Category Archives: nietzsche

First Five Weeks

Note: all of the italicized parts are excerpts from previous things I have written which I have imported for my purposes here.

Yesterday I submitted grades, so now I can start focusing on my lesson planning for next semester. I want to revamp all of my syllabuses (some more than others). I am not yet touching my American Gods class since that one needs to be completely redone.

For the class I am outlining here, I previously started the semester with Nietzsche’s Beyond Good and Evil. Apparently that scared a lot of students, and while only a few dropped, several more panicked about the reading material. Neither of these outcomes were my intention in the least. It is hard to not start with Nietzsche because his work pretty much sets the tone for the rest of the course as I have it currently. However, in light of the reception Beyond Good and Evil got this semester as the opener to the class, I think I have found a way to finagle him later on while I start with Keats instead.

I won’t stray too far from the major odes, Indolence, Grecian Urn, Psyche, Nightingale, Melancholy, Autumn, and Fame. Then go into Eve of St. Agnes. Here is briefly where I will be going with this…

“Keats’ poetry traces his relationship with the imagination from an idealized method of escape to disillusionment. The Odes, beginning with Indolence and Psyche envision the imagination as ripe with possibility.

I am now going to speak of authorial intent, regarded by many as perhaps a taboo subject, except I find it ridiculous to overlook. Keats didn’t write his poetry without intent, nor was it unshaped by his experiences. Otherwise he would never have come up with the concept of the Vale of Soul Making which is strictly reliant upon believing that the trials of experience construct the self through the soul. He didn’t “accidentally” compose anything. Overall his prospects in life weren’t looking so good. His personal life was a mess, everyone around him he cared about was either dying or already dead. He could not marry his love interest. And as for his career, he didn’t really have one. He gave up medicine to become a professional poet/writer, and didn’t exactly receive national acclaim in the beginning. All this before he finds out he has TB.

So it makes perfect sense to see how the imagination, and its power, created an escape. When circumstances became unbearable, he relied on the “wings of Poesy” to transport him into a world full of “moss-lain Dryads” and the “Sylvan historian” telling tales of mirth as he experienced the ultimate concept of beauty within the “untrodden region of [his] mind.”

While he will not be “charioted by Bacchus and his pards,” he nevertheless soon finds that this form of escapism is yet another type of anesthesia, a different method of inebriation, and just as temporary. He likens it to opium as the constant desire for more becomes consuming to the point of losing control. Further, the stark contrast between the imaginary world of art and physical reality becomes even more poignant – and painful. The cycle of addiction to this realm leaves him “forlorn,” and by the end of Nightingale he realizes “the fancy cannot cheat so well/ as she is famed to do.”

And in The Eve of St. Agnes, the once exulted imagination is referred to as a “whim,” akin to a young girl’s fantasy, with the implication towards its fleeting nature and lack of depth.

The innocence of ignorant bliss, dashed off in ecstatic lines, begins to cool, and by the time he comes to Autumn and Melancholy he is disenchanted with the notion of escape, but would rather “glut [his] sorrow on a morning rose,” and find beauty within reality, thorny as it may be. Consequently these poems are considered some of his finest. Contemplating the narrative on an urn, or playing with Psyche in the forest of the mind must come to an end. Much like autumn hints towards closure, his poem deflects a sense of an ending, and rather celebrates said closure, extolling the brilliance the season has to offer.

In his final months, in a last attempt to shake off his TB, he moves to Italy to a small house overlooking the Spanish Steps. As he enjoys their beauty he does not imagine narratives for them, but rather writes to his friends that their sight, as is, suffices.”

I will end this segment with some of Keats’ letters, especially those concerning his views on Wordsworth and Coleridge, paving the way for the following week, where we discuss Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Kubla Khan, Eolian Harp and Christabel.

Kubla Khan and Eolian Harp are enchanting, and provide the “other worldliness” aspect at which Coleridge is amazing, but are nevertheless grounded in a combination of the dream vision and reality, providing the idea of sublime beauty on earth, a conclusion to which Keats also comes to at the end of his works (even though Keats would probably never admit to having similar ideas as Coleridge). Then, a comparative example can be drawn between Christabel and Geraldine from “Christabel” and Madeline from “St. Agnes.” Aside from the obvious plot points, and that they are both narrative poems, both of these works appear to be concerned with defining truth from different perspectives (which should really tell you something about the concept of truth).

Does complacency on Christabel’s, Geraldine’s or Madeline’s behalf detract from how they are viewed during the narratives? I want to trace how each of these character changes if looked at from the first perspective, the victim, and then from the second, the active participant in their fate. In most criticism, agency on their parts is negatively critiqued, with their morality in question. If the truth of their actions has varied perspectives, then so too can their morals be subject to interpretation, highlighting the very prominent possibility that it is not as simple as it is more than often made out to be (yes, I am leading up to Nietzsche).

The most apparent tie in between Coleridge and Nietzsche relies on the questioning of absolutes, like truth, morals, good, bad, etc. However, another idea that would serve here is to bring in Sartre’s concept of intersubjectivity in which he states that “I cannot obtain any truth whatsoever about myself except through the mediation of another,” meaning that how Christabel, Madeline, or Geraldine are regarded is dependent upon who’s gaze is being used, not just within the poems, but from the reader’s perspective as well.

Further I want to look only at Christabel and Madeline, analyzing how each respond to their respective intruders in their bed chambers, with the final argument resting on the fact that each invited the other to their chambers, whether overtly like Chritabel, or solely through subtle implication like Madeline, suffering the consequences of committing betrayal against their families in the process.

It is very difficult to dissociate either from their outcomes, relegating their experiences to fate, as each was in fact an active participant. Madeline fasts through dinner and goes to bed undressed, with her hands behind her pillow, for the sole purpose of hoping to dream of her future husband, and to see him appear before her. She confides in Angela how she dearly hopes it is Porphyro. She follows the instructions, and sure enough he is there. Whether or not she intended for him to be there in the flesh as opposed to her fantasy, is debatable, although I have my own opinions in the matter.

Christabel however, is a very active participant in her own adventure, wittingly leaving her home and venturing into the woods, and then, once coming upon Geraldine, physically carrying her across the threshold of her house into her bedroom, and then inebriating her for various uses. While her agency for the first two hundred odd lines is unquestionable, her complacency thereafter is ambiguous. I personally think she knew exactly what she was doing, and as for whether it is wrong, one must not look at her, but the other characters in the narrative (namely her parents, and Geraldine). I think her agency only becomes questionable when you take Christabel’s apparent confusion into account. She seems genuinely distraught over the scenario that unfolds in her bedroom, which does not preclude her from having created it, but simply not having anticipated the way things would play out.

This is an abridged version of the lecture, where I will spend much more time outlining difficult plot, and drawing the more blatant comparisons, including those in meter and general themes.

Then weeks four and five will be dedicated to Nietzsche’s Beyond Good and Evil since I believe by this point the groundwork for the themes of repentance, truth, beauty, and morality have been set, making his work slightly easier to understand.

I plan on starting with a brief summary of Nietzsche’s life since Beyond Good and Evil can’t really be looked at in a vacuum, and would make the most sense if it is understood how his ideas outlined there have developed over a number of years and through various other works, with a prolonged pause on the Genealogy of Morals, the larger work from which Beyond Good and Evil comes from.

“The problem with defining “good” and “bad” is that it necessarily separates. Or better yet, unnecessarily. The two concept reside down a continuum, but not diametrically opposed. The problem most have in trying to reconstruct this continuum is that they understand it to exist in a straight line, with a finite beginning and end (despite the actual definition of “continuum”). Even those who don’t regard it as having endpoints will still assume that “good” is somewhere towards the right, and “bad” is um… that way (as they point towards the left), with some sort of nebulous space floating around in the middle, serving no other purpose than to separate the two concepts.”

“And that is the first (and perhaps biggest) problem with attempting to understand what each is. In defining them, allocating an orthographic rendering, the idea of these concepts becomes immutable. Yet the concepts do not. Most definitions of “good” or “bad” are vague at best. You see the word, and have some sort of prescribed idea of what it should mean, but everyone creates their own definition. Circumstances shape definitions. Outcomes change definitions. Even the most minute slice of time can be defined as either “good” or “bad,” but the perspective will alter this definition.

Think of past governments, rules, and laws. Do any of them seem unjust today? Downright barbaric? Sure, democracy wasn’t prevalent everywhere, and people didn’t get to vote for their dictators or policies, but how many people questioned them? It is easy enough to judge them, before realizing that the future will judge you. What is deemed morally wrong in our society may be perfectly fine five hundred years from now. Time doesn’t even need to elapse. Cross the globe, and see how others are living , and what they find to be perfectly normal, moral, sanctioned behavior. Judge them if you will, but keep in mind, they will judge right back. And that is the point.

Try to define “good” and “bad,” and you will find as many definitions as there are ways of translating these words. The mere act of trying to define them negates their real existence. As you are looking at them, one in terms of the other, you can’t help but for form the dichotomy in your mind. 

But in trying to search for the truth of these words, it must be remembered that there is no false.” 

“The book ends with an assertion of the difficulty to define anything. Language constantly fails to properly solidify concepts. In fact, the process of attempting to solidify concepts detracts from their purest form that does not conform to absolutes of any kind. Everything exists in a sort of gradient, fluctuating at different points. So to not be able to concisely define Nietzsche but rather rely on a compilation of knowledge from different sources serves to prove this point.”

When we get to Chapter 4, which is not really a chapter, but rather a list of his aphorisms, I will explain each one since more than a handful are ambiguous at best. I will also discuss the implications of the indignant man.

“‘For the indignant man, and he who perpetually tears and lacerates himself with his own teeth (or, in place of himself, the world, God, or society), may indeed, morally speaking, stand higher than the laughing and self-satisfying satyr, but in every other sense he is the more ordinary, more indifferent, and less instructive case. And no one is such a LIAR as the indignant man.’

Here man is depicted in general as amoral, while trying to outwardly demonstrate morality by looking down upon those who openly partake in what is considered sinful behavior – hide your own sin and then judge others to make yourself feel and appear better. 
But I think there is more to it. 
First, an infamous quote by Thomas Hobbes: “… the life of man, solitary, poore, nasty, brutish, and short.” 
While Hobbes is at the extreme of the spectrum in terms of opinions on man, the general idea remains, especially in conjunction with Nietzsche’s ideas on philosophers who constantly seek truth. 
Nietzsche condemns the majority of philosophers as seekers of truth connected to the greater good, constantly searching out a definite, irrefutable good at the core of humanity, led to believe that this is the only truth and anything else is a false image that needs to either be mediated, remedied, or simply glossed over for some higher meaning. 
As he later states, this is nonsense at its best. 
The indignant men aren’t only hypocritically indignant at others specifically, but rather indignant at the idea that such vices occurs (quite regularly at that). Speech without indignation is not hypocritical in that it allows for an understanding that vice exists, and is not necessarily bad, but simply is. To be indignant is to refute basic human nature. And those who assert an impervious belief in some superior virtuous truth while denying every other state of man, are liars.  
They either can’t see the truth of reality, which is much more in line with Hobbes’s sharp observation, or they purposely obfuscate it, indignant at the idea that it should prevail. 
Further, even those who are not in fact hypocrites, and practically self lacerate themselves in order to live up to the standards of this better good, serve no purpose to the larger humanity as they are unable to function. They are “less instructive” because through their goodness, have learned no life lessons to impart onto others. Mind you, these life lessons need not be on morality or avoidance of vice, but simply lessons in general. Unfortunately, when it comes to such worldly matters, these people are “indifferent,” mainly because they have no answers to offer. 
Which really brings me back to the previous point. Abstaining from offering advice, whether you have any or not, does not negate your conscious knowledge of the situation, which in this case is the human condition, imperfect, flawed, instinctual, etc. Avoidance does not negate awareness. Therefore, ‘no one is such a LIAR as the indignant man.'”

This will lead into the ramifications of having these men live within society, and how morality, as defined by the masses comprises a large part of moral law that has numerous effects on social structuring, namely government. The last chapter discusses the reasoning behind how we define ourselves, specifically those considered noble, and here I can again draw a parallel with Sartre’s ideas (to which we will be returning to later as we read Nausea) and Gramsci’s hegemony that relies on the notion that those in the ruling class are there because society as a whole feels they should be there, further serving their own feelings of self-entitlement. I know this is a little back tracking since both of these men came up with their theories after Nietzsche, and were most likely (at least slightly) inspired by him, but combined I think they really get to the core of Nietzsche’s argument on government, Nobility, and the ruling class.

I have no intentions of discussing Nietzsche’s concepts on eternal recurrence, other than with the statement that he believes one should live a life worth living, because that same life will be lived repeatedly for eternity. I will not subject my students to my Nietzschean exploration of time, history, and general circularity. I want them to understand his concepts in the general sense to the point where they can apply them elsewhere without necessarily getting into the minute nuances of his theories that are beyond the scopes of this course (unless of course they really want to, then they can come to my office hours and we can talk about Nietzsche all day).

At this point I will be assigning a short paper discussing some of the themes thus far (not a very involving paper, but more to make sure everyone understands what is going on).

And so my first five weeks for this class have been accounted for. I am sure you are all dying to know how the next five weeks will unfold, because who doesn’t love reading other people’s syllabuses? Well,  I am still working on it, but here is a hint: there will be Goethe and Chaucer, among other things.

Particles in a Circle

If time moves in a circular pattern (an idea that I believe I have now beaten into the ground), then does that mean nothing new is ever produced? I originally stipulated among several posts dealing with this matter that while time, and by extension history is circular, there is always a slight difference in each recurrence. However, how long before the slight difference also becomes engulfed in the closed circuit of time? Basically, at what point do events, all events, exist within a loop of repetition and a complete cessation of novelty happens?

So maybe history and time are not a single geometric shape, but rather a combination of circles, ellipses, and lines of various sizes, interacting and counteracting.

Small events, like a person’s life, revolve around the axis of one circle, whereas history, in the larger conception of it, operates along the axis of a different circle. Do these circles then become bifurcated, intersected and altogether skewered by infinitely continuous lines, reinvigorating circular repetition with an onslaught of newly produced events?
It would seem that the lines interact with everything to varying degrees where some gently graze circuitous paths, and can be identified as inconsequential events, while others violently impale respective circles to produce events of mass significance. But even so, these new events then become absorbed within the circular paths, hence recurring wars, or non human inventions like climate changes outside the immediately visible cyclical seasons and delving into categories like massive eras of varied temperatures.
While this seemingly alleviates the problem of lack with an ongoing infusion of new events that will eventually become consumed into the cycles, one of two things must occur. Either the cycles infinitely expand, or are destroyed. This is apparent in the human life cycle, abundant in repetition, along with seemingly new events, and the circular path each person follows expands until it ceases to exist at death. But how does this play out in the larger spheres of the universe? If each circle represents history and time, does time then expand? For how long? What happens when expansion can no longer be accommodated?
In The Gay Science Nietzsche first asks this very question of eternal recurrence, beginning his life long obsession with the repetition of time (and while most will recall this thread from Zarathustra, which is definitely his most quoted and often anthologized work, Gay Science precedes with this strand). I don’t believe he ever answered this question, and instead (perhaps ironically) came back to it on multiple occasions, getting a bit closer to some sort of truth, fully aware there is not one, but multiple truths that can satisfy his theory, and refused to fully acknowledge any of them.
His idea of eternal recurrence, despite the name, reminiscent of an ever complete circle, is actually more similar to particle theory in which events scattered throughout will randomly combine and recombine in almost identical patters in order for repetition to occur. I think his failure to pin down logistics to such a theory is partly due to his omission of a force acting upon said particles. While they may recombine there is little to suggest they should do so in any specific pattern, or that recurrence can happen with any regularity.
Kierkegaard earlier came to an understanding of a similar principle and did in fact take into account that something must act upon events in order for “free range repetition” or repletion to occur, but he too did not identify the force and for the most part simply acknowledged that it occurs through some sort of leap of faith (which for my purposes here is an exaggerated oversimplification of his many works).
Scientifically the universe is expanding, and has been doing so since creation (however you may want to believe that transpired), alluding to the idea that time exists within an even larger sphere, existing before itself. In other words, there was time, expanded to its point of saturation, ceasing to exist, and  regenerated ad infinitum. Otherwise how else could it be explained that time simultaneously exists cyclically and linearly? It would have to be one or the other, and it just simply is not.
I will not negate that there are particles, but I will argue that they are not free floating, and rather prearranged within the sphere; it is not the particles which recombine to form reoccurring events, but the sphere itself that moves them along. However, this too leaves several unanswered questions. To argue that the particles are prearranged implies agency to do so at some point. When? Further, it implies a start and a finish, relegated into the idea of recurrence where the beginning and end are but one, yet it still does not account for how they got there to begin with.
Do they randomly combine into a string along the circle, and then repeat over and over again, engulfing new event particles as they come into contact with the linear string of events until the entire thing implodes upon itself only to begin again? And if so, then the next time there is again no guarantee that they will represent the same formation, meaning it is not an eternal recurrence per se, but rather an approximation. Marbles scattered on an endless ground.
Where are we in all of this? Do we exist at some indiscriminate point of this repetition, or are we currently inhabiting a time right before the entire structure breaks down for renewal? Nietzsche was terrified of the idea that our lives, as they are, will be repeated without end. Camus accepted it. Kierkegaard seemed to be indifferent.
Nietzsche focused primarily on the negative aspects of life that must be played out over and over again across a multitude of lives, recirculating our pain with each recurrence. Camus filtered the theory through the microcosm of one life span in which we perform redundant tasks throughout.
Regardless of whether we are performing and reperforming the same acts, or bound to live the same life over and over again, the difference is only in whether repetition happens in the short or long term. I would think it is both (picturing the spheres of existence as nesting dolls) and repetition happens on every level.
The next series of questions has less to do with the physical or temporal limitations of this theory, but rather with the repercussions on the human psyche – a most fragile structure.
The idea that your life will repeat itself eternally is only horrific under two circumstances: focusing  solely on the negative aspects of your existence and the refusal to acknowledge and/or accept fate (with the various nuances and implications associated with that word). The first of these can deplete the human mind, stripping it of its most essential source of survival, hope.
Hope needs to be brutally murdered in a dark alley. It’s sheer existence presupposes disappointment because in hoping you are setting yourself up for failure. However, the human mind feeds off hope, blind to its degenerate nature, and when hope exists in short supply there is a preconditioning towards depression, nihilism, and general despondency. If where you are now you will be again, then hope for anything else is not just futile, but perverse. Should all notions of hope for “something else” cease to exist, a prevailing sense of acceptance can be born from that void, essentially counteracting the second horrific circumstance of eternal repetition, which is to say, resistance.
But how can the mind be scraped of hope? And, dare I say, is all hope bad? Does hope come in categories? If it does, how are they segregated? We live the same life over and over again, unconsciously even when cognizant of it. For example, I may now realize that the same events have transpired hundreds, thousands, maybe even millions of times, but my cognizance does not breed consciousnesses; I do not know what happened after this immediate point of my existence in this very moment. In other words, I may have lived tomorrow a hundred times, but I, right now, do not know what will happen. So can I hope that X will happen even if it never did, and never will? And what if it does? Does hope provide some sort of relief? Does the relief not then get taken away when what I hoped for does not transpire? Is hope in itself a never ending cycle where we are all destined to continuously hope for that which we will never have?
The more I continue and offer posits to reduce the gaps in understanding time and how we interact with it, it appears infinitely more questions arise, ones which I cannot answer, and don’t believe anyone else can either except with further theories that themselves will produce further questions. If that in itself doesn’t prove everything is a giant loop, then I can’t imagine what would.

Compare to Define

After spending all week teaching Nietzsche I found a lot of my students were confused by his way of defining concepts. I spent most of class last night deciphering what he is saying. And this is no small task because he does not make definition easy. For a man with so many strong opinions he sure elides concrete terms. For example, the new philosopher. What is that? His definition boils down to a little of this (a man who rises above science), and a little of that (unconcerned with absolute truth), and maybe some of that over there (proponent of the will to power). Not to mention all of his negative definitions in which concepts are defined by what they are not, leaving a lot of space for what they might possibly be. To demonstrate this I drew a circle on the board. This is everything a philosopher could ever be. Then over here (darkening a part of the circle) is what he is not (didactic in a pejorative manner). Over here is another thing he is not (more dark space representing skepticism that inhibits action). So forth and so on… you get the idea… Eventually I was left with a smaller white circle within the original circle that has been shaded. That center circle is everything left, and thus through negation narrowed the definition to a more manageable size – basically a broad check list of ways to identify this new philosopher as to not confuse him with all those Nietzsche disapproves of.

I think I did well enough (at least in the general sense) with hardening some of his concepts, but this coming week I thought I might use a few different examples from parallel or similar theories that are a bit easier to understand. Then I can apply those to Nietzsche’s concepts. Because there are only so many pictures I can draw on the board.

As Chapter 9 of Beyond Good and Evil discusses the reasoning behind how we define ourselves, namely those considered noble, I can draw a parallel with Sartre’s idea on intersubjectivity in which he states “I cannot obtain any truth whatsoever about myself except through the mediation of another,” and Gramsci’s hegemony that relies on the idea that those in the ruling class are there because society as a whole feels they should be there, further serving their own feelings of self-entitlement. I know this is a little back tracking since both of these men came up with their theories after Nietzsche, and were most likely (at least slightly) inspired by him, but combined I think they really get to the core of Nietzsche’s argument.

Yet this is in a way very appropriate. The book ends with an assertion of the difficulty to define anything. Language constantly fails to properly solidify concepts. In fact, the process of attempting to solidify concepts detracts from their purest form that does not conform to absolutes of any kind. Everything exists in a sort of gradient, fluctuating at different points. So to not be able to concisely define Nietzsche but rather rely on a compilation of knowledge from different sources serves to prove this point.

And when did my English class turn into a philosophy/theory course?