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A deluxe, high-quality edition of Friedrich Nietzsche's seminal work Beyond Good and Evil is one of the final books by German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche. This landmark work continues to be one of the most well-known and influential explorations of moral and ethical philosophy ever conceived. Expanding on the concepts from his previous work Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Nietzsche adopts a polemic approach to past philosophers who, in his view, lacked critical sense in accepting flawed premises in their consideration of morality. The metaphysics of morality, Nietzsche argues, should not assume that a good man is simply the opposite of an evil man, rather merely different expression of humanity's common basic impulses. Controversial in its time, as well as hotly debated in the present, Nietzsche's work moves beyond conventional ethics to suggest that a universal morality for all human beings in non-existent - perception, reason and experience are not static, but change according to an individual's perspective and interpretation. The work further argues that philosophic traditions such as "truth," "self-consciousness" and "free will" are merely inventions of Western morality and that the "will to power" is the real driving force of all human behaviour. This volume: * Critiques the belief that actions, including domination or injury to the weak, can be universally objectionable * Explores themes of religion and "master and slave" morality * Includes a collection of stunning aphorisms and observations of the human condition Part of the bestselling Capstone Classics Series edited by Tom Butler-Bowdon,this collectible, hard-back edition of Beyond Good and Evil provides an accessible and insightful Introduction by leading Nietzsche authority Dr Christopher Janaway. This deluxe volume is perfect for anyone with interest in philosophy, psychology, science, history and literature.
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FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE
With an Introduction by CHRISTOPHER JANAWAY
This edition first published 2020 Introduction copyright © Christopher Janaway, 2020
The material for Beyond Good and Evil is based on the edition translated by Helen Zimmern, originally published in v. 12 of The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche (1909-1913), Edinburgh & London: T.N. Foulis, 1909-1913 and now in the public domain. http://www.gutenberg.org/files/4363/4363-h/4363-h.htm This edition is not sponsored or endorsed by, or otherwise affiliated with Friedrich Nietzsche or heirs.
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Cover
An Introduction
What is Beyond Good and Evil?
Nietzsche’s Final Decades
A Good European
Early Influences: The Ancient World and Schopenhauer
Tragedy and Wagner
New Directions and a Humiliation
Zarathustra’s Doctrines
Truth
The Self
Morality
Suffering and Sympathy
Religion
The Metaphysics of Opposites
Will to Power
The Affirmation of Life
Notes
About Christopher Janaway
About Tom Butler-Bowdon
Preface
I Prejudices of Philosophers
II The Free Spirit
III The Religious Mood
IV Apophthegms And Interludes
V The Natural History of Morals
VI We Scholars
VII Our Virtues
VIII Peoples And Countries
IX What Is Noble?
Aftersong
Note
End User License Agreement
Cover
Table of Contents
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BY CHRISTOPHER JANAWAY
“There is no such thing as moral phenomena, but only a moral interpretation of phenomena.”
In Beyond Good and Evil we find Nietzsche at the height of his powers as a writer and as a thinker. It is regarded by many as his greatest, most concentrated work.
In some ways it is quite easy to read. Full of energy, the book has many short sections that appear more or less self-contained. It is not bogged down by long-winded arguments and qualifications, and so is not like much traditional philosophical writing.
Nietzsche excites, amuses, provokes, shocks, and questions. We the readers are not just addressed but engaged. The very first line of the book is “Supposing truth is a woman – what then?” We as readers have to make up our own minds what to do with the truths he reveals. What do they mean for society and civilization, and for our own lives?
Nietzsche wrote that the book was “in essence a critique of modernity, including modern science, modern art – even modern politics – along with indications of an opposite type who is as un-modern as possible, a noble, affirmative type”.1
He might have said a critique of modern values. For, as the book’s title already intimates, values are its primary concern. For Nietzsche, good and evil are the values that define the morality of modern Europe, and of the Christian religion out of which it has grown. He puts both Christianity and morality itself in the judgement dock.
Though he famously dismisses Christianity as a ‘slave morality’, his bigger questions are: What are values as such? How do we come by them? How do they show up in our behaviour, in our science, our art, and in the way we do philosophy itself? Which values might we get ‘beyond’ and no longer believe in, and what might we replace them with?
Such questions have been asked by many philosophers, but Nietzsche takes things a lot further: Is suffering really bad? Is compassion really good? Is self-denial a form of seeking power? Is seeking power bad? Is truth good? Are truths always a kind of error?
Although Nietzsche pursues these themes in all his subsequent works, it’s in Beyond Good and Evil that they get his deepest and most penetrating attention.
The book is also about human possibility and potential. When we go beyond morality and modernity, where does that leave the individual? We’ll find out why Nietzsche’s philosophy of the ‘will to power’ might fuel success, yet also be dangerous if in the wrong hands.
Nietzsche published Beyond Good and Evil, subtitled Prelude to a Philosophy of the Future, in 1886, during the most productive decade of his life.
Between 1879 and 1889 he wrote many startlingly original books that display a mix of explosive pronouncement and incisive critique. Before 1879 he was Professor of Classical Philology (the study of ancient texts and languages) at the University of Basel in Switzerland. He was known principally for producing an unorthodox piece of classical scholarship, The Birth of Tragedy, and four essays of cultural criticism that were collected under the title Untimely Meditations.
Up until this point, he did not depart too far from the typical life arc of an academic. After 1879, that changed. He resigned from his professorship and began a decade of wandering, largely alone and often in poor health, staying in rented accommodation in the Swiss Alps, Italy, and the South of France.
Though he corresponded with many acquaintances throughout this period, one of his themes is the essential solitariness of the thinker. Sometimes in his books, he even addresses remarks to would-be intellectual fellow-travellers, his ‘friends’ who do not yet exist.
Zarathustra, the fictional character that preoccupied him throughout 1883–5, becomes a sort of mirror for Nietzsche himself. Zarathustra repeatedly retreats into a hermit-like existence. He has followers to whom he expounds his doctrine, rather like the Buddha, but at the same time he does not really want them to follow him.
The writing of Thus Spoke Zarathustra marked the start of a final phase of enormous pace and intensity. In his remaining four years of activity he completed The Gay Science, and wrote Beyond Good and Evil, On the Genealogy of Morality, The Case of Wagner, Twilight of the Idols, The Anti-Christ, Ecce Homo, and Nietzsche contra Wagner.
This flow of work was cut short in brutal fashion by a mental and physical collapse on 3 January 1889. The story is quite well known. Nietzsche was living in Turin, already in a somewhat precarious mental state, when he saw an old horse being whipped in the street. He flung himself, sobbing, around the animal’s neck. He never recovered his sanity. Nietzsche remained an invalid, unable to write and sometimes even to speak, until he died in 1900, aged 55.
Few lives can have had two such contrasting final decades as this.
Nietzsche was born and schooled in Germany, and the German language was the medium that he used so brilliantly. Yet his primary identification was not with Germany, but with Europe. In the Preface to Beyond Good and Evil he speaks on behalf of ‘we good Europeans’, and it is the future health of European culture that is his most pressing concern.
German political nationalism (along with ‘beer and Wagnerian music’) had become abhorrent to Nietzsche, as was even the idea of ‘nations’. Europe should be unified, he says in Section 256 of Beyond Good and Evil, not ‘morbidly estranged’ by the ‘nationality-craze’.
Given that he seemed to be ahead of his time in a political sense, it was both surprising and highly unfortunate that the German National Socialists later co-opted him to their movement, a fact that has unfairly tarnished his wider reputation ever since. His attitude towards the Jews was distorted into the bargain, though here the issues are quite complex.
Nietzsche’s intellectual life coincided with a growth in anti-Semitism, and he read and interacted with many texts that propagated this outlook. Sometimes his own rhetoric is harsh towards the Jews and their role in world history, and this can be hard to read now. We inevitably associate such passages with the appalling twentieth-century events that Nietzsche could not know were coming. But if we look carefully at a passage such as Section 251 of Beyond Good and Evil, we find him critical of the Germans’ ‘anti-Semitic folly’, urging that the Jews are seeking to be, and should be, fully integrated into Europe. To that end, it is the ‘anti-Semitic bawlers’, he says, who should be expelled.
The issue was poignant for Nietzsche, because his sister Elisabeth, to whom he had been close, joined the political Anti-Semitism movement, and even married its prominent activist, Bernhard Förster. In the same year as Beyond Good and Evil, Förster and Elisabeth sought to establish a ‘pure Aryan’ colony in Paraguay, upon which Nietzsche wrote to his sister that anti-Semitism was ‘further away from him than Paraguay’. Förster soon committed suicide, but Elisabeth lived on till 1935, having joined the National Socialist party. She was all too happy to lend Nietzsche’s name to the cause he would have despised. Hitler attended her funeral.
A brief account of Nietzsche’s intellectual development up until Beyond Good and Evil will help to put it into context and reveal his chief motivations in writing it.
Nietzsche was born in 1844, the son of a Lutheran pastor. There is little doubt that this background played a role in his later (extremely critical) preoccupation with Christianity. But the counterbalance to Christianity was provided by two major influences of his youth: the world of ancient Greece and Rome, and the philosophy of Arthur Schopenhauer.
The young Nietzsche was a brilliant scholar. He received a first-class education in classics at the Pforta school, Germany’s top institution in the field, then went on to study at the universities of Bonn and Leipzig. His talent was recognized early, and he became Professor at Basel at the remarkably young age of twenty-four. The classical world that he studied for so many years provided an intellectual bedrock that he would repeatedly mine. In Greece and Rome, he found strong, healthy cultures with pre-Christian values of nobility and life-affirming artistry, which he felt modern Europe had lost. But midway on his rise through conventional academia from school student to professor, he came across a book that was to transform his life: The World as Will and Representation by German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer.
Schopenhauer had died in 1860, leaving among other writings this large two-volume work that he had first published in 1819, but then extended and re-worked over the next forty years. Nietzsche described the effect of the book: “Here I saw a mirror in which I caught sight of world, of life, and of my own mind in terrifying grandeur.” He was 21, and the year was 1865. For the next ten years he considered himself essentially a ‘Schopenhauerian’, though he had room for some modifications and criticisms of ‘the master’. His early publications, The Birth of Tragedy (1872) and Schopenhauer as Educator (1874) clearly bear the marks of this influence.
Schopenhauer is mentioned eleven times in Beyond Good and Evil, but by this point the tone is one of criticism and even ridicule, as it is in all his works of the 1880s. Around 1876 something had changed. Nietzsche began to think of Schopenhauer as wrong in all his basic ideas. He was now his opposite or ‘antipode’. Yet in 1887 Nietzsche is still referring to Schopenhauer as his ‘great teacher’,2 and praising him as a ‘good European’ who raised the most essential question confronting a post-Christian Europe: Does existence have any meaning at all?3 Whether pro- or anti-, Nietzsche never ceased to regard Schopenhauer as immensely important.
What was it in Schopenhauer that impressed Nietzsche so profoundly? Firstly, a completely atheist picture of the world. Nietzsche is famous for the slogan ‘God is dead’, meaning that belief in God is no longer sustainable. Yet in Schopenhauer he found a system in which God was already dead and buried. Schopenhauer is scathing about the idea that the world comes into existence out of nothing according to a design, or that all in this world is for the best. In fact, he claims, life is essentially suffering, and something to be lamented. Schopenhauer’s central idea is that of will. He argues that the whole world manifests this will, which is a form of striving. The human individual, as part of this world, is also fundamentally an expression of will – that is, we are largely composed of desires, strivings, and urges, conscious and unconscious, expressed through the body. Our essence is ‘will to life’, a drive to survive, reproduce, possess, and consume. But things constantly go against our will, a fact that inevitably brings disappointment, frustration, boredom, pain, and grief – life is suffering.
Can we do anything to transcend this? Schopenhauer’s answer is a state of higher consciousness in which we leave behind willing altogether. Art can rescue us temporarily from life, by enabling us to view the beauty and sublimity of the world in blissful, calm contemplation, free of all desire and pain. But the highest state for a human being is one that Schopenhauer compares to the Buddhist nirvāṇa. He calls it the ‘negation of the will to life’, in which the individual will is abolished forever. Here, one would lose the sense of the individual’s distinctness from the world as a whole. One would attain consciousness that all is one and that individuality is really an illusion.
Nietzsche’s early devotion to Schopenhauer’s system of thought manifested itself in spirit, if not in detail, in his first book, The Birth of Tragedy, published in 1872. On one level this is a book about ancient Greece by a classics professor, analysing the origins and importance of tragic drama, the powerful art form that the Greeks developed in the fifth century BCE. But, in reality, the book is much more ambitious, and so eccentric that it aroused the contempt and dismay of distinguished academics in the field.
The central theme is that the ancient Greeks invented tragic drama as a way of affirming life’s suffering through aesthetic means. The central character of a tragedy is an individual who suffers agonies and is destroyed, but we can rejoice in this spectacle because music (and dance in the original Greek form) transports us beyond the illusion of individuality, and merges us into the primal unity of the world that unfolds itself endlessly, indifferent to the individual. Nietzsche is not just studying the ancient world. With the help of Schopenhauer’s metaphysics, he proposes a way for the modern world to replicate the cultural achievements of the classical era, and to cope with the Schopenhauerian world of suffering through an elevated form of art – specifically the music of Richard Wagner, to whom the book is dedicated.
In 1868 Nietzsche had met Wagner, many years his senior, and was welcomed into the inner circle of the great composer and his wife Cosima, who had already adopted Schopenhauer’s works as their favourite reading. For a while Nietzsche was infatuated with the celebrity couple and the heady atmosphere of their intellectual and artistic world. His book, whose full title on publication was The Birth of Tragedy out of the Spirit of Music, owes much to this personal experience.
But a few years later the infatuation palled. Nietzsche began to see Wagner as a self-aggrandizing showman propagating values he could not agree with. Eventually he wrote vitriolic criticisms of Wagner and looked back on The Birth of Tragedy as an embarrassing and ‘impossible’ book. However, the questions the book had addressed – the need to revive modern European culture, the relation of art and life, and the task of affirming an existence plagued by suffering – did not go away.
The years from 1878 to 1882 were a period of transition for Nietzsche. His books from this period are Human, All Too Human, Daybreak (or Dawn), and The Gay Science. They are works of sharp critical analysis written in an aphoristic style, with relatively short, compressed sections, leaving much open to the reader’s interpretation. His move away from Wagner in this period was intellectual as well as personal. He no longer placed art on a pedestal and turned away from metaphysics towards a more empirical or broadly scientific approach.
Nietzsche became friends with a lesser known thinker, Paul Rée, who had published a book on the origins of morality. Rée adopted a decidedly empiricist point of view, taking a lead from Darwin. Nietzsche was stimulated by Rée’s work, and through him had become deeply attracted to a brilliant young Russian woman, Lou Salomé. She had rejected Rée’s proposal of marriage in favour of an intimate but purely intellectual relationship. They invited Nietzsche to join them in this partnership, and the three planned to set up together. Nietzsche then rather bizarrely asked Rée to propose to Lou on his behalf. This proposal was also declined, and the two men entered a period of semi-suppressed rivalry. Nietzsche proposed again, and was again rejected, but the ultimate blow came when Lou and Rée departed together to continue their intense relationship without him. Nietzsche was bereft, and the devastation was increased by a rift with his sister, who had taken against Lou and done everything she could to keep her away from her brother.
The theme of suffering that he had pursued in Schopenhauer and Greek tragedy now hit home for Nietzsche. His loneliness and emotional desolation were compounded by constant poor eyesight and other physical health problems.
During these years he developed a dramatic idea about how one might affirm one’s life. While walking in the Swiss Alps at Sils-Maria, ‘6,000 feet beyond humanity and time’, as he later wrote, he became seized with the idea that everything might recur over and over again into all eternity. This idea of eternal recurrence surfaces at the end of The Gay Science (Book 4, 1882). The reader is asked to consider how they would react if, in their loneliest hour, a demon whispered to them that their whole life, down to its tiniest detail, would return to them infinite times more.
Commentators have debated whether Nietzsche ever literally believed that everything would repeat itself infinitely. But whether he did or not, he became fixated by the question of whether someone could emotionally bear the thought of their life recurring eternally. Would the thought crush you, he asks, or could you be strong and healthy enough to welcome the prospect with joy? Could you affirm your life, even under the weight of this thought?
Nietzsche’s next project, and the one he eventually considered his greatest achievement, was Thus Spoke Zarathustra, written in four parts between 1883 and 1885. It is unlike Nietzsche’s other writings in a number of ways, being a work of fiction, set in an indeterminate place and time, and mentioning no real-life human beings (with the sole exception of Jesus). The book narrates the encounters of the character Zarathustra and relays his teachings in a quasi-Biblical style replete with parable and vivid metaphor.
No summary could substitute for reading this book (this indeed applies to all Nietzsche’s writings), but a few features stand out. Here the eternal recurrence appears as Zarathustra’s defining doctrine, as does the notion for which Nietzsche has become well known, that of the Übermensch, or Overhuman. He has Zarathustra announce that the human should make way for the Overhuman, a higher type of being that can constitute a goal to aim at, higher than any human achievement so far. The Overhuman would transcend the deficiencies of humanity and would be someone who has ‘turned out well’ to the highest degree.
Some of the defining ideas of Nietzsche’s mature philosophical phase are forming here. What is needed, he now believes, is not negation of the will, but its affirmation – saying Yes to life. Suffering must be embraced by a type of strength that is big enough to commit to truthfulness about the world. We must no longer seek refuge in a disembodied metaphysical ‘other realm’, or a ‘beyond’, of the kind found in religion. And the fundamental will is not ‘will to life’ but ‘will to power’.
As we shall see, this latter notion especially comes to prominence in Beyond Good and Evil, which was published immediately after Thus Spoke Zarathustra.
Let’s now go into some of the major themes of Beyond Good and Evil.
Nietzsche writes continually about truth and seeks to make it a more problematic notion than it has customarily been.
In the opening Part of Beyond Good and Evil he speaks to philosophers, wishing to reveal their ‘prejudices’. He introduces the notion of ‘the will to truth’. What does this mean? At first sight it could be just the desire to discover the truth. But by calling it a ‘will’, echoing Schopenhauer’s notion of the ‘will to life’, Nietzsche seems to be indicating something like an underlying drive that governs us without being rationally considered or chosen. For Nietzsche, philosophers have a sheer unexamined faith that the pursuit of truth is desirable, but why do we think it is better to seek and to know the truth than to hold an erroneous belief? Why don’t we seek untruths?
After all, Nietzsche says, a false opinion or judgement can sometimes preserve and enhance our life more than a true one. What is really at stake is the value of ‘truth’ for life: does it help us to survive, to flourish, to enhance ourselves?
Some interpreters of Nietzsche have seen him as questioning the very notion of truth, as though we cannot ever describe anything as being true. This is wrong. It’s not that there is no such thing as judgements being true or false. Rather, it’s that false ones can be more valuable than true ones. We might be better off believing things that are false, and not finding out that they are false. A finely nuanced example for Nietzsche is the case of religious belief. People had a direction in life, a sense of meaning and purpose, when they wholeheartedly believed in traditional dogmas. God was their ‘truth’: did it matter that their belief was false?
The European culture that developed Christianity believed also in the virtue of truthfulness, and this combination eventually produced a scientific revolution that pressed for truth at all costs. This had the effect of destroying the illusion of God. The result is not a happy one: we ended up with the prospect of nihilism, the belief that there are no real values and a bleak, directionless outlook on the world. Pursuing truth has in this sense made the world more depressing.
Yet Nietzsche is no nihilist but is rather the diagnostician of nihilism as the modern malaise. He wishes to resurrect a new kind of optimism from the ashes of the old values. Acknowledging the depth of the nihilism to which we have sunk is a necessary step, but more important is the resulting opportunity for a new positive valuing of life. We’ll go into this opportunity below.
As for the pursuit of truth itself, Nietzsche doubts whether it is ever as pure and disinterested as investigators make out. Human beings are not so constituted that there is a fundamental drive towards knowledge for its own sake. Rather, Nietzsche suggests, other drives (or ‘impulses’ as Helen Zimmern’s translation has it) really govern philosophical activity. Nietzsche states that every great philosophy so far has been “the confession of its originator, and a species of involuntary and unconscious autobiography; and moreover that the moral (or immoral) purpose in every philosophy has constituted the true vital germ out of which the entire plant has always grown” (Section 6).
In other words, philosophers pose as pure, detached intellects with no emotional investment in their arguments and conclusions. But deeper parts of their psyches are at work, and the ‘truths’ they end up propounding are never free of their secret prejudices. For instance, Kant styled himself as a scientific philosopher, with his ‘categorical imperative’ representing being a universal law. But Nietzsche dismisses Kant as being one among many ‘old moralists and ethical preachers’. His philosophy was simply a projection of his own moral stances.
Nietzsche expects more from the ‘philosophers of the future’. He expects them still to pursue truth, but to admit their deep biases and to value life itself over dry and apparently objective moral philosophies.
Having launched his radical critique of philosophers, Nietzsche turns to something more fundamental: the self.
Western philosophy has worked with a traditional notion of the soul, conceiving it as a single unitary thing. Descartes famously declared that he knew he existed, because when thinking ‘I think’, he could be certain that he was the entity doing the thinking. Nietzsche disputes this. The ‘I’ is a fiction. Grammar splits off the process of thinking from a subject that is doing it, as if thinking and thinker were distinct. But the feeling we have of a single, stable entity is an illusion.
Nietzsche holds that consciousness is an unreliable guide to what goes on in our minds. There are multiple sub-personal processes at work – drives or instincts engaged in a kind of internal struggle for mastery. Our conscious thinking, and also what we call our will, are an outcome of these internal processes that rise to consciousness after the event.
Nietzsche denies the existence of free will. It may seem to me that I am a stable, abiding self that steers and has absolute control over my actions. But this would amount to being a causa sui, a cause of oneself, and that idea is contradictory. The idea of an absolute free will, an ability to choose that is unaffected by any causal influences, is for Nietzsche part of the traditional conception of morality that he wishes to call into question. Part of viewing someone as ‘evil’ or ‘good’ is to believe that they are entirely responsible, and therefore entirely blameworthy for who they are and what they do, or do not do. On the other hand, there is something odd about rushing to the other extreme and proclaiming that everything except me is to blame for what I do. His more pressing question is: what does it show about you, about your fundamental drives, that you become attached to one or other extreme? That you think you are in total control, or that you believe you’re no more than a product of your environment?
Sometimes Nietzsche talks of ‘moralities’, to emphasize that different cultures have had different sets of values that they lived by. He is interested in these differences, and in how one set of values can be replaced over time by another. By ‘morality’ in the singular Nietzsche most frequently means a particular set of values that is dominant in modern European – or what we now call Western – culture. By contrasting this with other ‘moralities’, he draws attention to the fact that our way of thinking about values is not eternally set in stone and may not be the most advantageous for the future of humanity.
The ‘morality’ that Nietzsche targets for criticism treats compassion as the prime virtue and has the slogan (which Nietzsche found in Schopenhauer), ‘Harm no one; but help everyone to the extent that you can’. It is a set of values that enjoins us to treat all humans equally, and holds that there is an absolute requirement, binding on all, to protect them from suffering.
The concept of ‘evil’ belongs, for Nietzsche, along with this set of values. Someone is described as evil if they dominate over others and cause them gratuitous harm by acting out of egoistic desires. Those with the capacity to act in this way, because they are physically or politically stronger, come to be seen as evil. By contrast, the morally good person is the one who is not evil. It is easy to trace a link with Christianity here: ‘Blessed are the meek, … the merciful, … the peacemakers’, as Jesus says in the Sermon on the Mount.
Nietzsche disparages this as a ‘slave morality’ and ‘morality of the herd’. He contrasts it with a pre-Christian set of values that he calls ‘master morality’. Nietzsche associates the status of ‘master’ with that of nobility. Someone is noble if they are strong, self-affirming, able to exercise power over themselves and over others, valuing honesty, courage, and generosity of spirit. The noble value themselves for what they are, marking themselves out as of higher rank than others, looking down on them with the ‘pathos of distance’.
Nietzsche is plainly no egalitarian. Socialism and the emancipation of women are just two aspects of the modern world that he deplores. Few would regard his remarks on women in Beyond Good and Evil – almost certainly inflamed by his experiences with Lou Salomé and his sister – as his finest hour. But his opposition to equality goes wider: the whole ‘democratic tendency’ that is increasing apace in the Europe of his day is for him an undesirable dumbing down, a levelling of human potential towards the lowest common denominator. Every enhancement or elevation of humanity, he thinks, has required not democracy but aristocracy.
In earlier cultures, Nietzsche claims, the nobility confidently regarded themselves as good, and assigned the opposite value, bad, to the ordinary masses who lacked their prowess and power. Who would not want to be healthy, strong, courageous, beautifully adorned, and in control? ‘Bad’ then meant deficient, weak, ineffective, humble, and therefore despicable. So ‘bad’ is not really a moral concept for Nietzsche and is quite different from ‘evil’.
How then did the distinctively moral notion of ‘evil’ come into existence? Through a new recognition of the point of view of the weak and powerless, those who were not masters but slaves. “Supposing that the abused, the oppressed, the suffering, the unemancipated, the weary, and those uncertain of themselves should moralize,” Nietzsche asks, “what will be the common element of their moral estimates?” (Section 260). They will quite naturally resent the powerful and self-assured for being powerful and self-assured. The very qualities on which the masters pride themselves will be seen as harmful. By the time we reach the modern era in Europe, given its long heritage of specifically Christian beliefs and institutions, this slave morality, the morality that seeks to protect the mass, or the ‘herd’, from harm has become so entrenched that it seems the only possible set of values. Nietzsche bemoans the fact.
Nietzsche uses a common German word, Mitleid, which literally means ‘suffering-with’. We can translate it as ‘pity’, ‘compassion’, or (as in this edition) ‘sympathy’. This notion was central to Schopenhauer’s view of morality. Because all creatures are liable to suffering, the most important impulse we have is a fellow-feeling that prompts us to alleviate or prevent suffering in others.
Nietzsche criticizes this outlook, which he finds not only in Schopenhauer, but in the whole tradition of Christian doctrine, and in more recent forms of moral thinking. But what could be wrong with sympathy for sufferers? Nietzsche has many probing thoughts about this. Sometimes helping others who are suffering is actually a disguised form of egoism or self-assertion. You can feel good about yourself by helping people and also experience a kind of superiority over them. In a subtle way they almost become your ‘victims’. Nietzsche thus insinuates that compassionate behaviour can sometimes be just as much as a form of power-seeking as cruelty.
But Nietzsche’s chief objection is not to sympathy as such, but rather to a version of moral theory which states that the prime good is the prevention of all suffering, just on the grounds that it is suffering. This, for Nietzsche, is to treat human beings as though they are merely weak, vulnerable creatures for whom the only good is safety. If we take this to be the only good, we shall end up with an utterly bland, sanitized existence with no danger, no risk, adventure or creativity, and no capacity for growth in individuals or in societies. Nietzsche has a deliberately shocking way of making this point: “You want, if possible … to do away with suffering; and we? – it really seems that we would rather have it increased and made worse than it has ever been!” (Section 255). His sympathy lies with the powerful, expansive, creative part of human nature, through which nobility and greatness are achieved. This will be dulled down to nothing if we seriously think of well-being as the mere elimination of suffering.
For Nietzsche suffering is as an opportunity for growth, a necessary condition for humanity’s pressing on to higher achievements. As he would famously put it two years later in Twilight of the Idols, “That which does not kill us makes us stronger.” He also, more problematically, believes that human beings naturally gain a feeling of power from inflicting suffering and from seeing it inflicted. Like it or not, history shows this to be a truth about human beings, he claims. Modern society winces at this thought and tries to pretend that it is not true, shielding itself behind the assumptions of morality.
Nietzsche’s implication is that humanity could be greater if it were less squeamish about suffering. At the same time, especially when couched in his inflammatory rhetoric, the view that suffering can be useful in promoting higher aims opens the door to sinister practical applications. Nietzsche is fond of describing his ideas as dangerous, but, in this instance, he seems naïve in not anticipating how disastrously his message could be exploited in the real world.
For Nietzsche, atheism is really the only sound intellectual option in the Europe of his day. His famous slogan ‘God is dead’ is followed by ‘and we have killed him’.4
He never argues for the proposition that God does not exist. Rather he treats it as a fact that, by the time he is writing, the belief in God has run its course, is discredited, and serves no purpose. But this does not mean that he treats religion as unimportant. In fact, another aspect of modernity that he criticizes is its very indifference to religion – its superficiality, its obsession with work, pleasure, and patriotism at the expense of reflection on higher values. He does not oppose religion as such. The ancient Greeks used their deities to personify the noble side of humanity. The Jewish Old Testament has a grandeur that reflects the self-confidence of a people. Nietzsche finds it grotesque that this book has been conjoined with the New Testament. It is Christianity that is for him the greatest problem.
His rhetoric against Christianity is violent: for eighteen centuries Christianity has tried to make ‘a sublime abortion of man’, he says, resulting in ‘a dwarfed, almost ludicrous species’ (Section 62). Christianity is the major product of that slave morality discussed above, the inversion of values that made weakness and impotence into a virtue. Belief in God may wane, but the values that drove Christianity in the first place continue to thrive. In Nietzsche’s view Europe will continue to decline and degenerate unless there occurs another inversion of values.
For Nietzsche, the Christian belief in an all-powerful supernatural being serves to give the impression of absolute authority to various troubling commandments: deny your bodily desires, refrain from creative self-expression, become a harmless, meek, and ‘tame’ kind of being. When he refers to the ‘religious neurosis’, he has in mind the result of systematic indoctrination of the view that one’s natural urges, and one’s very bodily existence, are sinful, forbidden, and in need of suppression. Nietzsche constantly laments this as a psychological sickness, a soul in conflict, its own powerful energies turned inwards against itself.
Many will be sympathetic to Nietzsche’s diagnosis here, partly because conceptions of morality and of psychological health have dramatically changed since he was writing. The 1880s may have needed his critique in a way that Western culture perhaps no longer does. The first stage in liberating ourselves from the straitjacket of this kind of damaging morality is to realize that, without a God, we now lack a foundation for these absolute, self-torturing imperatives. But Nietzsche is clear that change will not be so simple. Morality is so ingrained that it will survive the death of religion. What is needed is much more profound: we need to discover what values really are, and what questionable assumptions we have been making about the nature of values, but also about the nature of truth and the nature of the self. In order to do this, we need to scrutinize the very way we approach these questions, that is, philosophy itself.
In Section 2 of Beyond Good and Evil Nietzsche makes some profound allegations about the way we think of things as having opposite values. In the case of good and evil we tend to think that they are utterly exclusive values which have different origins. A certain kind of religious outlook would provide an example of this, with the idea that ‘evil’ arises out of our ‘baser’ natural inclinations, whereas ‘the Good’ is somehow pure, unchanging, and separate from the human.
In fact, this sort of idea is not exclusive to Christianity or any modern theistic religion, and it is found paradigmatically in the works of Plato. Nietzsche invokes Plato in his short Preface to Beyond Good and Evil, mentioning Plato’s ‘invention of Pure Spirit and the Good in Itself’. Christianity contains a reiteration of the same pattern, and Nietzsche famously dubs Christianity ‘Platonism for the “people”’. He sees Europe as engaged in a struggle against Platonic ‘dogmatism’.