Thoughts Out of Season, Part II

By Friedrich Nietzsche

Page 14

a reason for continually
rejecting all the nourishing artistic fare that is offered them. For
they do not want greatness, to arise: their method is to say, "See,
the great thing is already here!" In reality they care as little
about the great thing that is already here, as that which is about to
arise: their lives are evidence of that. Monumental history is the
cloak under which their hatred of present power and greatness
masquerades as an extreme admiration of the past: the real meaning of
this way of viewing history is disguised as its opposite; whether
they wish it or no, they are acting as though their motto were, "let
the dead bury the--living."

Each of the three kinds of history will only flourish in one ground
and climate: otherwise it grows to a noxious weed. If the man who
will produce something great, have need of the past, he makes himself
its master by means of monumental history: the man who can rest
content with the traditional and venerable, uses the past as an
"antiquarian historian": and only he whose heart is oppressed by an
instant need, and who will cast the burden off at any price, feels
the want of "critical history," the history that judges and condemns.
There is much harm wrought by wrong and thoughtless planting: the
critic without the need, the antiquary without piety, the knower of
the great deed who cannot be the doer of it, are plants that have
grown to weeds, they are torn from their native soil and therefore
degenerate.


III.

Secondly, history is necessary to the man of conservative and
reverent nature, who looks back to the origins of his existence with
love and trust; through it, he gives thanks for life. He is careful
to preserve what survives from ancient days, and will reproduce the
conditions of his own upbringing for those who come after him; thus
he does life a service. The possession of his ancestors' furniture
changes its meaning in his soul: for his soul is rather possessed by
it. All that is small and limited, mouldy and obsolete, gains a worth
and inviolability of its own from the conservative and reverent soul
of the antiquary migrating into it, and building a secret nest there.
The history of his town becomes the history of himself; he looks on
the walls, the turreted gate, the town council, the fair, as an
illustrated diary of his youth, and sees himself in it all--his
strength, industry, desire, reason, faults and follies. "Here one
could live," he says, "as one can live here now--and will go on
living; for

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Text Comparison with The Birth of Tragedy; or, Hellenism and Pessimism

Page 17
Here, perhaps for the first time, a pessimism "Beyond Good and Evil" announces itself, here that "perverseness of disposition" obtains expression and formulation, against which Schopenhauer never grew tired of hurling beforehand his angriest imprecations and thunderbolts,--a philosophy which dares to put, derogatorily put, morality itself in the world of phenomena, and not only among "phenomena" (in the sense of the idealistic _terminus technicus_), but among the "illusions," as appearance, semblance, error, interpretation, accommodation, art.
Page 26
Anent these immediate art-states of nature every artist is either an "imitator," to wit, either an Apollonian, an artist in dreams, or a Dionysian, an artist in ecstasies, or finally--as for instance in Greek tragedy--an artist in both dreams and ecstasies: so we may perhaps picture him, as in his Dionysian drunkenness and mystical self-abnegation, lonesome and apart from the revelling choruses, he sinks down, and how now, through Apollonian dream-inspiration, his own state, _i.
Page 36
The Dionysian musician is, without any picture, himself just primordial pain and the primordial re-echoing thereof.
Page 38
In it pure knowing comes to us as it were to deliver us from desire and the stress thereof: we follow, but only for an instant; for desire, the remembrance of our personal ends, tears us anew from peaceful contemplation; yet ever again the next beautiful surrounding in which the pure will-less knowledge presents itself to us, allures us away from desire.
Page 40
in the naïve estimation of the people, it is regarded as by far the more important and necessary.
Page 43
The chorus of the Oceanides really believes that it sees before it the Titan Prometheus, and considers itself as real as the god of the scene.
Page 45
But as soon as this everyday reality rises again in consciousness, it is felt as such, and nauseates us; an ascetic will-paralysing mood is the fruit of.
Page 59
_ For this is the manner in which religions are wont to die out: when of course under the stern, intelligent eyes of an orthodox dogmatism, the mythical presuppositions of a religion are systematised as a completed sum of historical events, and when one begins apprehensively to defend the credibility of the myth, while at the same time opposing all continuation of their natural vitality and luxuriance; when, accordingly, the feeling for myth dies out, and its place is taken by the claim of religion to historical foundations.
Page 68
But what interferes most with the hearer's pleasurable satisfaction in such scenes is a missing link, a gap in the texture of the previous history.
Page 79
If, with eyes strengthened and refreshed at the sight of the Greeks, we look upon the highest spheres of the world that surrounds us, we behold the avidity of the insatiate optimistic knowledge, of which Socrates is the typical representative, transformed into tragic resignation and the need of art: while, to be sure, this same avidity, in its lower stages, has to exhibit itself.
Page 82
p.
Page 88
The character must no longer be expanded into an eternal type, but, on the contrary, must operate individually through artistic by-traits and shadings, through the nicest precision of all lines, in such a manner that the spectator is in general no longer conscious of the myth, but of the mighty nature-myth and the imitative power of the artist.
Page 90
All our educational methods have originally this ideal in view: every other form of existence must struggle onwards wearisomely beside it, as something tolerated, but not intended.
Page 100
--TR.
Page 102
Schopenhauer was such a Dürerian knight: he was destitute of all hope, but he sought the truth.
Page 104
I ask the question of these genuine musicians: whether they can imagine a man capable of hearing the third act of _Tristan und Isolde_ without any aid of word or scenery, purely as a vast symphonic period, without expiring by a spasmodic distention of all the wings of the soul? A man who has thus, so to speak, put his ear to the heart-chamber of the cosmic will, who feels the furious desire for existence issuing therefrom as a thundering stream or most gently dispersed brook, into all.
Page 105
The glorious Apollonian illusion makes it appear as if the very realm of tones presented itself to us as a plastic cosmos, as if even the fate of Tristan and Isolde.
Page 106
With the immense potency of the image, the concept, the ethical teaching and the sympathetic emotion--the Apollonian influence uplifts man from his orgiastic self-annihilation, and beguiles him concerning the universality of the Dionysian process into the belief that he is seeing a detached picture of the world, for instance, Tristan and Isolde, and that, _through music,_ he will be enabled to _see_ it still more clearly and intrinsically.
Page 119
In walking under high Ionic colonnades, looking upwards to a horizon defined by clear and noble lines, with reflections of his transfigured form by his side in shining marble, and around him solemnly marching or quietly moving men, with harmoniously sounding voices and rhythmical pantomime, would he not in the presence of this perpetual influx of beauty have to raise his hand to Apollo and exclaim: "Blessed race of Hellenes! How great Dionysus must be among you, when the Delian god deems such charms necessary to cure you of your dithyrambic madness!"--To one.
Page 122
): 'The affirmation of life, even in its most unfamiliar and severe problems, the will to life, enjoying its own inexhaustibility in the sacrifice of its highest types,--_that_ is what I called Dionysian, that is what I divined as the bridge to a psychology of the _tragic_ poet.