At the same time he did not refer to moral strength, for of
moral strength he had no idea.
The arts give power, but only in channels prescribed by their own
principles, not by the will of untrained men. To be trained is to be
tamed and harnessed, an accession of power detestable to Nietzsche.
His Zarathustra had the power of dancing, also of charming serpents
and eagles: no wonder that he missed the power, bestowed by goodness,
of charming and guiding men; and a Terpsichorean autocrat would be
hard to imagine. A man intent on algebra [Pg 127] or on painting is
not striving to rule anybody; his dominion over painting or algebra is
chiefly a matter of concentration and self-forgetfulness. So dominion
over the passions changes them from attempts to appropriate anything
into sentiments of the mind, colouring a world which is no longer
coveted. To attain such autumnal wisdom is, if you like, itself a power
of feeling and a kind of strength; but it is not helpful in conquering
the earth.
Nietzsche was personally more philosophical than his philosophy. His
talk about power, harshness, and superb immorality was the hobby of a
harmless young scholar and constitutional invalid. He did not crave in
the least either wealth or empire. What he loved was solitude, nature,
music, books. But his imagination, like his judgment, was captious;
it could not dwell on reality, but reacted furiously against it.
Accordingly, when he speaks of the will to be powerful, power is merely
an eloquent word on his lips. It symbolises the escape from mediocrity.
What power would be when attained and exercised remains entirely beyond
his horizon. What meets us everywhere is the sense of impotence and a
passionate rebellion against it.
The phrases in which Nietzsche condensed and felt his thought were
brilliant, but they were seldom just. We may perhaps see the principle
of his ethics [Pg 128] better if we forget for a moment the will to
be powerful and consider this: that he knew no sort of good except
the beautiful, and no sort of beauty except romantic stress. He was
a belated prophet of romanticism. He wrote its epitaph, in which he
praised it more extravagantly than anybody, when it was alive, had had
the courage to do.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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