Skip to main content

Killing Paradoxes

 

Nietzsche

Philosopher Nietzsche saw a man whipping a horse on a street in Turin, Italy. He couldn’t endure the cruel sight. Rushing towards the animal, the philosopher hugged it before collapsing to the ground. He never regained his sanity after that.

Nietzsche despised weakness and sentimentality. He was a social Darwinist who believed in the right of the fittest to survive. Strength is the ultimate virtue, he said, and weakness is a vice. Goodness is that which wins while the bad yields to pressure and perishes.

This philosopher of strength who counselled people to live dangerously and to erect their cities beside fuming volcanos and to send out their ships to unexplored seas could not bear the sight of a horse being whipped by its owner. That was Nietzsche: a bundle of paradoxes.

He did not even possess basic health. He was a sickly person right from childhood and he possessed all the goody-goodiness of such boys. As a little boy, he detested the “bad boys” of his neighbourhood who robbed birds’ nests, raided neighbours’ orchards, and told lies. His schoolteachers called him “the little minister,” meaning little priest. His parents were pastors. Some people nicknamed the little Nietzsche “a Jesus in the Temple.” He was a good boy – too good, in fact.

He grew up to despise Christianity, however. He thought it was a religion of weakness. An effeminate religion with a god who capitulated. Someone who dies on a cross with a helpless whimper can’t be a god. Christianity’s heaven must be an utterly boring place with all effeminate souls that never dared to cross the lines drawn by mediocre morality. Nietzsche walked out of that heaven and proclaimed the death of god.

And he grew his moustache long. He was “more moustache than man,” in the words of Eric Weiner whose book The Socrates Express is my present reading. I remember another illustrious writer, Will Durant, describing Nietzsche as “the soul of a girl under the armour of a warrior” [in The Story of Philosophy].  

Nietzsche was not what he thought he was and what he pretended to be. He was too good at heart to be the Bismarckian Superman that he idolised in his writings. His heart was more Christian than Saint Francis Assisi’s so much so that the people of Genoa called him ‘the Saint’. 

Nietzsche held Wagner’s music in contempt for being an effeminate romantic rhapsody that softened human conscience. But towards the end of his life, in a lucid moment of his flagging sanity, seeing a picture of the musician who was then dead and gone, Nietzsche muttered, “Him I loved much.”

What Nietzsche’s heart loved, his brain did not. That was the paradox that killed the philosopher “too early – and too late,” as Weiner puts it.  Almost a century back from today, Will Durant had concluded his chapter on Nietzsche with the epitaph, “Seldom has a man paid so great a price for genius.”

I completed reading Weiner’s chapter on Nietzsche just a few minutes back. Nietzsche had always held a charm for me right from my youth. Weiner has added a lot more colours to that charm and it has now become a rainbow. This is my humble tribute to the troubled genius tormented by the paradox that he was even to himself.

Comments

  1. Thank you for this write up on the philosopher Nietzsche which is both informative and enlightening. Written in a very lucid style, though I have never picked him up for reading.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Nietzsche was a perverted genius, I should say. He wrote wonderful poetry which was philosophy. None of his books were successful in the market!

      Delete
  2. Hari OM
    Nietzsche was a contrarian, that's for sure. So much of his work is couched in declaritive form and without a lot of very hard work from the reader, there lacks cohesiveness of argument (or any argument at all as such) or an overall concept concluded. It's as if he has simply allowed his intellect to put up all sorts of questions, followed them, but not entirely... what his work does do is instigate thinking in the reader. As long as that reader can be bothered.

    On reading from his own writing, "One not only wants to be understood when one writes, but also - quite as certainly - not to be understood. It is by no means an objection to a book when someone finds it unintelligible: perhaps this might just have been the intention of its author, - perhaps he did not want to be understood by 'anyone'," (TGSp.381) amongst others, it could be said that there is an elitist quality to his life approach.

    It is considered that he may well have had a slow-growing brain tumour, causing the disturbance involving police then collapse in Turin and subsequent dementia. (No horse involved - apocryphal anecdote.) Genius - yes. Perverted? No. But certainly searching, questioning, challenging, rebellious, paradoxical - and possibly obnoxious! One can certainly not be indifferent to him even on casual reading. ... and it seems the same is perhaps true of TSE which I may have to obtain sooner than later. Stimulating! YAM xx

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. When the poet and the philosopher blends into one, some obscurity and lack of cohesiveness are natural. Nietzsche provoked and he knew how to do that. I admired him as a young learner of philosophy and then marvelled at his strange genius and now, on reading Weiner, I am left with mixed feelings including sympathy, though the story about the horse might be apocryphal.

      Delete
    2. Hari Om
      I can understand your sympathy - in these times, it is more likely he would have had better psychological support and assessment. Mental health (never mind actual brain injury and invasion by disease) is still not widely discussed and society has great difficulty accepting those who express differently. Yxx

      Delete
  3. I've always been intrigued by Nietzsche and his profound thoughts. This was a lovely read.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Yesterday

With students of Carmel Margaret, are you grieving / Over Goldengrove unleaving…? It was one of my first days in the eleventh class of Carmel Public School in Kerala, the last school of my teaching career. One girl, whose name was not Margaret, was in the class looking extremely melancholy. I had noticed her for a few days. I didn’t know how to put the matter over to her. I had already told the students that a smiling face was a rule in the English class. Since Margaret didn’t comply, I chose to drag Hopkins in. I replaced the name of Margaret with the girl’s actual name, however, when I quoted the lines. Margaret is a little girl in the Hopkins poem. Looking at autumn’s falling leaves, Margaret is saddened by the fact of life’s inevitable degeneration. The leaves have to turn yellow and eventually fall. And decay. The poet tells her that she has no choice but accept certain inevitabilities of life. Sorrow is our legacy, Margaret , I said to Margaret’s alter ego in my class. Let

The Adventures of Toto as a comic strip

  'The Adventures of Toto' is an amusing story by Ruskin Bond. It is prescribed as a lesson in CBSE's English course for class 9. Maggie asked her students to do a project on some of the lessons and Femi George's work is what I would like to present here. Femi converted the story into a beautiful comic strip. Her work will speak for itself and let me present it below.  Femi George Student of Carmel Public School, Vazhakulam, Kerala Similar post: The Little Girl

X the variable

X is the most versatile and hence a very precious entity in mathematics. Whenever there is an unknown quantity whose value has to be discovered, the mathematician begins with: Let the unknown quantity be x . This A2Z series presented a few personalities who played certain prominent roles in my life. They are not the only ones who touched my life, however. There are so many others, especially relatives, who left indelible marks on my psyche in many ways. I chose not to bring relatives into this series. Dealing with relatives is one of the most difficult jobs for me. I have failed in that task time and again. Miserably sometimes. When I think of relatives, O V Vijayan’s parable leaps to my mind. Father and little son are on a walk. “Be careful lest you fall,” father warns the boy. “What will happen if I fall?” The boy asks. The father’s answer is: “Relatives will laugh.” One of the harsh truths I have noticed as a teacher is that it is nearly impossible to teach your relatives – nephews

Zorba’s Wisdom

Zorba is the protagonist of Nikos Kazantzakis’s novel Zorba the Greek . I fell in love with Zorba the very first time I read the novel. That must have been in my late 20s. I read the novel again after many years. And again a few years ago. I loved listening to Zorba play his santuri . I danced with him on the Cretan beaches. I loved the devil inside Zorba. I called that devil Tomichan. Zorba tells us the story of a monk who lived on Mount Athos. Father Lavrentio. This monk believed that a devil named Hodja resided in him making him do all wrong things. Hodja wants to eat meet on Good Friday, Hodja wants to sleep with a woman, Hodja wants to kill the Abbot… The monk put the blame for all his evil thoughts and deeds on Hodja. “I’ve a kind of devil inside me, too, boss, and I call him Zorba!” Zorba says. I met my devil in Zorba. And I learnt to call it Tomichan. I was as passionate as Zorba was. I enjoyed life exuberantly. As much as I was allowed to, at least. The plain truth is

Everything is Politics

Politics begins to contaminate everything like an epidemic when ideology dies. Death of ideology is the most glaring fault line on the rock of present Indian democracy. Before the present regime took charge of the country, political parties were driven by certain underlying ideologies though corruption was on the rise from Indira Gandhi’s time onwards. Mahatma Gandhi’s ideology was rooted in nonviolence. Nothing could shake the Mahatma’s faith in that ideal. Nehru was a staunch secularist who longed to make India a nation of rational people who will reap the abundant benefits proffered by science and technology. Even the violent left parties had the ideal of socialism to guide them. The most heartless political theory of globalisation was driven by the ideology of wealth-creation for all. When there is no ideology whatever, politics of the foulest kind begins to corrode the very soul of the nation. And that is precisely what is happening to present India. Everything is politics