# Nietzsche the thinker/Chapter VI

CHAPTER VI
ETHICAL VIEWS
I
Like Nietzsche's first metaphysics, his first ethical views reveal the influence of Schopenhauer. In general, the order of the world, including that of human life, cannot be changed. It is not founded on reason, and is but slightly accessible to rational influence. The old rationalism effectually came to an end with Kant and Schopenhauer, who demonstrated the unsurpassable limits of theoretic curiosity, and begot anew the sense of the fundamental mysteriousness of things. A certain deep resignation is the practical consequence, a certain frank facing and acceptance of reality in all its forms, including those which are terrible. Instead of science, thinking that it can find the cause of all ills and so can remedy them, wisdom becomes the goal—wisdom, which refusing to be seduced by the specious promises of the sciences, looks unmoved on the world as a whole, and by sympathy and love seeks to make the eternal suffering it finds there its own. This is the atmosphere favorable to the rise of a new and tragic type of culture, similar to that which existed among the Greeks before Socrates and Euripides exercised their rationalizing influence.
But because the broad features of the human lot cannot be changed, it does not follow that things may not be better than they are, that there is not something which man may strive for. At bottom Nietzsche was of idealistic temperament, and though this did not distort his vision of reality, it kept him from relapsing into quietism. He felt indeed that the weightiest question of philosophy was just how far the realm of the unchangeable extended, so that knowing this we might set out to improve the changeable side of things with all the courage at our command. We may not be able to do much, and may easily be depressed, but neither becoming rich nor honored nor ​learned will lift us out of our depression, and the only sense in striving in these directions is to win power, whereby we may come to the help of nature and correct a little her foolish and clumsy ways.
What then can we do? What shall be our aim? Nietzsche's idealistic temper is plentifully in evidence in the way he gives his answer. We do not get our aim, he says, by studying history, science, or circumstances now existing. In this way we acquaint ourselves with facts: but ethics is a question of our attitude to facts, of the way in which we shall confront them. He does not like his historical generation, which wishes only to be "objective," which does not know how to love or hate, and perhaps, as in Hegel's case, turns the historical process itself into a semi-divine affair. He thinks that Hegel's influence was so far harmful on German youth. One who bends and bows to the "power of history" gives in the end an obsequious "yes," Chinese fashion, to every "power," whether it be a government or a public opinion or a majority of heads, and moves to the time which the "power" sets. Not so morality: it is not merely conceiver or interpreter, but judge—if history says what is or was, it says what should be or should have been. Raphael had to die at the age of thirty-six: was there anything right or rational in such a necessity? Some one was arguing in Germany at the time, that Goethe at eighty-two was worn out, but Nietzsche says that for a couple of years of the "worn-out" Goethe and of such conversations as he had with Eckermann, he would give whole wagon-loads of men still running their careers and highly modern at that. That the many go on living, while a few, such as these, come to an end, is nothing but brutal fact, stupidity that cannot be altered—a "so it is," over against the moral demand, "so it should not be." Yes, over against morality! he reiterates; for whatever the virtue we have in mind, whether it be justice, generosity, courage, wisdom, or pity, it is virtuous in so far as it rises against this blind might of facts, this tyranny of the actual, and subjects itself to laws which are not the laws of these historical fluctuations. He reflects in a similar spirit on statistics. "How, ​statistics prove that there are laws in history? Laws? Yes, they prove how common and pitifully uniform the mass are: are we to call the operation of gravity, of stupidity, of blind imitation, of love, and of hunger, laws? Well, suppose we do; but if so, it also holds good that so far as there are laws in history, the laws are worth nothing and the history is worth nothing." Effect, permanence, success are no real argument. Christianity became "an historical power," but it was because earthly passions, errors, ambitions, survivals of the imperium Romanum, mingled with it, not because of its finer elements, and the purest and truest disciples it has had lived without appreciable results and remain for the most part unknown and unnamed. "Demosthenes had greatness, though he had no success." To speak in Christian language, the Devil is the ruler of this world and the master of results here—he is the prime factor in all the so-called "historical powers," however unpleasantly the remark may strike the ear of those who deify success and baptize the Devil with a new name. No, "let us not expect of the noblest things the toughness of leather." Indeed, not continuance at all, not life and victory, but tragic death may be the highest thing, as we feel on occasion in listening to a Greek tragic drama.
All this may be far from a complete statement of the relation of ethics to reality and the temporal order, but it touches certain aspects of the subject, and brings home to us the impetuous earnestness of the young thinker.
II
But if our aim is not given to us from without, it must be born from within. The fact is, we human beings judge what we see or learn—we face it with certain requirements. The gist of our requirements we call our ideal, and the ideal, so far as we make it an end to strive for, becomes our aim. Nietzsche is conscious at the present time of no essential divergence from customary morality, and the ideal he has does not differ from that large vague ideal of good which most of us have, and which, when we hypostatize it, as we commonly do, and ​strip it of limitations, is much the same as the Divine or God. It includes a justice, a love, a wisdom, a power, a beauty—in short, a total perfection—which are only suggested in anything we see or are. A distinction must be drawn between the ideal and the question of its actual embodiment anywhere (e.g., in a Divine Being or Beings)—also, between it and the question whether human life and conduct can actually be shaped in complete accordance with its demands. To both these questions Nietzsche felt obliged to reply negatively. We have already noted that he was atheist; and such in his eyes was the constitution of things that human life and action had to fall short of the ideal, and even to go counter to it to a certain extent. So little, however, does this mean that he failed to revere the ideal, that it was in its name that be, with Schopenhauer, pronounced the world undivine, and it was because of the sense of a contradiction between what ought to be and what is that pain and distress became so deep a part of his lot as a thinker. There only remained to make the ideal interpenetrate reality to the extent the conditions of existence would allow—and this was what his aim practically came to. It was as if he said, If God does not exist, let us see how near we can come to him. How truly this was the substance of his aim, and how strongly his feelings were enlisted, is manifest in an ejaculation which he imagines a disciple of culture making, and which, I take it, is a self-confession: "I see something higher and more human above me than I myself am; help me all to attain it, as I will help every one who feels and suffers as I do: in order that at last the man may arise who is full and measureless in knowledge and love and vision and power, and with his whole being cleaves to nature and takes his place in it as judge and valuer of things." In another connection he says, "For what purpose the world exists, why humanity exists, need not for the time concern us.… But why thou thyself art here, that thou mayest ask, and if no one else can tell it thee, seek to give a meaning to thy existence as it were a posteriori, by giving to thyself an aim, a goal, a wherefore, a high and noble wherefore." To state the aim more concretely: since the ​characteristic impulses of human nature are, as he held with Schopenhauer, the theoretic, the creative or artistic, and the moral—impulses which yield, when they come to any sort of fruition, the philosopher, the artist, and the saint,—the aim is the production in humanity of the philosopher, the artist, and the saint, and not merely as we sometimes find them, but in the fullness and perfection of their idea. We all have in us that which is kindred to these types, and this is why we long for them, and, as it were, see ourselves in them, when any approximation to them passes before our eyes. Yes, they are what nature in a blind way is groping after; they are the final goal of the creative process, the delivering, redeeming agencies not only for us, but for the World-Will itself—if we intelligently strive for them, we to this extent co-operate with nature and help to make up for her shortcomings and mistakes.
Such is the perspective in which life is seen by Nietzsche. As most of us live it, it is not its own end; men, as we ordinarily find them, have no great value on their own account. Striving simply for comfort, happiness, success is a sorry mistake. Our lives have significance only as they reach out after something beyond them. To speak of man's dignity per se, of his rights as man, is to deceive ourselves; he acquires these only as he serves something higher than himself, as he helps in the production of the "genius"—this being a common term for the philosopher, the artist, and the saint. Life as ordinarily lived is on little more than an animal level. Nietzsche draws a striking picture of what our histories and sociologies reveal to us—the vast wanderings back and forth on the earth, the building of cities and states, the restless accumulating and spending, the competing with one another, the imitating of one another, the outwitting of one another and trampling on one another, the cries in straits, and the shouts of joy in victory: it is all to him a continuation of our animality, a senseless and oppressive thing. And yet the whole picture changes when he thinks of men as animated by an aim like that which he projects. Then the most ordinary and imperfect would gain significance and worth. Though still ​aware of their imperfection and owning that nature had succeeded poorly in their own case, they would none the less remember the great end for which she was striving, and, placing themselves at her service, help her to succeed better in the future. Nietzsche conceives that society might actually be pervaded by an aim of this character, that all might unitedly project it; indeed he recognizes that only in this way can the aim be accomplished—the task being too great for individuals.
III
When society, or a given society, is inspired in this way, there will come what he calls a culture—this being a general term for a unity of style in the activities, the life-expressions, of a people. Existing societies have no culture in this sense (though the French have had one)—the aims of men today are too haphazard, criss-cross; particularly does Nietzsche make light of the pretense of a German culture. It is not outward forms, laws, or institutions that he has in mind, so much as a spirit, a thought, a vital governing aim. At the same time the aim he proposes is not without definite characters. Not only is it contrasted with the aim of making everybody, or as many as possible, happy, but it is also contrasted with the ambition widely prevalent now of founding or furthering great communities (states or empires), which the individual is to find his supreme function in serving. The community is not an end of itself. There is as much dignity in serving an individual, if he be one of the higher type, as in serving the state: it is not size, numbers, that determine value, but the quality and grade of being. The end of social organization itself is to facilitate the emergence of the higher type or types of man. The ideal community is not one in which the members are on a par, all in turn ends and means, but one in which the higher types are ends and the rest are means to them. The old idea of service—one-sided service, if you will—is thus introduced. The philosopher, the artist, the saint being the culmination of ​existence, social arrangements and activity having normally the production or facilitation of them as their ultimate object, to whatever extent they appear at any given time, they are to be supremely considered, the rest of us finding our highest function in serving them, rather than in serving ourselves or one another. It must be admitted that Nietzsche parts company thus at the start with the humanitarian, equalitarian, democratic ideals which rule among us today. Once he refers to the processes by which (according to the Darwinian view) progress, the evolution of higher species, has taken place in the animal and plant world. The matter of critical moment, the starting-point for a further development in a given species, has been some unusual specimen—some variation from the average type, to use Darwin's term—which now and then under favorable conditions arose. Not the average members of the species and their welfare, not those either which came last in point of time and their welfare, were of maximum importance or the goal of the species' development, but just these scattering and apparently accidental specimens and their welfare, by means of which the transition to a new species became possible. In the lower realms the progress was unintended and unconscious, but the method by which it was secured may be pursued in higher realms, and just because we human beings are conscious and may have a conscious aim, we may search out and establish the conditions favorable to the rise of our higher specimens and not leave them to come by chance, and so develope along the human line of progress in an unprecedented manner. Schopenhauer had said, "Humanity should labor continually to produce individual great men—and this and nothing else is its task," and Nietzsche now repeats it after him. Still more definitely, "How does thy individual life receive its highest value, its deepest significance! Surely only in that thou livest to the advantage of the rarest and most valuable specimens of thy kind, not to that of the most numerous, i.e., taken singly, least valuable specimens."
The classifying of men as ends and means is not, however, a part of Nietzsche's ideal itself, but a result of the way in which men actually present themselves in the world. Some ​are or tend to become higher individuals, others do not—though it would seem as if all might. Nietzsche himself is involved in more or less contradiction in dealing with the matter. Now he speaks of every one as having the higher possibilities, as being essentially individual and unique, now he says that the mass are always "common and pitifully uniform" and that the "modern man" in particular "suffers from a weak personality"—one thinks of Emerson's plaint with regard to the clergy that they were "as alike as peas," he could not "tell them apart." Perhaps Nietzsche could only have reconciled these discordant utterances by saying that when an aim takes practical shape, it has to adapt itself to matter-of-fact conditions, and make the best of material that is at hand. Sometimes he states his aim as consisting in the furthering of the production of the philosopher, the artist and the saint, "within us and without us," and doubtless he would fain have seen every man a higher man, and none used for ends outside them; but, as things are, only a few show effectively the higher possibilities, and the rest come nearest to a high value by serving them. I shall recur to the subject in treating his closing period.
Nietzsche gathered encouragement for his hope of a new culture from the old Greek world. The contemplation of that great past made him believe that what he wished for was no empty dream. He says, "The Greeks are interesting and tremendously important (ganz toll wichtig), because they had such a number of great individuals. How was this possible? It is this that we must study." "What alone interests me is the relation of a people to the education of the individual." And yet it must be confessed that in the fragmentary notes from which these remarks are taken, Nietzsche gives us scant light ​on the subject. He does little more than point out that the "great individuals" did not come from any particular friendliness on the part of the people, arising rather amid conflicts in which evil impulses had their part, and states a general conviction that when man's inventive spirit gets to work, there may be other and better results than those which have hitherto come from chance. It is the training (Züchtung) of the higher types, i.e., a conscious purpose in that direction, on which the hope of the future rests.
IV
His derivation of special duties presents little that is unusual. "Duties" are born of ideals. Ultimately we impose them on ourselves; yet they may be strict obligations. He speaks of the "pressure" of the chain of duties which the Schopenhauer type of man fastens on himself. "Favored" is synonymous to him with "fearfully obligated." Freedom is a privilege, an obligation, a heavy one, "and it can only be paid off by great deeds"; those who fail to realize this, do nothing good with their freedom and easily go to pieces. He even speaks of those who enter the lists for a culture such as has been described, as coming to "the feeling of a duty to live"—a different thing, I need not say, from the animal craving to live.
"Justice," "sympathy," "pity," "love" sometimes receive shades of meaning which are determined by his particular views, but substantially they mean the same to him as to the rest of us. He is not laudatory of power, and asks his generation, "Where are those among you who will follow the divine example of Wotan and become greater the more they withdraw—who will renounce power, knowing and feeling that it is evil?" He speaks of Wagner as early tempted to seek for "power and glory," but notes that he had risen to purer air. The man inspired by justice he deems the most reverend specimen of our kind, and he finds it an impulse for the scholar as ​truly as for others; a spark from this fire falling into the scholar's soul purifies and ennobles him—lifts him out of the lukewarm or frigid mood in which he is apt to do his daily task. Nietzsche interprets justice (momentarily at least) after Schopenhauer, as a metaphysical impulse—that is, one that breaks down the wall of individuality belonging to our phenomenal being and makes each say "I am thou." Egoism, in the ordinary sense of the term, receives little countenance from him; whether unintelligent or intelligent, whether on the part of the people or of the possessing classes, it wins no admiration.
Sympathy and pity rank with justice. I may cite here an incident in his personal history. His attack on Strauss has been already mentioned. It sounds malicious at times, certainly it was often ironical, but it was really an attack on the specious German culture which Strauss represented (particularly in the widely read Old and New Faith), not on Strauss himself; and when the learned man died, Nietzsche was half-rueful (for his book had made considerable impression), and wrote a friend, "I hope that I did not make his last years harder to bear, and that he died without knowing anything of me. It disturbs me a bit." His sister tells us that so long as a type he combated was impersonal, he could fight joyfully; but when he was suddenly made to realize that a man of sensitive heart, surrounded by revering friends, stood behind it, pity arose instead, and he suffered more from the blows of his sword than the enemy did—and that then he would sigh, "I am not really made for hating and enmity." He had also sympathy for the "people," the unfortunate. In discussing the reform of the theater, he appears to have above all the popular aspects of the case in mind, speaking of the hollowness and thoughtlessness of a society, which only concerns itself for the mass so ​far as they are useful or dangerous, and goes to the theater and concerts without ever a thought of duties. He even says, "One cannot be happy, so long as everything suffers and creates suffering about us; one cannot be moral, so long as the course of human things is determined by violence, deceit, and injustice; one cannot even be wise, so long as all mankind has not striven for wisdom and does not lead the individual in the wisest way to life and knowledge"—it is almost a socialistic sentiment. He tells us how Wagner "out of pity for the people" became a revolutionist (something many of us may not know, unless perchance we have read Mr. Shaw's The Perfect Wagnerite), and gives an admiring description of Wagner's art, which no longer uses the language of a caste, knows no distinction between the educated and the uneducated, and is contrasted to this extent with the culture of the Renaissance, including that of Leopardi and of Goethe, its last great followers. Indeed under Wagner's spell, he hails a future in which there will be no highest goods and enjoyments which are not common to all. He desires an art—a true art, a true music—which shall be just for those who least deserve it, but most need it. We have already noted his glowing picture of the effect of the ancient Dionysian festivals and dramas in uniting different classes, breaking down the barriers between free men and slaves, making men feel, indeed, their oneness with all that lives—no one without deep human sympathies could have written in this way; and it was a new Dionysiac art, a new Dionysiac age, for which he at this time thought that Wagner was helping to prepare the way.
Sympathy and pity are only forms which love takes in given situations, and love as a principle, as the culmination of justice, and reaching its perfect expression in the saint, is the supreme thing to Nietzsche. The distinctive noble marks of youth are "fire, defiance, self-forgetfulness, and love." Light-bearers seek out men, reluctant to lend their ears, " ​compelled by love." "The Ring of the Nibelungen" is "the most moral music" that he knows—he refers above all to the transfiguration of love there portrayed, clouds, storms, and even the sublime in nature being beneath it. He compares Wagner (whose cause he is pleading in the uncertain days before Bayreuth) to Sieglinde who lives "for love's sake." It is love which purifies us after despair, love by which we make the eternal suffering of the world our own, love in which the artist and we all create, or do anything that is truly great; through love alone we learn not only to see truly and scorn ourselves, but to look out beyond ourselves and seek with all our power for a higher self which is still somewhere hidden.
Morality reaches its culmination in the saint. Nietzsche praises Schopenhauer for making the saint the final judge of existence. The thought is the same when he describes in turn the Rousseau ideal of man, the Goethe ideal, and the Schopenhauer ideal, and calls the last superior. The Schopenhauer type negates whatever can be negated to the end of reaching the truly real. He may in the process put an end to his earthly happiness, may have to be hostile even to men he loves and to institutions that gave him birth, he dare spare neither men nor things, although he suffers from the injury he inflicts; he may be misunderstood and long pass as an ally of powers he despises, may have to be counted unjust, though all his striving is for justice—but he will say to himself, and find consolation in saying (they are Schopenhauer's words), "A happy life is impossible; the highest thing which man can reach, is an heroic course of life. Such he leads who, in any manner and situation, fights against enormous odds for what is in some way of universal benefit and in the end conquers, though he is ill or not at all rewarded." This may not be the ordinary idea of the saint, but it is what Nietzsche means when he uses the term: it is really the hero-saint whom he has in mind. Such an one ​dies to self, he scarcely lives any longer as a separate person, his suffering is but part of the universal suffering—Nietzsche remarks that there are moments in our experience when we hardly understand the word "I." It is a part of the higher purpose of tragedy to awaken this sense of a superpersonal being. It is a sense which the contemplation of death and change (things inwrought with individual existence) does not disturb; and Nietzsche is bold enough to imagine that as an individual touched by the tragic spirit unlearns the fearful anxiety about death and change which besets most of us, so the ideal height for mankind, when it comes to die, as die it must, will be to have so grown together into unity that it can as a whole face its dissolution with equal elevation and composure. It is a thought hard to grasp.
I have said that to Nietzsche the ideal was born from within, a free projection of the soul. So vital is this element of freedom to him that he at one time makes a remark which may offend us. It is in connection with an interpretation of Wagner and is really a statement of Wagner's view, but from the way he makes it, we may be sure that it represents his own. After saying that it is no final arrangements for the future, no utopia, which Wagner contemplates, that even the superhuman goodness and justice which are to operate there will be after no unchangeable pattern, and that possibly the future race will in some ways seem more evil than the present one, he adds (in substance): for whatever else the life may be, it will be open and free, passion will be counted better than stoicism [stoic apathy] and hypocrisy, honor even in evil courses better than losing oneself in the morality of tradition—for, though the free man may be good as well as evil, the unfree man is a dishonor to nature and without part either in heavenly or in earthly consolation, and whoever will be free must make himself so, freedom falling into no man's lap as a gift. He may also offend us in what he says of Siegfried, for he speaks admiringly of the Selbstigkeit of this hero. Now Siegfried is, as Mr. Shaw has pointed out, something of a revolutionist; he ​disregards traditionally laws and the ancient Gods—he is for man, for the living. In all this he is free, fearless, follows his impulse absolutely—and Nietzche calls it his "Selbstigkeit," "unschuldige Selbstigkeit." The word is an unusual one and English writers ordinarily render it "selfishness"—so that Nietzche appears to sanction selfishness and pronounce it innocent from the start. The Germans have, however, a special word for selfishness, which it is noticeable that Nietzche does not use, Selbstsucht, and the connection plainly shows that it is simply an unconditional following of inner impulse against outward pressure, a strong selfhood, which he has in mind: we might say "self-will," if we could rid the word of associations of petty arbitrariness and obstinacy. An analogue to Siegfried may be found in Prometheus, to whom Nietzche elsewhere refers—and with something to the same thought. The glory of Prometheus in his eyes is that he is ready to save the needy race of man even though he goes against the laws and presenting an interesting contrast to the corresponding Semitic one, according to which mere feminine curiosity and weakness brought down Heaven's wrath.
But the strong selfhood, which is an indispensable part of Nietzche's conception of virtue, involves hardness on occasion—one must not be too sensitive to pain, whether one's own or others'. The thinker must be ready to be hard. A part of Nietzche's admiration for Schopenhauer lay in the fact that he was a good and brave fighter; he had had by inheritance and also from his father's example that first essential of the philosopher, firm and rugged masculinity (unbeugsame und rauhe Männlichkeit). Nietsche also appreciates unconventionality—and this too because a strong selfhood is thereby indicated. Our artists, he says,and notably Wagner, live more bravely and honorably than our scholars and professors—even Kant conformed too much.
* ↑ Birth of Tragedy, sect. 18; cf. sects. 14, 15, 17, 19.
* ↑ "Richard Wagner in Bayreuth," sect. 3.
* ↑ "Schopenhauer etc.," sect. 3.
* ↑ "Use and Harm of History etc.," sect. 8.
* ↑ Ibid., sect. 9.
* ↑ Ibid., sect. 9.
* ↑ Ibid., sect. 8.
* ↑ "Schopenhauer etc.," sect. 6.
* ↑ "Use and Harm of History etc.," sect. 9.
* ↑ "Schopenhauer etc.," sect. 5.
* ↑ Werke, IX, 164.
* ↑ "Schopenhauer etc.," sect. 5.
* ↑ Ibid., sect. 6.
* ↑ David Strauss etc.," sect. 7.
* ↑ Ibid., sect. 7, "Schopenhauer etc.," sect. 6, Werke (pocket ed.), II, XXX.
* ↑ "Schopenhauer etc.," sect. 6.
* ↑ Ibid., sect. 6.
* ↑ Ibid., sects. 1, 5.
* ↑ "Use and Harm of History etc.," sects. 5, 9. Cf. Havelock Ellis's observations on this point, Affirmations, p. 21.
* ↑ The Preacher," in Lectures and Biographical Sketches.
* ↑ "Schopenhauer etc.," sect. 5 (the italics are mine).
* ↑ Cf. the strong feeling he shows about using up individuals for scientific purposes, by narrowly specializing them; "the furthering of a science at the expense of men is the most injurious thing in the world" (Werke, X, 413, §§ 274-5; cf. IX, 325).
* ↑ See pp. 381-2.
* ↑ Cf. the remarks of his sister, Werke (pocket ed.), II, xxi.
* ↑ They were intended for use in "We Philologists."
* ↑ See Werke, X, 384-5, §§ 199, 200.
* ↑ "Schopenhauer etc.," sects. 5, 6, 8.
* ↑ Ibid., sect. 5.
* ↑ Ibid., sect. 8.
* ↑ Ibid., sect. 6.
* ↑ "Richard Wagner etc.," sect. 11.
* ↑ Ibid., sect. 8.
* ↑ "Schopenhauer etc.," sect. 6.
* ↑ Ibid., sect. 6.
* ↑ "Use and Harm of History etc.," sects. 5, 9; cf. the tone in which truth as an egoistic possession of the individual" is spoken of, sect. 6.
* ↑ Welcker judged Strauss with similar sharpness (according to R. M. Meyer, Jahrbuch für das classische Alterthum, V (1900), 716.
* ↑ See Werke (pocket ed.), II, xxxviii. There is a later reference in somewhat different tone, Werke (8vo ed.), XIV, 373-4, § 250.
* ↑ Werke (pocket ed.), II, xl.
* ↑ "Richard Wagner etc.," sect. 4.
* ↑ Ibid., sect. 5.
* ↑ Ibid., sect. 8; cf. Ecce Homo, II, 5.
* ↑ "Richard Wagner etc.," sect. 10.
* ↑ Ibid., sect. 10.
* ↑ Ibid., sect. 6.
* ↑ "Use and Harm of History etc.," sect. 9.
* ↑ "Richard Wagner etc.," sect. 6.
* ↑ Ibid., sect. 2.
* ↑ Ibid., sect. 10.
* ↑ Ibid., sect. 8, Birth of Tragedy, sect. 18, "Schopenhauer etc.," sect. 6.
* ↑ "Schopenhauer etc.," sect. 7.
* ↑ Ibid., sect. 4. Cf. Schopenhauer's Parerga und Parelipomena, II, § 172; Aphorismen für Lebensweisheit, § 53.
* ↑ "Schopenhauer etc.," sect. 5.
* ↑ "Richard Wagner etc.," sect. 4.
* ↑ Ibid., sect. 11.
* ↑ footnote
* ↑ Birth of Tragedy, sect. 9.
* ↑ "Schopenhauer etc.," sects. 2, 3, 7.
* ↑ Ibid., sects. 3, 7, 8.