It seems that it is inherent in the idea of a trinity that there are unifying characteristics. — Existential Hope

Just for clarity, the number three was accidental. Jesus and Socrates are Jerusalem and Athens (two deep sources of our current culture.) Shakespeare throws in London, and he represents a possibility truly other than Jesus and Socrates.

Slight digression, but I recently read What The Buddha Taught by Walpola Rahula. The key point in this context is that the wiseman or saint has to be part of the economy. Does he live on alms ? A holy bum ? Is Diogenes a kind of holy man ? But the issue for me is that this cannot be generalized. Not everyone can play this game. Most people have to marry, breed, work, and enjoy the holy man as an otherness, as a symbol or doll. 'The envelope is the letter.' This may work great in traditional societies, but even there a true renunciation of the world cannot be sincere. The monks are essentially subsidized performance artists.

I don't consider this a shameful thing, but I do want a spirituality to grasp its own role without illusion. That's my inheritance from Socrates and Hamlet -- I want to know myself truly. Someone like Joyce understood the artist to 'forge the conscience' of a people, from within the world, explicitly selling the strange form of scripture known as serious literature. Joyce (an updated Shakespeare figure) had a family, got his hands dirty, got his life dirty, but also articulated a transcendence rich enough to mock itself. Ulysses follows its protagonist to the toilet, because that's part of reality, taking a shit while reading a newspaper. What I'm getting at is the fearless embrace of every aspect of reality (nothing human is alien to me) which is also transcendent, wise as a serpent and gentle as a dove (Leopold Bloom, when pressed by abuse to evangelize for a moment, insists that hatred is no life for men and women ---that love is the point of being here --a stupidly simple message which is nevertheless the truth.)

Why do you see Nietzsche as a kind of proto Ayn Rand? I think Nietzsche would’ve detested Ayn Rand. Her obsessions with the strong man titans of industry who are supposedly leading the world to a better place through their own will is just self-aggrandizing BS. Nietzsche would point out these people aren’t ubermensch, anything but. If anything the capitalist figures who Rand thought were the real hard working ones aren’t accomplishing any difficult deeds, creating great works, or doing anything for human culture. Just look at those billionaires who died in the submarine accident. They were a bunch of comfortable fools role playing in a fantasy land. They’re “human, all too human” in Nietzsche’s language

interesting you mention Becker’s book. I’ve not read it myself but I am familiar a bit with his thesis. To answer the question in the OP, perhaps we can see the world of becoming and ephemerality was condemned by the philosopher’s because of their own intelligence. These were individuals living in relative comfort (for the time) who had time to ponder about death and about impermanence. In the OP it says “why don’t animals seem to condemn the world of becoming”, well maybe in a Nietzschean fashion, those who were best suited for living didn’t think about their own death and impermanence. The strong had no time for that self reflection. They were too busy bursting other people’s skull’s open for looking at them wrong.

Of course, we should stay wary of thinking Nietzsche thinks strong, unthinking brutes=good. He sings his praises of slave morality as well given the learned culture it allowed for us. Plato’s rejection of the unstable world of appearances for the stable realm of the forms is seen by Nietzsche as a mistake in thinking, but in no way was that a kind of original sin that tainted our thinking forever. Without Plato, without the people condemning Heraclitean flux, we wouldn’t have any of the good stuff culture gives us now.

Just for clarity, the number three was accidental. Jesus and Socrates are Jerusalem and Athens (two deep sources of our current culture.) Shakespeare throws in London, and he represents a possibility truly other than Jesus and Socrates. — plaque flag

Beautiful accidents can be miraculous. Still, thank you for the clarification.

Slight digression, but I recently read What The Buddha Taught by Walpola Rahula. The key point in this context is that the wiseman or saint has to be part of the economy. Does he live on alms ? A holy bum ? Is Diogenes a kind of holy man ? But the issue for me is that this cannot be generalized. Not everyone can play this game. Most people have to marry, breed, work, and enjoy the holy man as an otherness, as a symbol or doll. 'The envelope is the letter.' This may work great in traditional societies, but even there a true renunciation of the world cannot be sincere. The monks are essentially subsidized performance artists. — plaque flag

I wholeheartedly welcome the detour. Indeed, the path of wisdom, the quest for truth, is one that beckons the wiseman, the saint, to immerse themselves in the tapestry of existence. The intricacies of the world, the ebb and flow of life's currents, they cannot be fully grasped from the shores of detachment alone. No, the wiseman is not a mere observer, detached from the economy of being. Instead, they partake in the dance of livelihood, for the world is their stage, and they are both actor and spectator. It is true that the wiseman may be seen as a symbol, a doll in the theater of spirituality, embraced by a world that yearns for transcendence while mired in the mundane. The envelope, as you mentioned, becomes the letter itself. In traditional societies, this interplay may be more pronounced, where the renunciation of the world dances with the subtleties of insincerity. Monks, these performers of devotion, find their sustenance bestowed by those who seek a glimpse of divinity in their otherness.

I don't consider this a shameful thing, but I do want a spirituality to grasp its own role without illusion. That's my inheritance from Socrates and Hamlet -- I want to know myself truly. Someone like Joyce understood the artist to 'forge the conscience' of a people, from within the world, explicitly selling the strange form of scripture known as serious literature. Joyce (an updated Shakespeare figure) had a family, got his hands dirty, got his life dirty, but also articulated a transcendence rich enough to mock itself. Ulysses follows its protagonist to the toilet, because that's part of reality, taking a shit while reading a newspaper. What I'm getting at is the fearless embrace of every aspect of reality (nothing human is alien to me) which is also transcendent, wise as a serpent and gentle as a dove (Leopold Bloom, when pressed by abuse to evangelize for a moment, insists that hatred is no life for men and women ---that love is the point of being here --a stupidly simple message which is nevertheless the truth.) — plaque flag

Yes, I think that wisdom lies in not casting a pitch-black shadow of shame upon this interdependent interlude, for it is within this delicate dance that spirituality finds (or can find) its footing, grappling with its role sans illusion. Your post reminded me of the fact that the aims of a Hindu are not confined to asceticism and negation. Artha (wealth), Kama (good pleasure), and Dharma (righteous behaviour) are also vital. A multi-pronged approach can be of ineffable value. In this mosaic of contemplation, turning our gaze to the artist, as you have rightly done, is inevitable. The artist is the one who wields the pen as a sword, piercing the veils of perception to forge the conscience of a people. Joyce, a maestro of words, understood this symphony. He walked the path of life, gathering its grime upon his hands, while his art bloomed like a lotus in the mire. Occasionally, we stumble upon a truth that is too good to be false. Love can be seen as one of them.

"We must widen the circle of our love till it embraces the whole village; the village in its turn must take into its fold the district, the district the province, and so on till the scope of our love becomes co-terminus with the world."

—Mahatma Gandhi (YI, 27-6-1929, p. 214)

"If love or non-violence be not the law of our being,….there is no escape from a periodical recrudescence of war, each succeeding one outdoing the preceding one in ferocity…

All the teachers that ever lived have preached that law with more or less vigour. If Love was not the law of life, life would not have persisted in the midst of death. Life is a perpetual triumph over the grave. If there is a fundamental distinction between man and beast, it is the former's progressive recognition of the law and its application in practice to his own personal life. All the saints of the world, ancient and modern, were each according to his light and capacity a living illustration of that supreme Law of our being. That the brute in us seems so often to gain an easy triumph is true enough. That, however, does not disprove the law. It shows the difficulty of practice. How should it be otherwise with a law which is as high as truth itself? When the practice of the law becomes universal, God will reign on earth as He does in Heaven. I need not be reminded that earth and Heaven are in us. We know the earth, we are strangers to the Heaven in us. If it is allowed that for some the practice of love is possible, it is arrogance not to allow even the possibility of its practice in all t he others. Not very remote ancestors of ours indulged in cannibalism and many other practice which we would today call loathsome. No doubt in those days too there were Dick Sheppard's who must have been laughed at and possibly pilloried for preaching the (to them) strange doctrine of refusing to eat fellow-men."

—Mahatma Gandhi (H, 26-9-1936, p. 260)

Good points and themes !

In the OP it says “why don’t animals seem to condemn the world of becoming”, well maybe in a Nietzschean fashion, those who were best suited for living didn’t think about their own death and impermanence. — Albero

My own take on this, which I got from others, is that humans tend to find (or rather lose?) their identity in the group. If I am a good Roman soldier, I am one with Rome. My body may die, but my essence, Rome, is immortal. In 1984, Orwell gives The Inner Party a self-conscious version of this. We all start 'immersed' in various imposed memberships, and we never completely escape out having been thrown into an identity we did not choose. But we can work toward some ideal autonomy and sense of having chosen our essence.

To me perhaps the key change in human spirituality is the moment when individuals had to start making their own religion (which we might call ideology or personality). Campbell's last volume of The Masks of God focuses on this chaotic era of individual solutions. Every man is his own king and pope in Vico's chaotic age. I can only truly conform by surprising everyone and (slightly) rewriting the rules, this includes revolutionary philosophers like Nietzsche, who becomes part of an institution that lives like a parasite on its rebels. To be fair, the traditional roles are still on the self, but it sometimes looks like nostalgia when people take them up. Polarized US politics are an especially common and boring way to lose/find identity too.

Life is a perpetual triumph over the grave. — Existential Hope

:up:

Another beautiful aphorism !

I take from Hegel the idea of philosophy as a graveleaping Conversation that accumulates the treasure of experience. You and I largely are that Conversation. It is our substance, that which is most human in us. Here and now we continue to it, trying to compress it, extend its mastery, highlight its relevance. Our work is stored in (potentially anyway) in tribal memory, within this Conversation as part of what gets passed on. In other words, 'theology itself is God' --- or philosophy is the process of divine self-recognition. Humans 'perform' the divine, progressively liberating and empowering themselves through a self-consciously critical and ever-unfinished discussion.

Interesting that Marx liked to think of the communist utopia in terms of everyone being both a workman and an intellectual. Fish in the afternoon, literary criticism in the evening, etc. No one is left out of the 'priesthood.'

I can't say that I live in hope for that kind of thing though. I reluctantly accept that utopia will not and even cannot arrive. I wouldn't preach this, try to convince others.

So it's gallowshumor and muted post horns and deep conversations with those attuned to frequencies that I can't help preferring. I still believe in the good, but for me it's very local. I'm kind to strangers that I meet in my little world. I try to tolerate otherness. My way is not the only way, maybe not the best way. That kind of thing.

Without Plato, without the people condemning Heraclitean flux, we wouldn’t have any of the good stuff culture gives us now. — Albero

I thought Nietzsche was correct to see himself as descended from the ascetics that he criticized. His criticism is itself more of the same sublimated vivisection at a higher level of intensity and complexity.

I take from Hegel the idea of philosophy as a graveleaping Conversation that accumulates the treasure of experience. You and I largely are that Conversation. It is our substance, that which is most human in us. Here and now we continue to it, trying to compress it, extend its mastery, highlight its relevance. Our work is stored in (potentially anyway) in tribal memory, within this Conversation as part of what gets passed on. In other words, 'theology itself is God' --- or philosophy is the process of divine self-recognition. Humans 'perform' the divine, progressively liberating and empowering themselves through a self-consciously critical and ever-unfinished discussion. — plaque flag

This would gel nicely with the Jnana Marga of Hinduism that is essentially about the divine spark realising its true nature.

Interesting that Marx liked to think of the communist utopia in terms of everyone being both a workman and an intellectual. Fish in the afternoon, literary criticism in the evening, etc. No one is left out of the 'priesthood.'

I can't say that I live in hope for that kind of thing though. I reluctantly accept that utopia will not and even cannot arrive. I wouldn't preach this, try to convince others.

So it's gallowshumor and muted post horns and deep conversations with those attuned to frequencies that I can't help preferring. I still believe in the good, but for me it's very local. I'm kind to strangers that I meet in my little world. I try to tolerate otherness. My way is not the only way, maybe not the best way. That kind of thing. — plaque flag

Even if perfection is elusive, we can always strive to do our best and leave the rest to the lap of the future. The voyage can be prepossessing without reaching a final destination.

If anything the capitalist figures who Rand thought were the real hard working ones aren’t accomplishing any difficult deeds, creating great works, or doing anything for human culture. Just look at those billionaires who died in the submarine accident. They were a bunch of comfortable fools role playing in a fantasy land. They’re “human, all too human” in Nietzsche’s language — Albero

It's not actual billionaires (like Donald Trump) but her idea of "titans of industry" who through their greatness and will do great things and move humanity forward. The realities of said billionaires isn't the comparison, but her ideal as written in her um, "works", such as Atlas Shrugged or Fountainhead.

Even if perfection is elusive, we can always strive to do our best and leave the rest to the lap of the future. The voyage can be prepossessing without reaching a final destination. — Existential Hope

:up:

Rand strikes me as someone humorlessly identified with her persona. Her work is not going to teach the reader to see through her pose.

Nietzsche, on the other hand, remains elusive, even now. His books discuss masks, tease the reader like a Nabokov novel to look for secret codes. I think he could have been a cult leader like Rand (had the skill) but wasn't interested in such a sorry game and hanging out with people who were weak or undeveloped enough to take him for a prophet. Nietzsche as possibility rather than substance is a liberating thinker, making one more rather than less independent.

Nietzsche as possibility rather than substance is a liberating thinker, making one more rather than less independent. — plaque flag

I mean, how is Nietzsche, when simplified to its actual ideas different from something like "positive psychology" or "Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs", specifically "Self-Actualization"? It's kind of the mantra of the ideal aspirations of those who want to achieve something (the hero, the adventurer, the inventor, the capitalist titan, etc.). To me there isn't much "there" there. Kind of circuitous aphorisms alluding to the idea of a Great Man who should not be restrained to fill their potential. Meh, doesn't move me.

sure but still I don’t think the Overman really is a titan of industry. After all the Overman is not someone who just rules over the mediocre masses, but rather an evolutionary ideal for humanity itself to aspire that. You can see the “meh” in that but I wouldn’t picture such individuals as even conceivable from our point of view.

mean, how is Nietzsche, when simplified to its actual ideas different from something like "positive psychology" or "Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs", specifically "Self-Actualization"? — schopenhauer1

To me it seems you are living with a cartoonish reduction of Nietzsche. No offense intended. I grant that Nietzsche contains that cartoon among so much other stuff. But it's like collapsing Shakespeare to Polonius.

I understand if you don't want to read all this. But I dug up some Nietzsche I found illuminating. He's digging into the pose of the philosopher, into his own pose, which forces a change in that pose. Nietzsche (and critical minds in general) are clowns with their sleeves on fire, trying to put out the fire and only spreading it. Or they are haunted by sarcastic imps, calling them out for the phoniness, for not knowing what they really mean by their fine phrases, etc. This self-torture is also onanism.

We are unknown, we knowers, ourselves to ourselves: this has its own good reason. We have never searched for ourselves—how should it then come to pass, that we should ever find ourselves? Rightly has it been said: "Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also." Our treasure is there, where stand the hives of our knowledge. It is to those hives that we are always striving; as born creatures of flight, and as the honey-gatherers of the spirit, we care really in our hearts only for one thing—to bring something "home to the hive!"

As far as the rest of life with its so-called "experiences" is concerned, which of us has even sufficient serious interest? or sufficient time? In our dealings with such points of life, we are, I fear, never properly to the point; to be precise, our heart is not there, and certainly not our ear.
...
"What is the meaning of a philosopher paying homage to ascetic ideals?" We get now, at any rate, a first hint; he wishes to escape from a torture.

7.

Let us beware of making dismal faces at the word "torture"—there is certainly in this case enough to deduct, enough to discount—there is even something to laugh at. For we must certainly not underestimate the fact that Schopenhauer, who in practice treated sexuality as a[Pg 134] personal enemy (including its tool, woman, that "instrumentum diaboli"), needed enemies to keep him in a good humour; that he loved grim, bitter, blackish-green words; that he raged for the sake of raging, out of passion; that he would have grown ill, would have become a pessimist (for he was not a pessimist, however much he wished to be), without his enemies, without Hegel, woman, sensuality, and the whole "will for existence" "keeping on." Without them Schopenhauer would not have "kept on," that is a safe wager; he would have run away: but his enemies held him fast, his enemies always enticed him back again to existence, his wrath was just as theirs' was to the ancient Cynics, his balm, his recreation, his recompense, his remedium against disgust, his happiness. So much with regard to what is most personal in the case of Schopenhauer; on the other hand, there is still much which is typical in him—and only now we come back to our problem. It is an accepted and indisputable fact, so long as there are philosophers in the world and wherever philosophers have existed (from India to England, to take the opposite poles of philosophic ability), that there exists a real irritation and rancour on the part of philosophers towards sensuality. Schopenhauer is merely the most eloquent, and if one has the ear for it, also the most fascinating and enchanting outburst. There similarly exists a real philosophic bias and affection for the whole ascetic ideal; there should be no illusions on this score. Both these feelings, as has been said, belong to the type; if a philosopher[Pg 135] lacks both of them, then he is—you may be certain of it—never anything but a "pseudo." What does this mean? For this state of affairs must first be, interpreted: in itself it stands there stupid, to all eternity, like any "Thing-in-itself." Every animal, including la bête philosophe, strives instinctively after an optimum of favourable conditions, under which he can let his whole strength have play, and achieves his maximum consciousness of power; with equal instinctiveness, and with a fine perceptive flair which is superior to any reason, every animal shudders mortally at every kind of disturbance and hindrance which obstructs or could obstruct his way to that optimum (it is not his way to happiness of which I am talking, but his way to power, to action, the most powerful action, and in point of fact in many cases his way to unhappiness). Similarly, the philosopher shudders mortally at marriage, together with all that could persuade him to it—marriage as a fatal hindrance on the way to the optimum. Up to the present what great philosophers have been married? Heracleitus, Plato, Descartes, Spinoza, Leibnitz, Kant, Schopenhauer—they were not married, and, further, one cannot imagine them as married. A married philosopher belongs to comedy, that is my rule; as for that exception of a Socrates—the malicious Socrates married himself, it seems, ironice, just to prove this very rule. Every philosopher would say, as Buddha said, when the birth of a son was announced to him: "Râhoula has been born to me, a fetter has been forged for me" (Râhoula means here[Pg 136] "a little demon"); there must come an hour of reflection to every "free spirit" (granted that he has had previously an hour of thoughtlessness), just as one came once to the same Buddha: "Narrowly cramped," he reflected, "is life in the house; it is a place of uncleanness; freedom is found in leaving the house." Because he thought like this, he left the house. So many bridges to independence are shown in the ascetic idea], that the philosopher cannot refrain from exultation and clapping of hands when he hears the history of all those resolute ones, who on one day uttered a nay to all servitude and went into some desert; even granting that they were only strong asses, and the absolute opposite of strong minds. What, then, does the ascetic ideal mean in a philosopher? This is my answer—it will have been guessed long ago: when he sees this ideal the philosopher smiles because he sees therein an optimum of the conditions of the highest and boldest intellectuality; he does not thereby deny "existence," he rather affirms thereby his existence and only his existence, and this perhaps to the point of not being far off the blasphemous wish, pereat mundus, fiat philosophia, fiat philosophus, fiam!

8.

These philosophers, you see, are by no means uncorrupted witnesses and judges of the value of the ascetic ideal. They think of themselves —what is the "saint" to them? They think of that which to them personally is most indispensable; of[Pg 137] freedom from compulsion, disturbance, noise: freedom from business, duties, cares; of clear head; of the dance, spring, and flight of thoughts; of good air—rare, clear, free, dry, as is the air on the heights, in which every animal creature becomes more intellectual and gains wings; they think of peace in every cellar; all the hounds neatly chained; no baying of enmity and uncouth rancour; no remorse of wounded ambition; quiet and submissive internal organs, busy as mills, but unnoticed; the heart alien, transcendent, future, posthumous—to summarise, they mean by the ascetic ideal the joyous asceticism of a deified and newly fledged animal, sweeping over life rather than resting. We know what are the three great catch-words of the ascetic ideal: poverty, humility, chastity; and now just look closely at the life of all the great fruitful inventive spirits—you will always find again and again these three qualities up to a certain extent. Not for a minute, as is self-evident, as though, perchance, they were part of their virtues—what has this type of man to do with virtues?—but as the most essential and natural conditions of their best existence, their finest fruitfulness. In this connection it is quite possible that their predominant intellectualism had first to curb an unruly and irritable pride, or an insolent sensualism, or that it had all its work cut out to maintain its wish for the "desert" against perhaps an inclination to luxury and dilettantism, or similarly against an extravagant liberality of heart and hand. But their intellect did effect all this, simply because it was the dominant instinct, which carried through its orders in the case[Pg 138] of all the other instincts. It effects it still; if it ceased to do so, it would simply not be dominant. But there is not one iota of "virtue" in all this. Further, the desert, of which I just spoke, in which the strong, independent, and well-equipped spirits retreat into their hermitage—oh, how different is it from the cultured classes' dream of a desert! In certain cases, in fact, the cultured classes themselves are the desert. And it is certain that all the actors of the intellect would not endure this desert for a minute. It is nothing like romantic and Syrian enough for them, nothing like enough of a stage desert! Here as well there are plenty of asses, but at this point the resemblance ceases. But a desert nowadays is something like this—perhaps a deliberate obscurity; a getting-out-of the way of one's self; a fear of noise, admiration, papers, influence; a little office, a daily task, something that hides rather than brings to light; sometimes associating with harmless, cheerful beasts and fowls, the sight of which refreshes; a mountain for company, but not a dead one, one with eyes (that is, with lakes); in certain cases even a room in a crowded hotel where one can reckon on not being recognised, and on being able to talk with impunity to every one: here is the desert—oh, it is lonely enough, believe me! I grant that when Heracleitus retreated to the courts and cloisters of the colossal temple of Artemis, that "wilderness" was worthier; why do we lack such temples? (perchance we do not lack them: I just think of my splendid study in the Piazza di San Marco, in spring, of course, and in the morning, between ten and twelve). But that which Heracleitus[Pg 139] shunned is still just what we too avoid nowadays: the noise and democratic babble of the Ephesians, their politics, their news from the "empire" (I mean, of course, Persia), their market-trade in "the things of to-day "—for there is one thing from which we philosophers especially need a rest—from the things of "to-day." We honour the silent, the cold, the noble, the far, the past, everything, in fact, at the sight of which the soul is not bound to brace itself up and defend itself—something with which one can speak without speaking aloud. Just listen now to the tone a spirit has when it speaks; every spirit has its own tone and loves its own tone. That thing yonder, for instance, is bound to be an agitator, that is, a hollow head, a hollow mug: whatever may go into him, everything comes back from him dull and thick, heavy with the echo of the great void. That spirit yonder nearly always speaks hoarse: has he, perchance, thought himself hoarse? It may be so—ask the physiologists—but he who thinks in words, thinks as a speaker and not as a thinker (it shows that he does not think of objects or think objectively, but only of his relations with objects—that, in point of fact, he only thinks of himself and his audience). This third one speaks aggressively, he comes too near our body, his breath blows on us—we shut our mouth involuntarily, although he speaks to us through a book: the tone of his style supplies the reason—he has no time, he has small faith in himself, he finds expression now or never. But a spirit who is sure of himself speaks softly; he seeks secrecy, he lets himself be awaited, A philosopher is recognised by the[Pg 140] fact that he shuns three brilliant and noisy things—fame, princes, and women: which is not to say that they do not come to him. He shuns every glaring light: therefore he shuns his time and its "daylight." Therein he is as a shadow; the deeper sinks the sun, the greater grows the shadow. As for his humility, he endures, as he endures darkness, a certain dependence and obscurity: further, he is afraid of the shock of lightning, he shudders at the insecurity of a tree which is too isolated and too exposed, on which every storm vents its temper, every temper its storm. His "maternal" instinct, his secret love for that which grows in him, guides him into states where he is relieved from the necessity of taking care of himself, in the same way in which the "mother" instinct in woman has thoroughly maintained up to the present woman's dependent position. After all, they demand little enough, do these philosophers, their favourite motto is, "He who possesses is possessed." All this is not, as I must say again and again, to be attributed to a virtue, to a meritorious wish for moderation and simplicity; but because their supreme lord so demands of them, demands wisely and inexorably; their lord who is eager only for one thing, for which alone he musters, and for which alone he hoards everything—time, strength, love, interest. This kind of man likes not to be disturbed by enmity, he likes not to be disturbed by friendship, it is a type which forgets or despises easily. It strikes him as bad form to play the martyr, "to suffer for truth"—he leaves all that to the ambitious and to the stage-heroes of the intellect, and to all those, in fact, who have time[Pg 141] enough for such luxuries (they themselves, the philosophers, have something to do for truth). They make a sparing use of big words; they are said to be adverse to the word "truth" itself: it has a "high falutin'" ring.

Finally, as far as the chastity of philosophers is concerned, the fruitfulness of this type of mind is manifestly in another sphere than that of children; perchance in some other sphere, too, they have the survival of their name, their little immortality (philosophers in ancient India would express themselves with still greater boldness: "Of what use is posterity to him whose soul is the world?"). In this attitude there is not a trace of chastity, by reason of any ascetic scruple or hatred of the flesh, any more than it is chastity for an athlete or a jockey to abstain from women; it is rather the will of the dominant instinct, at any rate, during the period of their advanced philosophic pregnancy. Every artist knows the harm done by sexual intercourse on occasions of great mental strain and preparation; as far as the strongest artists and those with the surest instincts are concerned, this is not necessarily a case of experience—hard experience—but it is simply their "maternal" instinct which, in order to benefit the growing work, disposes recklessly (beyond all its normal stocks and supplies) of the vigour of its animal life; the greater power then absorbs the lesser. Let us now apply this interpretation to gauge correctly the case of Schopenhauer, which we have already mentioned: in his case, the sight of the beautiful acted manifestly like a resolving irritant on the chief power of his nature (the power of contemplation and of intense[Pg 142] penetration); so that this strength exploded and became suddenly master of his consciousness. But this by no means excludes the possibility of that particular sweetness and fulness, which is peculiar to the æsthetic state, springing directly from the ingredient of sensuality (just as that "idealism" which is peculiar to girls at puberty originates in the same source)—it may be, consequently, that sensuality is not removed by the approach of the æsthetic state, as Schopenhauer believed, but merely becomes transfigured, and ceases to enter into the consciousness as sexual excitement. (I shall return once again to this point in connection with the more delicate problems of the physiology of the æsthetic, a subject which up to the present has been singularly untouched and unelucidated.)

https://www.gutenberg.org/files/52319/52319-h/52319-h.htm

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o428ScHkBFk

Seems to relate to the OP, and might be worth talking about.

Ok, so why this passage? I do like his critiques of Schopenhauer's personal life as compared to his philosophy, that he indeed lived a vigorous although relatively lonely life. But I am not getting much out of that verbosity other than the instinct to ascetic ideal is rather more of a strategy for creative thought or something like that. I am not sure of any ethical, aesthetic, metaphysical, or epistemological stance in this other than perhaps alluding to philosophers being more about creative expression than actually living out ascetic ideals. But again, it's hard for me to wade through his over-verbage. Perhaps that is his over-man talking too much.

To make this more concrete and personal, just think of a person trying to analyze their own motives. For instance, you might ask what role antinatalism plays in your life. Does it give you a heroic identity as an activist for the Good ? Or it more like playing the hero of consciousness ? More about seeing the world truly than changing it ?

In my own case, I'm comfortable with the seeing version of the heroic. The world is a big ugly beautiful god, and I don't pretend to be able to put a dent in it. To me it matters whether or not a movement has a chance of success. Evangelizing is also (for me) an embarrassing position, because it asks something of others. It needs others.

Shifting to Schopenhauer, his speech on the futility of suicide is also maybe a handy rationalization, a way to dodge a performative contradiction of his not escaping from the supposed evil of existence. Like the guy with the glass to his throat in that Black Mirror episode, Schopenhauer became a pop star, an influencer, truly famous for a little while, a sage for the mighty Wagner. He talked about the shittiness of life, but clung to his property and his prostitutes, kept a gun for those who might rob him, forgetting to see through the illusion of personality. He was a genius but also (like every genius?) an actor, a phony, a personality product.

I associate Nietzsche with the kind of personality who is well aware of this theatre of the self --who is never self-seduced for more than an ecstatic holiday.

The motif of comparing rest with motion, reminds me of Psalm 1:

Happy is the man who has not followed the counsel of the wicked,
or taken the path of sinners,
or joined the company of the insolent; — Psalms,1

These ambulatory options amongst the world of humans are compared to a tree:

He is like a tree planted beside streams of water,
which yields its fruit in season,
whose foliage never fades,
and whatever it produces thrives. — ibid.

Martin Buber first brought this difference to my attention in his book Good and Evil. And morality undoubtedly concerns the finishing detail of the metaphor:

Not so the wicked;
rather, they are like chaff that wind blows away. — ibid.

Just as importantly, the metaphor expresses a desire to be supported directly by whatever it is that supports anything rather than choose between what humans make up for each other.

He talked about the shittiness of life, but clung to his property and his prostitutes, kept a gun for those who might rob him, forgetting to see through the illusion of personality. He was a genius but also (like every genius?) an actor, a phony, a personality product. — plaque flag

Agreed. Well-acknowledged that Schop never lived up to his philosophy for sure. And Nietzsche is right perhaps for taking him to task. Philosophers are often more about providing ideals than living up to them.

Edit: To be fair to Schopenhauer though, he did have an idea of character that was determined to a large extent. Perhaps he didn't think he had the character to be the "heroic" ascetic sage?

I associate Nietzsche with the kind of personality who is well aware of this theatre of the self --who is never self-seduced for more than an ecstatic holiday. — plaque flag

This aspect I can get on board with. In that respect, it is very Cioran. But of course, that is not all his philosophy is. He is not just social critic. He does have some positive philosophy (that is things he posits, not just critiques). And I believe it is that which I most disagree with.

As far as antinatalism and pessimism, I see it more in regards to "Do you see what I see?!". Perhaps communal catharsis? At the least, it is bringing what is normally in the background of people's murky consciousness into the fore and keeping the light there and not blinking.

Just as importantly, the metaphor expresses a desire to be supported directly by whatever it is that supports anything rather than choose between what humans make up for each other. — Paine

Indeed, so how do you suppose this manifests in life? Religious life? Ascetic? I'd imagine that is what the usual interpretations are.

I am not of one mind regarding religious expression. I have lost more than one interlocutor while lingering in the hall without a good answer.

The ascetic idea is presented in many ways of getting some sort of leverage when the odds are stacked against one. I prefer Epictetus over Aurelius because tactics are what you need when forced into a corner. Taking it as a form of life is not a simple matter. Looking for some kind of angle to change what is usually inevitable is interesting.

What I really like about Psalm 1 is that it encourages so much reasoning by means of negation. We know what assholes are like and what it looks like when we are like them. Before going into the desert to deprive ourselves of all those temptations. The choices are all more local. Even accidental. Pay attention.

Perhaps he didn't think he had the character to be the "heroic" ascetic sage? — schopenhauer1

I still like Schop, but I can't unsee the performative contradiction. I'm guessing part of him knew well enough that he was a fame-thirsty poet looking for applause, looking for a personal survival of death in the usual literary way. I don't judge him for this. I only give him hell for incomplete analysis. But we all die too soon, and he was more honest than most.

As far as antinatalism and pessimism, I see it more in regards to "Do you see what I see?!". — schopenhauer1

In my opinion, framing the perception of the evils of life in terms of an impossible activism obscures the true goal, which is commiseration, communal gallowshumor. Personally I'd 'advertise' it (when looking for others to talk with) in terms of the dark side of life, or the ugly side that people largely ignore.

Freud comes to mind. From a letter:

“I do not doubt that it would be easier for fate to take away your suffering than it would for me. But you will see for yourself that much has been gained if we succeed in turning your hysterical misery into common unhappiness. With a mental life that has been restored to health, you will be better armed against that unhappiness.”

I think Freud is trying to be funny and sincere at the same time, joking about the shit sandwich of life, while being personally 'saved' more than most by his powerful curiosity and sense of mission. As Nietzsche points out, Schopenhauer was probably happy in this way too.

It's fucking fun to tell the nasty truth.

What I really like about Psalm 1 is that it encourages so much reasoning by means of negation. We know what assholes are like and what it looks like when we are like them. Before going into the desert to deprive ourselves of all those temptations. The choices are all more local. Even accidental. Pay attention. — Paine

What do you think is wicked and sinful? The usual murder, theft, dishonesty, et al?

I still like Schop, but I can't unsee the performative contradiction. I'm guessing part of him knew well enough that he was a fame-thirsty poet looking for applause, looking for a personal survival of death in the usual literary way. I don't judge him for this. I only give him hell for incomplete analysis. But we all die too soon, and he was more honest than most. — plaque flag

Before such thing as a "personality disorder" was really known, I think Schopenhauer had one, and probably something akin to Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder with his emphasis and severe exorations on how other people didn't meet standards (and yet not looking at himself very critically). That being said, I know it's not good to backseat psychologize, but thought it was relevant here.

In my opinion, framing the perception of the evils of life in terms of an impossible activism obscures the true goal, which is commiseration, communal gallowshumor. Personally I'd 'advertise' it (when looking for others to talk with) in terms of the dark side of life, or the ugly side that people largely ignore. — plaque flag

True enough. But I do think taking seriously the pessimistic mindset is significant and not just a fun thing to toy around with. I think it leads to greater empathy (goes with commiseration). The gallows-humor is actually also part of this. Communal laughter. There is a reason many comedians shine a light on the pessimism and we commiserate communally (George Carlin, Louis CK, MOST comedians that aren't just doing a one liner but bigger themes...hell even the one-liner comedians often are doing that in their own form of aphorisms).

Freud comes to mind. From a letter:
“I do not doubt that it would be easier for fate to take away your suffering than it would for me. But you will see for yourself that much has been gained if we succeed in turning your hysterical misery into common unhappiness. With a mental life that has been restored to health, you will be better armed against that unhappiness.”
I think Freud is trying to be funny and sincere at the same time, joking about the shit sandwich of life, while being personally 'saved' more than most by his powerful curiosity and sense of mission. As Nietzsche points out, Schopenhauer was probably happy in this way too. — plaque flag

Excellent quote!! SO much to unpack there actually. Imagine someone with a chronic but debilitating mental illness (schizophrenia, OCD, anxiety, personality disorders etc.), and that is getting in the way of existential unhappiness (think more Maslow, Viktor Frankl, etc.). That is to say, there are unhappy existential situations that are universal to the human condition and then there are individualistic psychological illnesses that affect only certain people. The point is to move everyone from those individualistic diseases to grappling with existential problems.

In a way, I've said this before, I want everyone from sub-Saharan Africa, to Western Europe, Mongolia, and North America to achieve the level of existential ennui on par with Cioran. In other words we need to get past the socio-economic, and acute psychological issues to the existential ones so we can all see the human condition as it is.

Hurting other people sucks. I feel like you are asking a leading question.

Hurting other people sucks. I feel like you are asking a leading question. — Paine

No I'm not really. I'm just trying to understand the metaphor on a concrete level as you brought it up so asking you more direct questions about its meaning. Be like a tree near a good source. What is the source? What does the tree represent? And things like that.

The main audience would say the source is God or divine law or something of that nature, I would imagine.

I think the metaphor is speaking to a desire. A complete expression in the face of all that makes it unlikely. This is what we want.

@schopenhauer1 - as you’re interested Schopenhauer I will mention a 2014 publication I’m reading, Schopenhauer’s Compass, by Urs App. ‘Schopenhauer was the first major Western philosopher with a deep interest in Asian philosophies and religions. His favorite book was a Latin version of the Indian Upanishads-the Oupnek'hat-that he used to call the consolation of his life and death. Urs App explains in this book for the first time why Schopenhauer regarded this work as the most excellent in the world, how it is connected with the birth of his philosophy, and what caused him to list it even ahead of Plato and Kant as his major inspiration. This groundbreaking new introduction to Schopenhauer's thought and its genesis explains the role of Indian, Persian (Sufi), Neoplatonic, and mystical ideas as well as meditative states ("better consciousness"). But its focus lies firmly on the central dynamic at the heart of Schopenhauer's entire work: the inner compass that gave it its overall direction.’

I’m still in the introductory chapters, where there’s a detailed analysis of what Schopenhauer thought was wrong with Schelling and Fichte - mainly that their work is ‘theology pretending to be philosophy’, which seems apt. Also details his early influences from a couple of German mystical philosophers whose names are largely forgotten now. It really provides a great insight into Schopenhauer’s life and development.

as you’re interested Schopenhauer I will mention a 2014 publication I’m reading, Schopenhauer’s Compass, by Urs App. ‘Schopenhauer was the first major Western philosopher with a deep interest in Asian philosophies and religions. His favorite book was a Latin version of the Indian Upanishads-the Oupnek'hat-that he used to call the consolation of his life and death. Urs App explains in this book for the first time why Schopenhauer regarded this work as the most excellent in the world, how it is connected with the birth of his philosophy, and what caused him to list it even ahead of Plato and Kant as his major inspiration. This groundbreaking new introduction to Schopenhauer's thought and its genesis explains the role of Indian, Persian (Sufi), Neoplatonic, and mystical ideas as well as meditative states ("better consciousness"). But its focus lies firmly on the central dynamic at the heart of Schopenhauer's entire work: the inner compass that gave it its overall direction.’ — Wayfarer

I do know the works that influenced him the most are Upanishads, Kant, and Plato.

Upanishads- The Maya illusory realm of representation that a few can escape via ascetic contemplation

Kant- the idea of time, space, causality as ground for Principle of Sufficient Reason. The trappings of the representation. And the idea of noumenal (Will) that is the "real" (not conditioned by time, space, causality), and the phenomenal (that which is the Maya projected and conditioned reality).

Plato- This is shoe-horned in my opinion (and I think Brian Magee also agrees). But Schopenhauer took Forms seriously, and that not only species, objects, but individual characters had a Form of some sort and these were kind of gradations of objectification of the Will that are then conditioned (from the illusory aspect coming out nowhere?) of time, space, causality, creating the "becoming" of the suffering Will to Live that characterizes subjective being.

Edit: And indeed these gradations of being have a Neoplatonic ring to it.