The life of Friedrich Nietzsche — Nietzsche — John Shaqi
The life of Friedrich Nietzsche
Nietzsche · en
The introduction to the book is grandiose: it consists of the three
prefaces which the neglected author wrote at long intervals, for each
of the three editions of 1818, 1844, and 1859. They are haughty and
bitter, but in no way unquiet; rich in profound thoughts, and in the
sharpest sarcasm; the lyricism of a Goethe shows itself in union with
the cutting realism of a Bismarck. They are beautiful with that classic
and measured beauty which is rare in German literature. Friedrich
Nietzsche was conquered by their loftiness, their artistic feeling,
their entire liberty. "I think," wrote Schopenhauer, "that the truth
which a man has discovered, or the light which he has projected on some
obscure point, may, one day, strike another thinking being, may move,
rejoice, and console him; and it is to this man one speaks, as other
spirits like to ours have spoken to us and consoled us in this desert
of life." Nietzsche was moved: it seemed to him that a strayed genius
was addressing him alone.
The world which Schopenhauer describes is formidable. No Providence
guides it, no God inhabits it, inflexible laws draw it in chains
through time and space; but its eternal essence is indifferent to
laws, a stranger to reason: it is that blind Will which urges us into
life. All the phenomena of the universe are rays from that Will, just
as all the days of the year are rays from a single sun. That Will is
invariable, it is infinite; divided, compressed in space. "It nourishes
itself upon itself, since outside of it there is nothing, and since
it is a famishing Will." Therefore, it tortures itself and suffers.
Life is a desire, desire is an unending torment. The good souls of the
nineteenth century believe in the dignity of man, in Progress. They are
the dupes of a superstition. The Will ignores men, the "last comers on
the earth who live on an average thirty years." Progress is a stupid
invention of the philosophers, under the inspiration of the crowd:
Will, an offence to reason, has neither origin nor end; it is absurd,
and the universe which it animates is without sense....