned above, which, I think, is to be preferred.

The desire for destruction, change, becoming can be the expression of an overfull power pregnant with the future (my term for this, as is known, is the word "'Dionysian"); but it can also be the hatred of the ill-constituted, disinherited, underprivileged, which destroys, has to destroy, because what exists, indeed existence itself, all being itself enrages and provokes it.

"Eternalization," on the other hand, can proceed from gratitude and love -- an art of this origin will always be an art of apotheosis, dithyrambic perhaps with Rubens, blissful with Hafiz, bright and gracious with Goethe, and shedding a Homeric aureole over all things -- but it can also be that tyrannic will of a great sufferer who would like to forge what is most personal, individual, and narrow -- most idiosyncratic -- in his suffering, into a binding law and compulsion, taking revenge on all things, as it were, by impressing, forcing and branding into them his image, the image of his torture. The latter is romantic pessimism in its most expressive form, whether as Schopenhauerian philosophy of will or as Wagnerian music. [12]


The distinction hunger-superabundance undercuts even what has been taken as the most basic philosophical distinction: being-becoming. Nietzsche is not talking about the world apart from the human being nor, for that matter, about the human being apart from the world, but about the whole.

What matters is the motive in the root sense of what moves us. The desire for destruction and change can be Dionysian; destruction is essential to the creation of anything new. Dionysus must die in order to be reborn. Then again, the desire for destruction can stem from a smouldering rage and resentment against life itself. A man miserable and unhappy with his life would like to destroy all life. If he cannot be happy, then no one else should be able to be happy either. This is perilously close to Schopenhauer's much yearned-for denial of the will to live. Life is at bottom something despicable, full of suffering and frustration. The term frustration stems from the Latin frustra, which means "in vain." Phrases such as "all is in vain, nothing is worthwhile, all is the same" recur in slightly different formulations throughout Nietzsche's writings. They embody the threatening danger of nihilism that he was confronting. If this is the way things are, nothing we can possibly do has any meaning or makes any difference. Under these circumstances this would indeed be "the worst of all possible worlds." [13]

Similarly, the desire to eternalize, perpetuate, or preserve something can stem from the love of beauty, this term, once so absolutely central, that is fast disappearing from our meaningful vocabulary. In the Phaedo Plato stated that "through the Beautiful the beautiful is beautiful." Today's logicians might well dismiss this statement as an example of tautology. And Keats still was able to say, "beauty is truth, truth beauty, -- that is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know." But beauty has become increasingly difficult to find or to speak about. Certainly contemporary art seldom has anything to do with beauty. Guernica is not beautiful; Beckett's plays are not beautiful.

However, the desire to eternalize can also stem from an individual's profound suffering from himself, from the need to immortalize his very suffering by forcing the image of his torture on everything. As was the case in the negative instance of the desire for destruction, the motive here is again revenge, this most terrible of all emotions that Nietzsche uncovered and laid bare. Revenge does not simply entail one person attempting to get back at another; rather, the most profound dimension of revenge is that described in Thus Spoke Zarathustra, the revenge against time and time's "it was," revenge against finitude itself.

In some sense, the whole distinction of passivity-activity needs to be rethought. Nietzsche utterly rejects passivity as a kind of nihilistic resignation and exhaustion of the will. The opposite of this is certainly some kind of "activity." There is a profound ambivalence in Nietzsche as to what kind of activity is at stake here. With his insistent emphasis on the will, a strong element of "voluntarism" in his thought is undeniable. And yet Nietzsche's emphasis on art and creativity offers another dimension to the question of activity. Artistic creativity does involve discipline, but it is by no means a matter of will alone. Rather it is a kind of activity that springs from a response to the real. Thus it transcends the passive-active dichotomy conceived as resignation-voluntarism and enters another dimension. A response is nothing passive or reactive; on the contrary, it is a spontaneous activity that we do not and absolutely cannot force. Sponte means "of itself. " Not artificially produced, willed or forced by us, something simply happens. If one were unable to respond to another person or to a piece of music or a poem or to a beautiful landscape, life would be impoverished indeed. Only from the dimension of spontaneous response is much of Thus Spoke Zarathustra accessible. It is not a matter of chance that Keiji Nishitani, undeniably one of Japan's greatest thinkers, considered it "scripture."

What is the significance of this for phenomena? What is the relation of affirmation or negation for phenomena? Ultimately, for Nietzsche phenomena are not what appears, but what is formed and created. What is formed and created depends upon our active or passive relation to the world. The quality of this relation is the crux of the whole question of the meaning or meaninglessness of life.

Art and nothing but art! It is the great means of making life possible, the great seduction to life, the great stimulant of life....

One will see that in this book [14] pessimism, or to speak more clearly, nihilism, counts as "truth." But truth does not count as the supreme value, even less as the supreme power. The will to appearance (Schein), to illusion, to deception, to becoming, and change (to objectified deception) here counts as more profound, primeval, "metaphysical" than the will to truth, to reality, to mere appearance (Schein) .... In this way, this book is even antipessimistic: that is, in the sense that it teaches something that is stronger than pessimism, "more divine" than truth: art.

. . . Perhaps he has experience of nothing else! -- that art is worth more than truth ....

"Art as the real task of life, art as life's metaphysical activity --" [15]
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Re: The Other Nietzsche, by Joan Stambaugh

Postby admin » Thu Jul 02, 2015 9:13 pm

CHAPTER NINE: The Other Nietzsche

Everyone seems to have his or her own Nietzsche. There are various versions of Nietzsche belonging to literary criticism and also to musicologists. There is the Nietzsche distortion perpetrated by the Nazis. There was a lot of pre-Kaufmann nonsense about the Nietzsche who was mad from the outset and produced nothing but the ravings of a madman. More recently and more philosophically, the two main continental interpretations have been expressed by the French, neo-Freudian, and Derridian line, and the German, Heideggerian line that sees in Nietzsche the completion of the history of metaphysics. These two interpretations are valid in varying degrees. What I should like to explore a bit in this chapter is a Nietzsche relatively untouched by all of these interpretations. It is not the whole of Nietzsche by any means; but it is there. I shall call the other Nietzsche: Nietzsche the poetic mystic.

A word about the terms poetic and mystic is appropriate here. Justifying the exclusion of poetry from a well-ordered state, Plato says that there was an ancient quarrel between poetry and philosophy. Poetry and the arts in general appealed to and strengthened the irrational side of man, nourishing the feelings and impairing the reason. Well, it seems that philosophy has pretty much won that quarrel. Few philosophers turn to poetry to find "truth." And yet Plato himself was a poet, as was Nietzsche. There have always been a few thinkers willing and able to listen to the inspiration of the poets. Surely there is a great deal of truth and insight into human nature in, for example, the works of Shakespeare. So much for the term poetic.

The word mystic has fared even worse. Not only are we dealing with a harmless bard enchanted with beauty as was the case with the poet; we are now faced with someone utterly devoid of reason and sense and who, to compound the chaos, is unable to state anything coherently about what he has supposedly experienced. To quote William James, "The words 'mysticism' and 'mystical' are often used as terms of mere reproach, to throw at any opinion which we regard as vague and vast and sentimental, and without a base in either facts or logic." [1] But as Paul Tillich pointed out, mysticism and mystery are derived from the Greek verb muein, which means "closing the eyes" or "closing the mouth." This means that a mystical experience is an experience that transcends the subject-object structure of seeing and that therefore cannot be adequately expressed in ordinary language belonging to that structure.

A propos of Tillich and the term mystic, the theologian Langdon Gilkey once related an amusing anecdote. Tillich, who liked to call himself a nature mystic, was visiting at a conference. Wishing to please him with lots of nature, his hosts drove him to a large, beautiful garden. Much to everyone's sup rise, Tillich, refusing to get out of the car, inquired anxiously: "Are there any serpents in this garden?"

But enough of this general discussion. The label poetic mystic, like all labels, is not even important. I just wanted to give some indication of the direction in which I am going and also to establish a tie to the East, which, after all, has never made such a clear-cut distinction between philosophy and poetry and which abounds with so-called mysticism.

For my texts I shall restrict myself to four sections of Thus Spoke Zarathustra. The first is entitled "Before Sunrise." The Prologue to Thus Spoke Zarathustra began with Zarathustra rising at dawn and addressing the sun. Because in the course of the text he also addresses the moon and stars, we might call him a kind of cosmic figure. In "Before Sunrise," he speaks to the heaven. Here he is speaking not to something in the heaven such as the sun, moon, or stars, but to the heaven itself which he calls an abyss of light.

This section is replete with paradoxes, contradictions, with coincidentia oppositorum. To begin with, the heaven is addressed as an abyss of light. Abysses are not customarily above one, as is the heaven, nor are they full of light. Abysses are traditionally beneath one, and they are dark. An abyss of light is an extraordinary phenomenon indeed.

Zarathustra compared the heaven with gods and the godlike by saying, "Gods are shrouded by their beauty; thus you conceal your stars." Furthermore, he describes the heaven as "a dance floor for divine accidents, ... a divine table for divine dice and dice players." And when Zarathustra sees the heaven, he trembles with godlike desires. This not only puts the heaven out of the domain of the ordinary and the naturalistic, but also Zarathustra himself. When the heaven, the abyss of light is about him, he is transformed into a figure of affirmation; in a sense difficult to articulate, he himself becomes a kind of heaven, protecting and blessing things.

But I am one who can bless and say Yes, if only you are about me, pure and light, you abyss of light; then I carry the blessing of my Yes into all abysses. I have become one who blesses and says Yes; and I fought long for that and was a fighter that I might one day get my hands free to bless. But this is my blessing: to stand over every single thing as its own heaven, as its round roof, its azure bell, and eternal security; and blessed is he who blesses thus.

For all things have been baptized in the well of eternity. [2]


The azure bell is an important image that recurs frequently in Thus Spoke Zarathustra as we shall see. To mention a few more of the coincidence of opposites, Zarathustra longs to throw himself into the heaven's height, that is his depth. To hide in the heaven's purity, that is his innocence. Ordinarily, innocence does not need to hide at all, let alone in the heaven's purity. What Zarathustra wants with all his will is "to fly, to fly up into you."

The rest of this section is concerned with getting beyond good and evil, compulsion, goals, and guilt. The purity of the heaven consists in the fact that things are freed from their bondage under purpose and reason.

Over all things stands the heaven Accident, the heaven Innocence, the heaven Chance, the heaven high spirits (Ubermut) ....

This freedom and heavenly cheer I have placed over all things like an azure bell when I taught that over them and through them no 'eternal will' wills. [3]


These are ideas that occur consistently throughout all of Nietzsche's writings. What is distinctive about this section is the strange kinship, affinity, and would-be identity between Zarathustra and the abyss of light, the heaven. Both are described as the azure bell standing over all things.

II

The next section with which I am concerned is the one entitled "On the Great Longing." It follows immediately upon the crucially important section entitled "The Convalescent," where Zarathustra finally conjures up his most abysmal thought of eternal recurrence and, overcome with unexpected nausea, collapses and stays unconscious for seven days. His animals try to interpret for him what has happened to him and who he is. But Zarathustra does not really listen to them and we are told that he was lying still with his eyes closed, "like one sleeping, although he was not asleep; for he was conversing with his soul."

We learn that after the confrontation with his most absymal thought his soul has in a way become all things, but in a way that goes beyond Aristotle's similar sounding statement. His soul is beyond all disparateness of time and space, beyond all clouds (good and evil), and sin.

O my soul, I taught you to say "today" and "one day" and "formerly" and to dance away over all Here and There and Yonder ....

With the storm that is called "spirit" I blew over your wavy sea; I blew all clouds away; I even strangled the strangler that is called" sin." ...

O my soul, now there is not a soul anywhere that would be more loving and comprehensive and encompassing. Where could future and past dwell closer together than in you? [4]


This soul, which is nothing "eternal" and unchangeable, Zarathustra has shaped and set free from old values, and he is now ready to baptize it with new names.

O my soul, I took from you all obeying, knee-bending, and "Lord"-saying; I myself gave you the name "turning of need" and "destiny."

O my soul, I gave you new names and colorful toys; I called you "destiny" and "circumference of circumferences" and "umbilical cord of time" and "azure bell." [5]


We have basically four new names for Zarathustra's soul. The azure bell, which in the section previously discussed characterized the heaven, now names Zarathustra's soul and explicitly indicates the close affinity, if not identity, between his soul and the heaven.

The circumference of circumferences has the same imagery as in the previous quote from this section, comprehensive and encompassing. The soul reaches out and around to embrace all things, not just symbolically, but quite "literally."

The umbilical cord of time is a new image characterizing time thus transmuted (future and past dwelling closest together in Zarathustra's soul) as a nourishing link to the source of life. Instead of being a principle of impermanence and finitude, this transformed time gathers all things together at the source.

Finally, Zarathustra's soul is called destiny and turning of need. Destiny is a key concept in Nietzsche's thinking that gets its fullest expression in the recurrent phrase amor fati, love of fate, which intentionally echoes Spinoza's amor dei, love of God. Turning of need (Wende der Not), which Kaufmann mistranslates as cessation of need, is a play on the word for necessity (Notwendigkeit) that distances necessity from any kind of determinism and freshly reinterprets it as turning a need (Not) around to work for you. It is a conception of fate, destiny, and necessity not as something outside or above us to which we are subject, but as something within us, as our innermost being.

III

The third section to be discussed is entitled "At Noon." In general, the seasons of the year and also the times of the day or night play an important role for Nietzsche. In the section entitled "On Involuntary Bliss," Zarathustra speaks repeatedly of the "afternoon of his life," the hour when all light grows quieter. The section "Before Sunrise" has already been discussed. And an entire book is named by the time of day: Dawn of Day or Daybreak. Probably the two most important times for Nietzsche are noon and midnight. Midnight will be discussed in the last section of Thus Spoke Zarathustra to be considered here.

Nietzsche's Nachlass is replete with sketches and plans for future works. Many of these sketches have the recurring phrase cc noon and eternity." There is a sense in which noon is not really a time of day at all, but rather out of time, timelessness, eternity. Timelessness is precisely what Zarathustra experiences in the section "At Noon.» He decides to lie down beside an old crooked and knotty tree that was embraced by a grapevine from which hung yellow grapes in abundance. The colors yellow and especially gold are linked with eternity; the grapes remind us of Dionysos. Zarathustra falls asleep, but when he speaks to his heart we are told that sleep left his eyes open, and his soul awake. Apart from Zarathustra's description of his state, we know that it was one in which no time elapsed because when he got up again the sun still stood straight over his head, at exactly the place where it was when he lay down. With characteristic levity, Nietzsche defuses the pathos of this experience of timelessness by quipping: "But from this one might justly conclude that Zarathustra had not slept long." The fact that Zarathustra gets up from his resting place at the tree as from a strange drunkenness again evokes the Dionysian. The German word for "strange" here, fremd, indicates that Zarathustra has been in a state completely foreign and other to his normal way of experiencing.

Zarathustra begins speaking to his heart during this state by saying:

Still! Still! Did not the world become perfect just now? What is happening to me? ... O happiness! O happiness! Would you sing, O my soul? You are lying in the grass. But this is the secret solemn hour when no shepherd plays his pipe. Refrain! Hot noon sleeps in the meadows. Do not sing! Still! the world is perfect. [6]


Many of the sections of Thus Spoke Zarathustra end with the phrase: Thus spoke Zarathustra. The three song sections, "The Night Song," "The Dancing Song," and "The Tomb Song" end with the phrase: Thus sang Zarathustra. For Nietzsche, singing is a higher expression than speaking; music is more profound than words. But in the passage just quoted, the experince goes even beyond singing. His soul wants to sing, but Zarathustra restrains it. The world has become perfect. The only appropriate response to this "perfection" is utter stillness. Nietzsche's use of the word perfection echoes that of an earlier thinker with whom he felt considerable affinity: Spinoza. The important thing to note here is that by perfection neither Spinoza nor Nietzsche understand an ideal type or model. We are accustomed to think, for example, of a perfect human body as an ideal type that we then use as a criterion to judge actual, individual bodies. Spinoza explicitly argues against this usage, stating that it boils down to making perfection and imperfection "really only modes of thought, that is to say, notions which we are in the habit of forming from the comparison with one another of individuals of the same species or genus." [7] Quite to the contrary, for Spinoza, as for Nietzsche, "By reality and perfection I understand the same thing. " [8]

I do not wish to pursue this issue further, because that would entail a discussion of Spinoza's adamant rejection of teleology, a stance, moreover, that he also shares with Nietzsche. Suffice it to say that when Nietzsche says the world has become perfect, he means it has become totally real. What does that mean? We must try to interpret the rest of this section to see if some clarity can be gained as to what Nietzsche meant when he said the world had become perfect; that is, completely real.

What happened to me? Listen! Did time perhaps fly away? Do I not fall? Did I not fall -- listen! -- into the well of eternity? What is happening to me? Still! I have been stung, alas -- in the heart? In the heart! Oh break, break, heart, after such happiness, after such a sting. How? Did not the world become perfect just now? ... Leave me alone! Still! Did not the world become perfect just now? [9]


Zarathustra has fallen out of time into the well of eternity. When he says, Do I not fall? Did I not fall? he has left behind the distinction of past and present. Whereas previously he had wanted to fly up into the abyss of light (the heaven), now he falls into the well of eternity. Both flying and falling entail a shift of dimension, an abrupt transition to another level or realm. The abruptness is expressed in Zarathustra's words: I have been stung in the heart! A sudden sting may be linked with the image of the lightning flash (Blitz) which occurs repeatedly in Thus Spoke Zarathustra and in the Nachlass sketches and plans for future works. A sudden sting or lightning flash stings or strikes him all at once, vehemently transforming the person struck. The image of the lightning flash is also to be found in Meister Eckhart.

If this birth [of the son in me] has really happened, then all creatures cannot hinder you; rather they all direct you to God and to this birth, for which we have an image in the lightning flash: whatever the lightning flash hits when it strikes, be it a tree or an animal or a human being, it turns around toward itself on the spot; and if a man had turned his back, in the same instant it would hurl him around to face it. [10]


Zarathustra tries to get up, falls asleep again, and finally succeeds in waking up. At the conclusion of this whole experience he again speaks to his soul.

"Who are you? O my soul!" (At this point he was startled, for a sunbeam fell from the sky onto his face.) "O heaven over me" he said, sighing, and sat up. "You are looking on? You are listening to my strange soul? When will you drink this drop of dew which has fallen upon all earthly things? When will you drink this strange soul? When, well of eternity? Cheerful, dreadful abyss of noon! When will you drink my soul back into yourself?" [11]


Here Zarathustra is forced to ask who his soul is, even though in previous sections he has had extensive conversations with it. His soul seems to be utterly unfathomable. Again, we find kindred sentiments in Meister Eckhart.

A master who spoke of the soul best of all says that the whole of human knowledge never penetrates to know what the soul is in its ground. (To comprehend) what the soul is requires supernatural knowledge. After all, we know nothing about how the energies go out from the soul into works; perhaps we know a little about it, but that is little. No one knows anything about what the soul is in its ground. [12]


What we assume we know and are is totally unknown. Zarathustra is abruptly startled as a sunbeam falls from the heaven onto his face. He has quite literally been touched by the heaven whom he now addresses. The heaven is the well of eternity, the abyss of noon (the abyss of light). In a situation like this Nietzsche's philosophy of the will and the Will to Power simply has no place. The will, which is the great liberator from bondage and all obstacles, can do nothing here. It is not so much the case that the will is unable to do anything; rather there is nothing for it to do. To give a feeble analogy that echoes the Zarathustra section (and, strictly speaking, there are no analogies to this kind of situation; it is always unique), when there is a beautiful sunrise, "willing" is inappropriate. There is nothing to will. One can perhaps only hope to be allowed to participate in it, to be a part of it. This has nothing to do with Schopenhauer's will-less contemplation. It is more a matter of learning all things.

To learn the Buddha Way is to learn one's self. To learn one's self is to forget one's self. To forget one's self is to be confirmed by all dharmas [all things]. To be confirmed by all dharmas is to effect the casting off of one's own body and mind and the bodies and minds of others as well. All traces of enlightenment (then) disappear, and this traceless enlightenment is continued on and on endlessly. [13]


IV

The last section to be discussed is "The Drunken Song." It is now midnight, presumably the dead opposite of noon. Midnight is more mysterious than noon; above all, it is more explicitly Dionysian. This Dionysian quality makes it impossible to simply say that noon and midnight are opposites. Otherwise one would have to try to assert that noon was Apollonian in character, going back to Nietzsche's initial primordial vision that informed and inspired all of his later works in varying degrees. Noon and midnight are neither opposites, nor are they identical. Perhaps one could venture to say that they form a coincidentia oppositorum, a coincidence of opposites, a falling together of opposites, which is the literal and pregnant meaning of the word coincidence.

At the beginning of the episode we are told that "Zarathustra stood there like a drunkard." This whole experience that now begins is one of hearing and smell. The customary, overwhelmingly prevalent mode of experiencing, that of seeing, is conspicuously absent. Nothing is seen. The dualistic subject-object structure of experiencing involved in seeing falls away. No object is involved in the experience of hearing. We hear sounds, not objects. We smell odors, not objects.

Zarathustra seems to be hearing something. Everything becomes quiet and secret around him. The German word for secret, heimlich, literally means homelike, further strengthening and intensifying the nondualistic quality of what is to come. "Then it grew still more quiet and secret, and everything listened, even the ass and Zarathustra's animals of honor, the eagle and the serpent, as well as Zarathustra's cave and the big cool moon and the night itself." [14]

Everything is listening, even the moon and the night itself. What do they hear? From the depth comes the sound of a bell, the midnight bell "which has experienced more than any man." Now we are not only out of the dualistic subject-object structure of experiencing; we are also outside of all anthropomorphic preconceptions. The midnight bell goes beyond ordinary human experience.

The paragraphs that follow are each punctuated by a line of the song that had already appeared in Part Three at the end of the section entitled "The Other Dancing Song," and it appears again at the end of this section in its entirety, bearing the name "once more" and "into all eternity."

O man, take care!
What does the deep midnight declare?
From a deep dream I woke:
The world is deep,
Deeper than any had thought,
Deep is its pain --
Joy -- deeper yet than the heart's suffering:
Pain speaks: Pass away!
But all joy wants eternity --
Wants deep, deep eternity! [15]


Now there begins, what, for lack of more specific and concrete terms, one might call a Dionysian experience of eternity. "Where is time gone? Have I not sunk into deep wells? The world sleeps. Alas! Alas! The dog howls, the moon shines. Sooner would I die, die rather than tell you what my midnight heart thinks now. Now I have died. It is gone. Spider, what do you spin around me?" [16]

Zarathustra has sunk into the deep wells of eternity. The use of wells as plural may indicate that well is some kind of metaphor not to be taken too literally and not to be "localized" and objectified. The howling dog, the shining moon, and the spider all occurred together in Part Three in the crucial section entitled "On the Vision and the Enigma." Perhaps in this section the enigma is trying to become pure vision, to the extent that this is at all possible.

A turning point is indicated with the lines: "Now I have died. It is gone." What is gone and in what sense has Zarathustra died? We learn what is gone further on in the section. "Gone! Gone! O youth! O noon! O afternoon! Now evening has come and night and midnight." In what sense has Zarathustra died? What has died is his extreme, almost inexplicable hesitation to experience midnight.

Zarathustra hears the sounds of the midnight old bell and sweet lyre. Now the sense of smell comes upon the scene, "a smell is secretly welling up, a fragrance and smell of eternity." The sense of smell is perhaps the most intimate sense. I must breathe in the odor, it has to become a part of me. The sense of smell seems to be somehow suited to transpose us directly out of ordinary time. Proust pointed out the fact that a certain odor can immediately and most vividly bring the past back to us, not as a "memory," but as a direct experience. Here Zarathustra is transposed, not into the past, but into eternity itself.

Zarathustra asks the higher men, who do not seem able to understand much of what is going on, who he is. "Am I soothsayer, a dreamer, a drunkard? An interpreter of dreams? A midnight bell? A drop of dew? A haze and fragrance of eternity? Do you not hear it? Do you not smell it? Just now my world became perfect; midnight too is noon." [17]

How can Zarathustra now say that midnight too is noon? This is the last question to be touched upon in this chapter. Again, one could be tempted to hear in the opposition of noon to midnight echoes of Nietzsche's fundamental vision of Apollo and Dionysus. Noon is the time of the brightest day, consciousness, and individuality. There are no shadows; everything is separate and distinct. Midnight is the time of primordial oneness and unity; nothing is separate and distinct. But this will not work. The experience of noon is not an Apollonian experience; it, too, is Dionysian. At noon the world also became perfect. The abyss of noon was also the well of eternity. The section "At Noon" concluded with Zarathustra asking when the abyss of noon, the well of eternity, would drink his soul back into itself.

Noon and midnight are opposites. Now we are told that they are the same. But this "sameness" is not just a dead, flat, static identity. Opposites coincide (coincidentia oppositorum). Midnight too is noon. Both are experiences of the well of eternity. But in the noon experience Zarathustra retains something of his own separate individuality and identity, something egolike. The experience is somewhat incomplete in that it is at the same time an anticipation, a taste of what is to come. Zarathustra asks when the well of eternity will drink his soul back into itself. In the midnight experience Zarathustra becomes, in the present moment, "a drunken sweet lyre, an ominous bell-frog that nobody understands but that must speak, before the deaf." Out of this experience he then speaks of woe that wants heirs and joy, which is deeper than woe, that wants itself. In other words, speaking out of the present experience of eternity, he tries to interpret eternity, to say what it means and what follows from it. We learn that joy wants every thing, woe included, back. This is Zarathustra's, and Nietzsche's, statement of the ultimate affirmation of life.

Apart from the reference to Dogen, this chapter has not made an explicit comparison of Nietzsche with Eastern thought. It has attempted to select some strains of Nietzsche's thought that are most consonant with an Eastern temper of experience and to let the reader reach his own conclusions about parallels and affinities. The fact that Nietzsche's own understanding of Eastern thought was pretty well mutilated by the influence of Schopenhauer does not facilitate seeing or understanding these affinities. In particular, Buddhism gets lumped together with Christianity and both pronounced "religions of exhaustion.» Temperamentally, Nietzsche was perhaps closest to Lao Tzu and Chuang Tzu with his rejection of metaphysical backworlds and his understanding of the world as play.
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Re: The Other Nietzsche, by Joan Stambaugh

Postby admin » Thu Jul 02, 2015 9:14 pm

Notes

Chapter One: Nietzsche Today


1. The Will to Power, trans. Walter Kaufmann (New York: Random House, 196), or. 820-821.

2. Ecce Homo, trans. Clifton Fadiman, in The Philosopohy of Nietzsche (New York: Random House, 1954), p. 913.

Chapter Three: Life Without Music

1. Das Leben ohne Musik ist ein Irrtum, eine Strapaze, ein Exil.

2. Critique of Judgement, trans. J. H. Bernard, p. 53.

3. The Philosophy of Fine Art in Philosophies of Art and Beauty, eds. Hofstadter and Kuhns (New York, 1964), p. 398.

4. Ecce Homo, "The Birth of Tragedy."

5. Human All Too Human, II, 134.

6. Nietzsche busied himself early (1870-1871) with the question of rhythm when he distinguished Greek from modern rhythm. He characterized Greek rhythm as time rhythm, as quantitative with no ictus. Modern rhythm he described as affect rhythm based upon accent.

7. The Case of Wagner, trans. Walter Kaufmann (New York, 1967), p. 172. The German word for actor (Schauspieler) expresses more forcefully the visual component in acting.

8. Ibid., p. 177.

9. See The Will to Power, nr. 849.

10. Ibid., nr. 843.

11. Ibid., or. 845.

12. Ibid., or. 846.

13. The Case of Wagner, nr. 948. Cf "The sensibility of romantic-Wagnerian music: antithesis of classical sensibility."

14. Ibid., or. 803.

15. Ibid., or. 842.

16. The Philosophy of Fine Art, Hegel, p. 392.

17. Ibid., or. 795.

18. Werke XII, 214 (1883).

Chapter Four: Thoughts on Pity and Revenge

1. Stambaugh, Nietzsche's Thought of Eternal Return (Lanham, Md.: University Press of America, 1988); also The Problem of Time in Nietzsche, trans. John F. Humphrey (Lewisburg, Pa.: Bucknell University Press, 1987).

Chapter Five: Thoughts on a Nachlass Fragment

1. Kritische Gesamtausgabe V 2, p. 403.

2. Kritische Gesamtausgabe V 2, p. 402.

3. Spinoza, Ethics, III, Definition II.

4. Blake, Auguries of Innocence.

5. With the exception of wonder, which has no connection with anything else (Spinoza, Ethics, III, Definition IV).

6. Kroner Ausgabe II, p. 453 (author's translation).

7. Walter Kaufmann, The Portable Nietzsche (Twilight of the Idols), p. 485.

8. Nachlass, The Will to Power (1887-1888), trans. Walter Kaufmann, p. 1035.

9. Ibid. (1887), p. 712.

10. Ibid. (1887), p. 1037.

11. Ibid. (1887), p. 639.

12. Beyond Good and Evil, trans. H. Zimmern (New York: Modern Library, 1954), p. 150.

13. See, for example, Zarathustha III, Before Sunrise.

Chapter Six: Amor dei and Amor fati: Spinoza and Nietzsche

1. Baruch Spinoza, Ethics, I, prop. XVII.

2. Ibid., prop. XXXIV.

3. Ibid., III, prop. XIII.

4. Ibid., def. II

5. The last line of Sophocles' Oedipus at Colonus, usually rendered "For all this is determined," could also be read, "For all this is perfected. "

6. Ethics, II, def. 6, IV, Preface.

7. Ibid., I, prop. XXXIV.

8. Ibid., V, prop. XXXII, corollary (trans. William Hale White, rev. Amelia Hutchinson Sterling, 4th ed., rev. and corr. [London: H. Frouder, 1910).

9. Ibid., prop. XXXVI.

10. See Nietzsche contra Wagner, Epilogue; Ecce Homo, "Why I Write Such Good Books"; The Case of Wagner, sec. 4.

11. S, sec. 61 (author's translation).

12. Ecce Homo, "Why I Am So Wise," trans. Fadiman, sec. 6.

13. The Will to Power, trans. Kaufmann, sec. 243.

14. Ibid., sec. 1041.

15. Zarathustra, II, "On Redemption," trans. Kaufmann.

16. Ecce Homo, "Why I Am So Clever," author's translation, sec. 10.

17. Zarathustra, III, "On the Great Longing," trans. Kaufmann. 18. Ibid., "Before Sunrise," trans. Kaufmann.

19. Ibid.

20. Zarathustra, IV, "At Noon," trans. Kaufmann.

21. Ibid.

22. Ethics, V, prop. XXXVI.

23. The Will to Power, trans. Kaufmann, sec. 55.

24. GOA, XIII, p. 63.

25. GOA, XIV, p. 99.

Chapter Seven: The Innocence of Becoming

1. Kritische Gesamtausgabe, VII, 3, 385.

2. Zarathustra, IV, "Retired" (Ausser Dienst), in The Portable Nietzsche.

3. Zarathustra, IV, "The Ugliest Man" (Der hdsslichste Mensch), trans. Walter Kaufmann.

4. Zarathustra, III, "Before Sunrise" (Vor Sonnen-Aufgang).

5. Ibid.

6. Ibid.

7. Cf. Kritische Gesamtausgabe, VIII, 2, 281 (author's translation).

8. The Use and Disadvantage of History for Life, I, (HL 1), trans. Peter Preuss (Indianapolis, In.: Hackett, 1980).

9. Ibid.

10. Ibid.

11. Ibid.

12. Untimely Meditations, III, 5 (Unzeitgemdsse Betrachtungen III 5), trans. Peter Preuss.

13. Zarathustra, I, "The Three Metamorphoses" (Von den drei Verwandlungen), trans. Walter Kaufmann.

14. The Will to Power 797, trans. Walter Kaufmann and R. J. Hollingdale (New York: Random House, 1967).

15. Zarathustra, II, "On Immaculate Perception" (Von der unbefleckten Erkenntnis), trans. Walter Kaufmann.

16. Beyond Good and Evil, GGB 150), trans. Walter Kaufmann, p. 150.

17. The Will to Power 765, trans. Walter Kaufmann and R. J. Hollingdale.

18. Ecce Homo, Warum ich so klug bin, trans. Walter Kaufmann, p. 10.

19. Kritische Gesamtausgabe, VIII, 1, 148.

20. Kritische Gesamtausgabe, VII, 1,649.

21. Kritische Gesamtausgabe, VII, 1, 540 and VII, 2, 292.

Chapter Eight: Appearance: Nihilism or Affirmation

1. Twilight of the Idols in The Portable Nietzsche, pp. 485-486.

2. The Will to Power, paragraphs 2 and 3.

3. The Gay Science, trans. Walter Kaufmann (New York: Random House, 1974).

4. Twilight of the Idols, trans. R. J. Hollingdale (Baltimore: Penguin Books, 1968), p. 36.

5. The Will to Power, nr. 822.

6. Ibid., nr. 585.

7. Beyond Good and Evil, trans. Zimmern, p. 34.

8. The Will to Power, nr. 585.

9. Intoxication; the psychological condition of the artist.

10. Twilight of the Idols, trans. Kaufmann, p. 72.

11. Ibid., p. 54.

12. The Will to Power, nr. 846.

13. Schopenhauer's parody of Leibniz's "this is the best of all possible worlds."

14. The Birth of Tragedy.

15. The Will to Power, nr. 853.

Chapter Nine: The Other Nietzsche

1. William James, Varieties of Religious Experience (New York: Modern Library), p. 370.

2. Thus Spoke Zarathustra, "Before Sunrise," The Portable Nietzsche, pp. 277-278.

3. Ibid., p. 278 with minor changes.

4. Ibid., "The Great Longing," pp. 333-334.

5. Ibid., p. 334.

6. Ibid., "At Noon," p. 388.

7. Spinoza, Ethics IV, Preface.

8. Ibid., II, Def. VI.

9. Op. cit., p. 389.

10. Meister Eckehart, Deutsche Predigten und Traktate (Munchen: Carl Hanser Verlag, 1955), p. 437.

11. Op. cit., "At Noon," p. 390.

12. Meister Eckhart, op. cit., p. 190.

13. The Eastern Buddhist, vol. 5, no. 2, trans. Norman Waddell and Masao Abe, pp. 134-135.

14. Op. cit., "The Drunken Song," p. 431.

15. Ibid., p. 436.

16. Ibid., p. 432.

17. Ibid., p. 435.
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Re: The Other Nietzsche, by Joan Stambaugh

Postby admin » Thu Jul 02, 2015 9:15 pm

Index

Apollo, 18, 55, 126, 146, 149, 150
Aristotle, 5, 41, 139

Baudelaire, 19
Beckett, 132
Bizet, 40
Blake, 65, 66, 111
Buddhism, Buddhist, 46, 71,
123, 146, 151

Christianity, Judeo-Christianity,
4, 18, 44, 61, 69, 70, 81-2, 91,
95, 97-9, 102, 120, 123-4, 151
Chuang Tzu, 151

Derrida, ix, 135
Descartes, 88, 97
Dionysus, Dionysian, 17-8, 29,
35, 55, 83-4, 86, 126, 130-1,
142, 146, 149, 150

Eckhart, 144-5
Eternal recurrence or return,
eternity, 2, 9, 49, 54-5, 59,
61-2, 67, 74, 84, 89, 90, 95-6,
103, 116, 138, 141, 144-5, 148,
150
Euripides, 17, 29

Feuerback, 170
Fink, Eugen, 2
Freud, ix, 1, 135

Gast, Peter, 27, 40
God, God is dead, 3, 7, 8, 11-2,
36, 39, 42, 44-5, 50, 56, 61,
70-3, 75-9, 81-2, 91, 99-101,
111, 116, 124, 144
Goethe, 10, 35, 131

Hafiz, 35, 131
Hanslick, 32
Hegel, 21, 27, 32, 38-9
Heidegger, 2, 63, 66, 95, 135
Heraclitus, 22, 124, 103, 126
Hinduism, 123
Homer, 35, 131

James, William, 136

Kafka, 102
Kant, 12, 27, 61, 77
Kaufman, Walter, ix, 135, 141
Keats, 132
Kierkegaard, 11, 83, 105, 112
Kleist, 109

Lacoue-Labarthe, 2
Lao Tzu, 151
Leibniz, 2, 95
Lowith, 2, 95

Machiavelli, 19
Mann, 15-6
Marx, 22
Mozart, 114

Nazis, ix, 135
Nishitani, 133
Novalis, 76

Offenbach, 40
Overman, 5, 10, 40, 42, 67, 72,
108, 130

Parmenides, 66
Pascal, 109
Plato, Platonism, 3, 4, 7, 11, 17,
18, 21-2, 30, 44-5, 55, 61,
68-70, 73, 84, 91, 97-9, 114-5,
119, 120, 123-4, 132, 135
Proust, 149

Revenge, res sentiment, 7, 8, 34,
41-5, 49-55, 57, 84, 114, 132
Rubens, 35, 131

Sartre, 45, 50, 66, 91
Schopenhauer, 19, 28, 30, 36, 40,
46, 51, 99, 103, 10~ 114-5,
119, 130-1, 146, 151
Schelling, 2, 21, 61, 82
Shakespeare, 98, 114, 136
Socrates, Socratic, 17-8, 29-30
Spinoza, 61, 65, 75-9, 91-2, 103,
117, 128, 141, 143

Tillich, 39, 136

Wagner, 27-34, 36, 40, 129-131
Will to Power, 2, 8, 19, 20, 39,
52-4, 95-6, 116, 127, 146
Wordsworth, 111
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