No More Learning

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72 THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
implanted in a generation leavened throughout by
him the worship of the "power of history," that
practically turns every moment into a sheer gaping
at success, into an idolatry of the actual: for which
we have now discovered the characteristic phrase
"to adapt ourselves to circumstances. " But the
man who has once learnt to crook the knee and
bow the head before the power of history, nods
"yes" at last, like a Chinese doll, to every power,
whether it be a government or a public opinion or
a numerical majority; and his limbs move correctly
as the power pulls the string. If each success
have come by a "rational necessity," and every
event show the victory of logic or the "Idea,"
then—down on your knees quickly, and let every
step in the ladder of success have its reverence!
There are no more living mythologies, you say?
Religions are at their last gasp? Look at the
religion of the power_jpfJu§tory, and the priesis_of
the mythology of Ideas, with their scarred knees!
Do not all the virtues follow in the train of the new
faith? And shall we riot call it unselfishness,
-^ when the historical man lets himself be turned into
V W»«Ui, an "objective" mirror of all that is? Is it not
magnanimity to renounce all power in heaven and
earth in order to adore the mere fact of power?
Is it not justice, always to hold the balance of forces
in your hands and observe which is the stronger
and heavier? And what a school of politeness is
such a contemplation of the past! To take every-
thing objectively, to be angry at nothing, to love
nothing, to understand everything—makes one

gentle and pliable. Even if a man brought up in


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THE USE AND ABUSE OF HISTORY. 73
this school will show himself openly offended, one
is just as pleased, knowing it is only meant in the
artistic sense of ira et studium, though it is really
sine ira et studio.
What old-fashioned thoughts I have on such a
combination of virtue and mythology! But they
must out, however one may laugh at them. I
would even say that history always teaches—"it
was once," and morality—" it ought not to be, or
have been. " So history becomes a compendium of
actual immorality. But how wrong would one be
to regard history as the judge of this actual im-
morality! Morality is offended by the fact that
a Raphael had to die at thirty-six; such a being
ought not to die. If you came to the help of
history, as the apologists of the actual, you would
say: "he had spoken everything that was in him
to speak, a longer life would only have enabled
him to create a similar beauty, and not a new
beauty," and so on. Thus you become an advo-
cates diaboli by setting up the success, the fact,
as your idol: whereas the fact is always dull, at all
times more like a calf than a god. Your apologies
for history are helped by ignorance: for it is only
because you do not know what a natura naturans
like Raphael is, that you are not on fire when
you think it existed once and can never exist
again. Some one has lately tried to tell us that
Goethe had out-lived himself with his eighty-two
years: and yet I would gladly take two of Goethe's
"outlived " years in exchange for whole cartloads
of fresh modern lifetimes, to have another set of
such conversations as those with Eckermann, and


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74 THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
be preserved from all the "modern" talk of these
esquires of the moment. How few living men
have a right to live, as against those mighty dead!
That the many live and those few live no longer,
is simply a brutal truth, that is, a piece of unalter-
able folly, a blank wall of " it was once so " against
the moral judgment "it ought not to have been. "
Yes, against the moral judgment! For you may
speak of what virtue you will, of justice, courage,
magnanimity, of wisdom and human compassion,
—you will find the virtuous man will always rise
against the blind force of facts, the tyranny of the
actual, and submit himself to laws that are not the
fickle laws of history. He ever swims against the
waves of history, either by fighting his passions, as
the nearest brute facts of his existence, or by
training himself to honesty amid the glittering
nets spun round him by falsehood. Were history
nothing more than the "all-embracing system of
passion and error," man would have to read it as
Goethe wished Werther to be read;—just as if it
called to him, "Be a man and follow me not! "
But fortunately history also keeps alive for us the
memory of the great "fighters against history,"
that is, against the blind power of the actual; it
puts itself in the pillory just by glorifying the true
historical nature in men who troubled themselves
very little about the " thus it is," in order that they
might follow a "thus it must be" with greater joy
and greater pride. Not to drag their generation to
the grave, but to found a new one—that is the
motive that ever drives them onward; and even if
they are born late, there is a way of living by


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THE USE AND ABUSE OF HISTORY. 75
which they can forget it—and future generations
will know them only as the first-comers.
IX.
Is perhaps our time such a " first-comer "? Its
historical sense is so strong, and has such universal
and boundless expression, that future times will
commend it, if only for this, as a first-comer—
if there be any future time, in the sense of future
culture. But here comes a grave doubt. CloseJto_
the modern man's pride there stands his irony
about himself, his consciousness that he must live
in a historical, or twilit, atmosphere, the fear that
he can retain none of his youthful hopes and powers.
Here and there one goes further into cynicism, and
justifies the course of history, nay, the whole
evolution of the world, as simply leading up to the
modern man, according to the cynical canon:—
"what you see now had to come, man had to be
thus and not otherwise, no one can stand against
this necessity. " He who cannot rest in a state of
irony flies for refuge to the cynicism. The last
decade makes him a present of one of its most
beautiful inventions, a full and well-rounded phrase
for this cynicism: he calls his way of living thought-
lessly and after the fashion of his time," the full
surrender of his personality to the world-process. "
The personality and the world-process! The world-
process and the personality of the earthworm! If
only one did not eternally hear the word "world,
world, world," that hyperbole of all hyperboles *'~


## p. 76 (#108) #############################################

76 THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
when we should only speak, in a decent manner,
of "man, man, man "! Heirs of the Greeks and
Romans, of Christianity? All that seems nothing
to the cynics. But "heirs of the world-process ";
the final target of the world-process; the meaning
and solution of all riddles of the universe, the ripest
fruit on the tree of knowledge ! —that is what I call
a right noble thought: by this token are the first-
lings of every time to be known, although they
may have arrived last. The historical imagination
has never flown so far, even in a dream; for now
the history of man is merely the continuation of
that of animals and plants: the universal historian
finds traces of himself even in the utter depths of
the sea, in the living slime. He stands astounded
in face of the enormous way that man has run,
and his gaze quivers before the mightier wonder,
the modern man who can see all this way! He
stands proudly on the pyramid of the world-process:
and while he lays the final stone of his knowledge,
he seems to cry aloud to listening Nature: "We
are at the top, we are the top, we are the comple-
tion of Nature! "
O thou too proud European of the nineteenth
century, art thou not mad? Thy knowledge does
not complete Nature, it only kills thine own nature!
Measure the height of what thou knowest by the
depths of thy power to do. Thou climbest the
sunbeams of knowledge up towards heaven—but
also down to Chaos. Thy manner of going is
fatal to thee; the ground slips from under thy feet
into the unknown; thy life has no other stay, but
inly spider's webs that every new stroke of thy


## p. 77 (#109) #############################################

THE USE AND ABUSE OF HISTORY. yj
knowledge tears asunder. —But not another serious
word about this, for there is a lighter side to it all.
The moralist, the artist, the saint and the states-
man, may well be troubled, when they see that all
foundations are breaking up in mad unconscious
ruin, and resolving themselves into the ever flowing
stream of becoming; that all creation is being
tirelessly spun into webs of history by the modern
man, the great spider in the mesh of the world-net.
We ourselves may be glad for once in a way that
we see it all in the shining magic mirror of a
philosophical parodist, in whose brain the time has
come to an ironical consciousness of itself, to a point
even of wickedness, in Goethe's phrase. Hegel
once said, "when the spirit makes a fresh start,
we philosophers are at hand. " Our time did make
a fresh start—into irony, and lo! Edward von
Hartmann was at hand, with his famous Philosophy
of the Unconscious—or, more plainly, his philo-
sophy of unconscious irony. We have seldom read
a more jovial production, a greater philosophical
joke than Hartmann's book. Any one whom it does
not fully enlighten about "becoming," who is not
swept and garnished throughout by it, is ready
to become a monument of the past himself. The
beginning and end of the world-process, from the
first throb of consciousness to its final leap into
nothingness, with the task of our generation settled
for it;—all drawn from that clever fount of inspira-
tion, the Unconscious, and glittering in Apocalyptic
light, imitating an honest seriousness to the life,
as if it were a serious philosophy and not a huge
joke,—such a system shows its creator to be one


## p. 78 (#110) #############################################

78 THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
of the first philosophical parodists of all time.
Let us then sacrifice on his altar, and offer the
inventor of a true universal medicine a lock of
hair, in Schleiermacher's phrase. For what
medicine would be more salutary to combat the
excess of historical culture than Hartmann's
parody of the world's history?
If we wished to express in the fewest words
what Hartmann really has to tell us from his
mephitic tripod of unconscious irony, it would be
something like this: our time could only remain
as it is, if men should become thoroughly sick of
this existence. And I fervently believe he is right.
The frightful petrifaction of the time, the restless
rattle of the ghostly bones, held naively up to us
by David Strauss as the most beautiful fact of all—
is justified by Hartmann not only from the past,
ex causis efficientibus, but also from the future,
ex causa finali. The rogue let light stream over
our time from the last day, and saw that it
was very good,—for him, that is, who wishes
to feel the indigestibility of life at its full
strength, and for whom the last day cannot
come quickly enough. True, Hartmann calls the
old age of life that mankind is approaching the
"old age of man ": but that is the blessed state,
according to him, where there is only a successful
mediocrity; where art is the "evening's amuse-
ment of the Berlin financier," and "the time has
no more need for geniuses, either because it would
be casting pearls before swine, or because the time
has advanced beyond the stage where the geniuses
are found, to one more important," to that stage


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THE USE AND ABUSE OF HISTORY. 79
of social evolution, in fact, in which every worker
"leads a comfortable existence, with hours of work
that leave him sufficient leisure to cultivate his
intellect. " Rogue of rogues, you say well what is
the aspiration of present-day mankind: but you
know too what a spectre of disgust will arise at the
end of this old age of mankind, as the result of the
intellectual culture of stolid mediocrity. It is very
pitiful to see, but it will be still more pitiful yet.
"Antichrist is visibly extending his arms :" yet it
must be so, for after all we are on the right road—
of disgust at all existence. "Forward then, boldly,
with the world-process, as workers in the vineyard
of the Lord, for it is the process alone that can
lead to redemption! "
The vineyard of the Lord! The process! To
redemption! Who does not see and hear in this
how historical culture, that only knows the word
"becoming," parodies itself on purpose and says
the most irresponsible things about itself through
its grotesque mask? For what does the rogue
mean by this cry to the workers in the vineyard?
By what "work" are they to strive boldly forward?
Or, to ask another question:—what further has the
historically educated fanatic of the world-process
to do,—swimming and drowning as he is in the
sea of becoming,—that he may at last gather in
that vintage of disgust, the precious grape of the
vineyard? He has nothing to do but to live on
as he has lived, love what he has loved, hate what
he has hated, and read the newspapers he has
always read. The only sin is for him to live other-
■
wise than he has lived. We are told how he has


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80 THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
lived, with monumental clearness, by that famous
page with its large typed sentences, on which the
whole rabble of our modern cultured folk have
thrown themselves in blind ecstasy, because they
believe they read their own justification there,
haloed with an Apocalyptic light. For the uncon-
scious parodist has demanded of every one of them,
"the full surrender of his personality to the world-
process, for the sake of his end, the redemption of
the world ": or still more clearly,—" the assertion of
the will to live is proclaimed to be the first step on
the right road: for it is only in the full surrender
to life and its sorrow, and not in the cowardice of
personal renunciation and retreat, that anything
can be done for the world-process. . . . The striving
for the denial of the individual will is as foolish as it
is useless, more foolish even than suicide. . . .
The thoughtful reader will understand without
further explanation how a practical philosophy can
be erected on these principles, and that such a
philosophy cannot endure any disunion, but only
the fullest reconciliation with life. "
The thoughtful reader will understand! Then
one really could misunderstand Hartmann! And
what a splendid joke it is, that he should be mis-
understood! Why should the Germans of to-day be
particularly subtle? A valiant Englishman looks
in vain for "delicacy of perception" and dares to
say that " in the German mind there does seem to
be something splay, something blunt-edged, un-
handy and infelicitous. " Could the great German
parodist contradict this? According to him, we are
approaching "that ideal condition in which the


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THE USE AND ABUSE OF HISTORY. 81
human race makes its history with full conscious-
ness ": but we are obviously far from the perhaps
more ideal condition, in which mankind can read
Hartmann's book with full consciousness. If we
once reach it, the word "world-process" will never
pass any man's lips again without a smile. For he
will remember the time when people listened to the
mock gospel of Hartmann, sucked it in, attacked it,
reverenced it, extended it and canonised it with all
the honesty of that "German mind," with "the un-
canny seriousness of an owl," as Goethe has it. But
the world must go forward, the ideal condition
cannot be won by dreaming, it must be fought and
wrestled for, and the way to redemption lies only
through joyousness, the way to redemption from
that dull, owlish seriousness. The time will come
when we shall wisely keep away from all construc-
tions of the world-process, or even of the history of
man; a time when we shall no more look at masses
but at individuals, who form a sort of bridge over
the wan stream of becoming. They may not per-
haps continue a process, but they live out of time,
as contemporaries: and thanks to history that per-
mits such a company, they live as the Republic of
geniuses of which Schopenhauer speaks. One giant
calls to the other across the waste spaces of time,
and the high spirit-talk goes on, undisturbed by
the wanton noisy dwarfs who creep among them.
The task of history is to be the mediator between
these, and even to give the motive and power to
produce the great man. The aim of mankind can
lie ultimately only in its highest examples.
Our low comedian has his word on this too, with
VOL. II. F


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82 THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
his wonderful dialectic, which is just as genuine
as its admirers are admirable. "The idea of
evolution cannot stand with our giving the
world-process an endless duration in the past,
for thus every conceivable evolution must have
taken place, which is not the case (O rogue! ); and
so we cannot allow the process an endless duration
in the future. Both would raise the conception of
evolution to a mere ideal (And again rogue! ), and
would make the world-process like the sieve of the
Danaides. The complete victory of the logical over
the illogical (O thou complete rogue! ) must coin-
cide with the last day, the end in time of the world-
process. " No, thou clear, scornful spirit, so long as
the illogical rules as it does to-day,—so long, for
example, as the world-process can be spoken of as
thou speakest of it, amid such deep-throated assent,
—the last day is yet far off. For it is still too joy-
ful on this earth, many an illusion still blooms here
—like the illusion of thy contemporaries about thee.
We are not yet ripe to be hurled into thy nothing-
ness: for we believe that we shall have a still more
splendid time, when men once begin to understand
thee, thou misunderstood, unconscious one! But
if, in spite of that, disgust shall come throned in
power, as thou hast prophesied to thy readers; if
thy portrayal of the present and the future shall
prove to be right,—and no one has despised them
with such loathing as thou,—I am ready then to cry
with the majority in the form prescribed by thee,
that next Saturday evening, punctually at twelve
o'clock, thy world shall fall to pieces. And our
decree shall conclude thus—from to-morrow time


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THE USE AND ABUSE OF HISTORY. 83
shall not exist, and the Times shall no more be
published. Perhaps it will be in vain, and our
decree of no avail: at any rate we have still time
for a fine experiment. Take a balance and put
Hartmann's " Unconscious " in one of the scales, and
his " World-process " in the other. There are some
who believe they weigh equally; for in each scale
there is an evil word—and a good joke.
When they are once understood, no one will take
Hartmann's words on the world-process as any-
thing but a joke. It is, as a fact, high time to move
forward with the whole battalion of satire and
malice against the excesses of the "historical
sense," the wanton love of the world-process at
the expense of life and existence, the blind con-
fusion of all perspective. And it will be to the
credit of the philosopher of the Unconscious that
he has been the first to see the humour of the
world-process, and to succeed in making others
see it still more strongly by the extraordinary
seriousness of his presentation. The existence of
the " world " and "humanity" need not trouble us
for some time, except to provide us with a good
joke: for the presumption of the small earthworm
is the most uproariously comic thing on the face of
the earth. Ask thyself to what end thou art here,
as an individual; and if no one can tell thee, try
then to justify the meaning of thy existence a
posteriori, by putting before thyself a high and
noble end. Perish on that rock! I know no better
aim for life than to be broken on something great
and impossible, animce magna prodigus. But
if we have the doctrines of the finality of "be-


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84 THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
«V'
coming," of the flux of all ideas, types, and species,
of the lack of all radical difference between man
and beast (a true but fatal idea as I think),—if we
have these thrust on the people in the usual mad
way for another generation, no one need be surprised
if that people drown on its little miserable shoals
of egoism, and petrify in its self-seeking. At first it
will fall asunder and cease to be a people. In its
place perhaps individualist systems, secret societies
for the extermination of non-members, and similar
utilitarian creations, will appear on the theatre of
the future. Are we to continue to work for these
creations and write history from the standpoint of
'the masses; to look for laws in it, to be deduced
'from the needs of the masses, the laws of motion
t *j of the lowest loam and clay strata of society? The
j masses seem to be worth notice in three aspects
only: first as the copies of great men, printed on
bad paper from worn-out plates, next as a contrast
to the great men, and lastly as their tools: for the
rest, let the devil and statistics fly away with them!
How could statistics prove that there are laws in
history? Laws? Yes, they may prove how
common and abominably uniform the masses are:
and should we call the effects of leaden folly, imita-
tion, love and hunger—laws? We may admit it:
but we are sure of this too—that so far as there are
laws in history, the laws are of no value and the
history of no value either. And least valuable
of all is that kind of history which takes the great
popular movements as the most important events
of the past, and regards the great men only as their
clearest expression. the visible bubbles on the stream.


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THE USE AND ABUSE OF HISTORY. 85
■
Thus the masses have to produce the great man,
chaos to bring forth order; and finally all the hymns
are naturally sung to. the teeming chaos. Every-
thing is called "great" that has moved the masses
for some long time, and becomes, as they say, a
"historical power. " But is not this really an in- j
tentional confusion of quantity and quality? When /
the brutish mob have found some idea, a religious""
idea for example, which satisfies them, when they
have defended it through thick and thin for cen-
turies; then, and then only, will they discover its
inventor to have been a great man. The highest
and noblest does not affect the masses at all. The
historical consequences of Christianity, its "historical
power," toughness and persistence prove nothing,
fortunately, as to its founder's greatness. They
would have been a witness against him. For be- ^ N
tween him and the historical success of Christianity \ ^"^
lies a dark heavy weight of passion and error, lust
of power and honour, and the crushing force of the /
Roman Empire. From this, Christianity had its /
earthly taste, and its earthly foundations too, that |
made its continuance in this world possible. Great-
ness should not depend on success; Demosthenes
is great without it. The purest and noblest ad-
herents of Christianity have always doubted and
hindered, rather than helped, its effect in the world,
its so-called "historical power "; for they were ac-
customed to stand outside the "world," and cared
little for the " process of the Christian Idea. " Hence
they have generally remained unknown to history,
and their very names are lost. In Christian terms,
<r
the devil is the prince of the world, and the lord of


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86 THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
progress and consequence: he is the power behind
all " historical power," and so will it remain, how-
ever ill it may sound to-day in ears that are ac-
customed to canonise such power and consequence.
The world has become skilled at giving new names
to things and even baptizing the devil. It is truly
an hour of great danger. Men seem to be near the
discovery that the egoism of individuals, groups
or masses has been at all times the lever of the
"historical movements ": and yet they are in no
way disturbed by the discovery, but proclaim that
"egoism shall be our god. " With this new faith
in their hearts, they begin quite intentionally to
build future history on egoism: though it must be
a clever egoism, one that allows of some limitation,
that it may stand firmer; one that studies history
for the purpose of recognising the foolish kind of
egoism. Their study has taught them that the
state has a special mission in all future egoistic
systems: it will be the patron of all the clever
egoisms, to protect them with all the power of its
military and police against the dangerous outbreaks
of the other kind. There is the same idea in intro-
ducing history—natural as well as human history—
among the labouring classes, whose folly makes
them dangerous. For men know well that a grain of
historical culture is able to break down the rough,
blind instincts and desires, or to turn them to the
service of a clever egoism. In fact they are be-
ginning to think, with Edward von Hartmann, of
"fixing themselves with an eye to the future in
their earthly home, and making themselves comfort-
able there. " Hartmann calls this life the "man-


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THE USE AND ABUSE OF HISTORY. 87
hood of humanity" with an ironical reference to
what is now called "manhood ";—as if only our
sober models of selfishness were embraced by it;
just as he prophesies an age of graybeards following
on this stage,—obviously another ironical glance at
our ancient time-servers. For he speaks of the ripe
discretion with which "they view all the stormy
passions of their past life and understand the vanity
of the ends they seem to have striven for. " No, a
manhood of crafty and historically cultured egoism
corresponds to an old age that hangs to life with
no dignity but a horrible tenacity, where the
"last scene of all
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. "
Whether the dangers of our life and culture come
from these dreary, toothless old men, or from the
so-called "men" of Hartmann, we have the right
to defend our youth with tooth and claw against
both of them, and never tire of saving the future
from these false prophets.
But in this battle we
shall discover an unpleasant truth—that men in-
tentionally help, and encourage, and use, the worst
aberrations of the historical sense from which the
present time suffers.
They use it, however, against youth, in order to
transform it into that ripe "egoism of manhood"
they so long for: they use it to overcome the natural
reluctance of the young by its magical splendour,
which unmans while it enlightens them. Yes, we
know only too well the kind of ascendency history


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88 THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
can gain; how it can uproot the strongest instincts
of youth, passion, courage, unselfishness and love;
can cool its feeling for justice, can crush or repress
its desire for a slow ripening by the contrary desire
to be soon productive, ready and useful; and cast
a sick doubt over all honesty and downrightness
of feeling. It can even cozen youth of its fairest
privilege, the power of planting a great thought
with the fullest confidence, and letting it grow of
itself to a still greater thought. An excess of
history can do all that, as we have seen, by no
longer allowing a man to feel and act unhistorically:
for history is continually shifting his horizon and
removing the atmosphere surrounding him. From
an infinite horizon he withdraws into himself, back
into the small egoistic circle, where he must become
dry and withered: he may possibly attain to clever-
ness, but never to wisdom. He lets himself be
talked over, is always calculating and parleying
with facts. He is never enthusiastic, but blinks
his eyes, and understands how to look for his own
profit or his party's in the profit or loss of some-
body else. He unlearns all his useless modesty,
and turns little by little into the "man" or the
"graybeard" of Hartmann. And that is what
they want him to be: that is the meaning of the
present cynical demand for the "full surrender of
the personality to the world-process"—for the
sake of his end, the redemption of the world, as
the rogue E. von Hartmann tells us. Though
redemption can scarcely be the conscious aim
of these people: the world were better redeemed
by being redeemed from these "men" and


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THE USE AND ABUSE OF HISTORY. 89
"graybeards. " For then would come the reign
of youth.
And in this kingdom of youth I can cry Land!
Land! Enough, and more than enough, of the
wild voyage over dark strange seas, of eternal
search and eternal disappointment! The coast is
at last in sight. Whatever it be, we must land
there, and the worst haven is better than tossing
again in the hopeless waves of an infinite scepticism.
Let us hold fast by the land: we shall find the
good harbours later and make the voyage easier
for those who come after us.
The voyage was dangerous and exciting. How
far are we even now from that quiet state of
contemplation with which we first saw our ship
launched! In tracking out the dangers of history,
we have found ourselves especially exposed to them.
We carry on us the marks of that sorrow which an
excess of history brings in its train to the men of
the modern time. And this present treatise, as I
will not attempt to deny, shows the modern note"
of a weak personality in the intemperateness of its
criticism, the unripeness of its humanity, in the too
frequent transitions from irony to cynicism, from
arrogance to scepticism. And yet I trust in the
inspiring power that directs my vessel instead of
genius; I trust in youth, that has brought me on I
the right road in forcing from me a protest against
the modern historical education, and a demand that
the man must learn to live, above all, and only


## p. 90 (#122) #############################################

90 THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
use history in the service of the life that he has
learned to live. He must be young to understand
this protest; and considering the premature gray-
ness of our present youth, he can scarcely be young
enough if he would understand its reason as well.
An example will help me. In Germany, not more
than a century ago, a natural instinct for what is
called " poetry " was awakened in some young men.
Are we to think that the generations who had lived
before that time had not spoken of the art, however
really strange and unnatural it may have been
to them? We know the contrary; that they had
thought, written, and quarrelled about it with all
their might—in "words, words, words. " Giving
life to such words did not prove the death of the
word-makers; in a certain sense they are living
still. For if, as Gibbon says, nothing but time—
though a long time—is needed for a world to
perish, so nothing but time—though still more
time—is needed for a false idea to be destroyed in
Germany, the "Land of Little-by-little. " In any
event, there are perhaps a hundred men more now
than there were a century ago who know what
poetry is: perhaps in another century there will be
a hundred more who have learned in the meantime
what culture is, and that the Germans have had
as yet no culture, however proudly they may talk
about it. The general satisfaction of the Germans
at their culture will seem as foolish and incredible
to such men as the once lauded classicism of
Gottsched, or the reputation of Ramler as the
German Pindar, seemed to us. They will perhaps
think this "culture" to be merely a kind of know-


## p. 91 (#123) #############################################

THE USE AND ABUSE OF HISTORY. 91
ledge about culture, and a false and superficial
knowledge at that. False and superficial, because
the Germans endured the contradiction between
life and knowledge, and did not see what was
characteristic in the culture of really educated
peoples, that it can only rise and bloom from life.
But by the Germans it is worn like a paper flower,
or spread over like the icing on a cake; and so
must remain a useless lie for ever.
The education of youth in Germany starts from
this false and unfruitful idea of culture. Its aim,
when faced squarely, is not to form the liberally
educated man, but the professor, the man of science,
who wants to be able to make use of his science
as soon as possible, and stands on one side in order
to see life clearly. The result, even from a ruth-
lessly practical point of view, is the historically and
aesthetically trained Philistine, the babbler of old
saws and new wisdom on Church, State and Art,
the sensorium that receives a thousand impressions,
the insatiable belly that yet knows not what true
hunger and thirst is. An education with such an
aim and result is against nature. But only he who
is not quite drowned in it can feel that; only youth
can feel it, because it still has the instinct of nature,
that is the first to be broken by that education.
But he who will break through that education in
his turn, must come to the help of youth when
called upon; must let the clear light of under-
standing shine on its unconscious striving, and
bring it to a full, vocal consciousness. How is he
to attain such a strange end?
Principally by destroying the superstition that


## p. 92 (#124) #############################################

92 THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
this kind of education is necessary. People think
nothing but this troublesome reality of ours is
possible. Look through the literature of higher
education in school and college for the last ten
years, and you will be astonished—and pained—
to find how much alike all the proposals of reform
have been; in spite of all the hesitations and violent
controversies surrounding them. You will see how
blindly they have all adopted the old idea of the
"educated man" (in our sense) being the necessary
and reasonable basis of the system. The mono-
tonous canon runs thus: the young man must
begin with a knowledge of culture, not even with a
knowledge of life, still less with life and the living
of it. This knowledge of culture is forced into the
young mind in the form of historical knowledge;
which means that his head is filled with an enormous
mass of ideas, taken second-hand from past times
and peoples, not from immediate contact with life.
He desires to experience something for himself, and
feel a close-knit, living system of experiences grow-
ing within himself. But his desire is drowned and
dizzied in the sea of shams, as if it were possible to
sum up in a few years the highest and notablest
experiences of ancient times, and the greatest times
too. It is the same mad method that carries our
young artists off to picture-galleries, instead of the
studio of a master, and above all the one studio
of the only master, Nature. As if one could dis-
cover by a hasty rush through history the ideas and
technique of past times, and their individual outlook
on life! For life itself is a kind of handicraft that
must be learned thoroughly and industriously, and


## p. 93 (#125) #############################################

THE USE AND ABUSE OF HISTORY. 93
diligently practised, if we are not to have mere
botchers and babblers as the issue of it all!
Plato thought it necessary for the first generation
of his new society (in the perfect state) to be brought
up with the help of a "mighty lie. " The children
were to be taught to believe that they had all lain
dreaming for a long time under the earth, where
they had been moulded and formed by the master-
hand of Nature. It was impossible to go against
the past, and work against the work of gods! And
so it had to be an unbreakable law of nature, that
he who is born to be a philosopher has gold in his
body, the fighter has only silver, and the workman
iron and bronze. As it is not possible to blend
these metals, according to Plato, so there could
never be any confusion between the classes: the
belief in the (sterna Veritas of this arrangement was
the basis of the new education and the new state.
So the modern German believes also in the ceterna
Veritas of his education, of his kind of culture:
and yet this belief will fail—as the Platonic state
would have failed—if the mighty German lie be
ever opposed by the truth, that the German has no
culture because he cannot build one on the basis of
his education. He wishes for the flower without
the root or the stalk; and so he wishes in vain.
That is the simple truth, a rude and unpleasant
truth, but yet a mighty one.
But our first generation must be brought up in
this " mighty truth," and must suffer from it too;
for it must educate itself through it, even against
its own nature, to attain a new nature and manner
of life, which shall yet proceed from the old. So


## p. 94 (#126) #############################################

94 THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
it might say to itself, in the old Spanish phrase,
"Defienda me Dios de my," God keep me from
myself, from the character, that is, which has been
put into me. It must taste that truth drop by drop,
like a bitter, powerful medicine. And every man
in this generation must subdue himself to pass the
judgment on his own nature, which he might pass
more easily on his whole time:—" We are without
instruction, nay, we are too corrupt to live, to see
and hear truly and simply, to understand what is
near and natural to us. We have not yet laid even
the foundations of culture, for we are not ourselves
convinced that we have a sincere life in us. " We
crumble and fall asunder, our whole being is divided,
half mechanically, into an inner and outer side;
we are sown with ideas as with dragon's teeth, and
bring forth a new dragon-brood of them; we suffer
from the malady of words, and have no trust in any
feeling that is not stamped with its special word.
And being such a dead fabric of words and ideas,
that yet has an uncanny movement in it, I have
still perhaps the right to say cogito ergo sum,
though not vivo ergo cogito. I am permitted the
empty esse, not the full green vivere. A primary
feeling tells me that I am a thinking being but not
a living one, that I am no "animal," but at most a
"cogital. " "Give me life, and I will soon make
you a culture out of it"—will be the cry of every
man in this new generation, and they will all know
each other by this cry. But who will give them
this life?
No god and no man will give it—only their own
youth. Set this free, and you will set life free as


## p. 95 (#127) #############################################

THE USE AND ABUSE OF HISTORY. 95
well. For it only lay concealed, in a prison; it is
not yet withered or dead—ask your own selves!
But it is sick, this life that is set free, and must
be healed. It suffers from many diseases, and not
only from the memory of its chains. It suffers
from the malady which I have spoken of, the
malady of history. Excess of history has attacked
the plastic power of life, that no more understands
how to use the past as a means of strength and
nourishment It is a fearful disease, and yet, if
youth had not a natural gift for clear vision, no
one would see that it is a disease, and that a
paradise of health has been lost. But the same
youth, with that same natural instinct of health,
has guessed how the paradise can be regained.
It knows the magic herbs and simples for the
malady of history, and the excess of it. And
what are they called?
It is no marvel that they bear the names of
poisons:—the antidotes to history are the "un-
historical" and the "super-historical. " With these
names we return to the beginning of our inquiry
and draw near to its final close.
By the word "unhistorical" I mean the power,
the art of forgetting, and of drawing a limited
horizon round one's self. I call the power "super-
historical" which turns the eyes from the process
of becoming to that which gives existence an
eternal and stable character, to art and religion.
Science—for it is science that makes us speak of
"poisons "—sees in these powers contrary powers:
for it considers only that view of things to be true
and right, and therefore scientific, which regards


## p. 95 (#128) #############################################

94
THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
it might say to itself, in the old Spanish phrase,
“Defienda me Dios de my,” God keep me from
myself, from the character, that is, which has been
put into me. It must taste that truth drop by drop,
like a bitter, powerful medicine. And every man
in this generation must subdue himself to pass the
judgment on his own nature, which he might pass
more easily on his whole time :-“We are without
instruction, nay, we are too corrupt to live, to see
and hear truly and simply, to understand what is
near and natural to us. We have not yet laid even
the foundations of culture, for we are not ourselves
convinced that we have a sincere life in us. " We
crumble and fall asunder, our whole being is divided,
half mechanically, into an inner and outer side;
we are sown with ideas as with dragon's teeth, and
bring forth a new dragon-brood of them; we suffer
from the malady of words, and have no trust in any
feeling that is not stamped with its special word.
And being such a dead fabric of words and ideas,
that yet has an uncanny movement in it, I have
still perhaps the right to say cogito ergo sum,
though not vivo ergo cogito. I am permitted the
empty esse, not the full green vivere. A primary
feeling tells me that I am a thinking being but not
a living one, that I am no “animal,” but at most a
“cogital. ” “Give me life, and I will soon make
you a culture out of it"-will be the cry of every
man in this new generation, and they will all know
each other by this cry. But who will give them
this life?
No god and no man will give it-only their own
youth. Set this free, and you will set life free as


## p. 95 (#129) #############################################

THE USE AND ABUSE OF HISTORY.
95
well. For it only lay concealed, in a prison; it is
not yet withered or dead-ask your own selves!
But it is sick, this life that is set free, and must
be healed. It suffers from many diseases, and not
only from the memory of its chains. It suffers
from the malady which I have spoken of, the
malady of history. Excess of history has attacked
the plastic power of life, that no more understands
how to use the past as a means of strength and
nourishment. It is a fearful disease, and yet, if
youth had not a natural gift for clear vision, no
one would see that it is a disease, and that a
paradise of health has been lost. But the same
youth, with that same natural instinct of health,
has guessed how the paradise can be regained.
It knows the magic herbs and simples for the
malady of history, and the excess of it. And
what are they called ?
It is no marvel that they bear the names of
poisons :the antidotes to history are the “un-
historical" and the “super-historical. " With these
names we return to the beginning of our inquiry
and draw near to its final close.
By the word “unhistorical” I mean the power,
the art of forgetting, and of drawing a limited
horizon round one's self. I call the power “super-
historical” which turns the eyes from the process
of becoming to that which gives existence an
eternal and stable character, to art and religion.
Science—for it is science that makes us speak of
“poisons"-sees in these powers contrary powers :
for it considers only that view of things to be true
and right, and therefore scientific, which regards


## p. 95 (#130) #############################################

94
THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
it might say to itself, in the old Spanish phrase,
“Defienda me Dios de my," God keep me from
myself, from the character, that is, which has been
put into me. It must taste that truth drop by drop,
like a bitter, powerful medicine. And every man
in this generation must subdue himself to pass the
judgment on his own nature, which he might pass
more easily on his whole time :-“We are without
instruction, nay, we are too corrupt to live, to see
and hear truly and simply, to understand what is
near and natural to us. We have not yet laid even
the foundations of culture, for we are not ourselves
convinced that we have a sincere life in us. " We
crumble and fall asunder, our whole being is divided,
half mechanically, into an inner and outer side;
we are sown with ideas as with dragon's teeth, and
bring forth a new dragon-brood of them; we suffer
from the malady of words, and have no trust in any
feeling that is not stamped with its special word.
And being such a dead fabric of words and ideas,
that yet has an uncanny movement in it, I have
still perhaps the right to say cogito ergo sum,
though not vivo ergo cogito. I am permitted the
empty esse, not the full green vivere. A primary
feeling tells me that I am a thinking being but not
a living one, that I am no “animal,” but at most a
“cogital. ” “Give me life, and I will soon make
you a culture out of it "-will be the cry of every
man in this new generation, and they will all know
each other by this cry. But who will give them
this life?
No god and no man will give it-only their own
youth. Set this free, and you will set life free as


## p. 95 (#131) #############################################

THE USE AND ABUSE OF HISTORY.
95
well. For it only lay concealed, in a prison ; it is
not yet withered or dead-ask your own selves !
But it is sick, this life that is set free, and must
be healed. It suffers from many diseases, and not
only from the memory of its chains. It suffers
from the malady which I have spoken of, the
malady of history. Excess of history has attacked
the plastic power of life, that no more understands
how to use the past as a means of strength and
nourishment. It is a fearful disease, and yet, if
youth had not a natural gift for clear vision, no
one would see that it is a disease, and that a
paradise of health has been lost. But the same
youth, with that same natural instinct of health,
has guessed how the paradise can be regained.
It knows the magic herbs and simples for the
malady of history, and the excess of it. And
what are they called ?
It is no marvel that they bear the names of
poisons :-the antidotes to history are the “un-
historical” and the “super-historical. ” With these
names we return to the beginning of our inquiry
and draw near to its final close.
By the word “unhistorical” I mean the power,
the art of forgetting, and of drawing a limited
horizon round one's self. I call the power “super-
historical” which turns the eyes from the process
of becoming to that which gives existence an
eternal and stable character, to art and religion.
Science-for it is science that makes us speak of
“poisons”-sees in these powers contrary powers :
for it considers only that view of things to be true
and right, and therefore scientific, which regards


## p. 95 (#132) #############################################

94
THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
it might say to itself, in the old Spanish phrase,
“Defienda me Dios de my," God keep me from
myself, from the character, that is, which has been
put into me. It must taste that truth drop by drop,
like a bitter, powerful medicine. And every man
in this generation must subdue himself to pass the
judgment on his own nature, which he might pass
more easily on his whole time:-“We are without
instruction, nay, we are too corrupt to live, to see
and hear truly and simply, to understand what is
near and natural to us. We have not yet laid even
the foundations of culture, for we are not ourselves
convinced that we have a sincere life in us. " We
crumble and fall asunder, our whole being is divided,
half mechanically, into an inner and outer side;
we are sown with ideas as with dragon's teeth, and
bring forth a new dragon-brood of them; we suffer
from the malady of words, and have no trust in any
feeling that is not stamped with its special word.
And being such a dead fabric of words and ideas,
that yet has an uncanny movement in it, I have
still perhaps the right to say cogito ergo sum,
though not vivo ergo cogito. I am permitted the
empty esse, not the full green vivere. A primary
feeling tells me that I am a thinking being but not
a living one, that I am no “animal,” but at most a
“cogital. ” “Give me life, and I will soon make
you a culture out of it ”—will be the cry of every
man in this new generation, and they will all know
each other by this cry. But who will give them
this life?
No god and no man will give it-only their own
youth. Set this free, and you will set life free as


## p. 95 (#133) #############################################

THE USE AND ABUSE OF HISTORY,
95
well. For it only lay concealed, in a prison; it is
not yet withered or dead-ask your own selves!
But it is sick, this life that is set free, and must
be healed. It suffers from many diseases, and not
only from the memory of its chains. It suffers
from the malady which I have spoken of, the
malady of history. Excess of history has attacked
the plastic power of life, that no more understands
how to use the past as a means of strength and
nourishment. It is a fearful disease, and yet, if
youth had not a natural gift for clear vision, no
one would see that it is a disease, and that a
paradise of health has been lost. But the same
youth, with that same natural instinct of health,
has guessed how the paradise can be regained.
It knows the magic herbs and simples for the
malady of history, and the excess of it. And
what are they called ?
It is no marvel that they bear the names of
poisons :—the antidotes to history are the “un-
historical ” and the "super-historical. " With these
names we return to the beginning of our inquiry
and draw near to its final close.
By the word “unhistorical” I mean the power,
the art of forgetting, and of drawing a limited
horizon round one's self. I call the power "super-
historical ” which turns the eyes from the process
of becoming to that which gives existence an
eternal and stable character, to art and religion.
Science—for it is science that makes us speak of
“poisons”_sees in these powers contrary powers :
for it considers only that view of things to be true
and right, and therefore scientific, which regards


## p. 95 (#134) #############################################

94
THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
it might say to itself, in the old Spanish phrase,
“Defienda me Dios de my,” God keep me from
myself, from the character, that is, which has been
put into me. It must taste that truth drop by drop,
like a bitter, powerful medicine. And every man
in this generation must subdue himself to pass the
judgment on his own nature, which he might pass
more easily on his whole time :-“We are without
instruction, nay, we are too corrupt to live, to see
and hear truly and simply, to understand what is
near and natural to us. We have not yet laid even
the foundations of culture, for we are not ourselves
convinced that we have a sincere life in us. ” We
crumble and fall asunder, our whole being is divided,
half mechanically, into an inner and outer side ;
we are sown with ideas as with dragon's teeth, and
bring forth a new dragon-brood of them; we suffer
from the malady of words, and have no trust in any
feeling that is not stamped with its special word.
And being such a dead fabric of words and ideas,
that yet has an uncanny movement in it, I have
still perhaps the right to say cogito ergo sum,
though not vivo ergo cogito. I am permitted the
empty esse, not the full green vivere. A primary
feeling tells me that I am a thinking being but not
a living one, that I am no “animal,” but at most a
“cogital. ” “Give me life, and I will soon make
you a culture out of it”—will be the cry of every
man in this new generation, and they will all know
each other by this cry.