Away, therefore, with all striving after truth, after science, and long life to falsehood and deception! The absurdity of this mental attitude lies in the utter failure to perceive that precisely what is here called "asceticism" consists in joyful devotion to the cause of truth, in the very highest concentration of our personality, the most intense will, and the special confirmation of our innermost selves. Is Newton, who was entirely engrossed in his scientific pursuits and whose reply to the question how he had arrived at his famous discoveries, was "By ceaselessly thinking about them," is such a man to be called an ascetic, because his whole interest, his whole love, his whole life were dedicated to those very things, and not to an antisophy like that of Stirner and Nietzsche? Does not a Newton, precisely in this intense pursuit of definite paths in life, of definite trains of thought, show his special disposition, is he not for this very reason completely free and master of himself, hence utterly remote from all asceticism, in using his life as his own strong inclination demands? To act freely is to act according to the laws of one's own nature. To work out one's destiny according to the laws of one's own nature by obeying a powerful impulse either to search after truth or towards creative work in the field of art or ethics, is that what asceticism means? But for Stirner and Nietzsche, life and happiness consist only in the most reckless assertion of the meanest egotism. Such so-called philosophy, or rather antisophy, as well as pseudo-naturalistic art has become quite the fashion among men of narrow mind. However regrettable this may be, there is nevertheless something instructive in it; for it clearly shows how intimately man's view of earthly concerns is connected with the natural impulses of his heart, with his sympathy and antipathy, with his love and hate. Schiller's beautiful poem may fitly close this chapter: D "Lifeless masses are we, when we hate; Arm-in-arm, higher and still higher, Sink at death in the boundless, glowing sea. Friendless was the great world's Master; 1 Esthetical and Philosophical Essays, p. 390. "Tote Gruppen sind wir, wenn wir hassen, Lechzen nach dem süßen Fesselzwang. Arm in Arme, höher stets und höher, Freundlos war der große Weltenmeister, Fand das höchste Wesen schon kein Gleiches III. CONDUCT OF THE MAN OF GENIUS IN PRACTICAL LIFE. GENIUS can develop in three directions, corresponding to man's threefold attitude towards the outer world that surrounds him. For, in the first place, a man allows the outer world to act upon his senses and imagination: he perceives. Secondly, he inwardly digests the impressions made upon him by the outer world by converting them into conceptions or ideas, and so suits them to that picture of the world that he himself has formed and that he carries with him in his mind: he thinks. Lastly, on the basis of the impressions which he has received and of the ideas into which he has converted them, he forms resolutions and gives effect to them by bringing about certain changes in the outer world: he acts. Sensation, conception, and action continually pass into one another, just as the conduct of the individual towards the surrounding outer world changes continually./ If one assumes a merely perceptive or a merely receptive attitude towards the impressions of the outer world, if an impression on the senses, or on the imagination, is all that one desires, and if this by itself suffices to cause pleasure, there arises what we call æsthetic, artistic sensation, the delight found in seeing and hearing alone. Our senses are generally the scouts thrown out by our own interests in the service of some earnest labour or serious need. If the activity of the senses lacks this earnest purpose, such activity seems to be aimless, and becomes mere play. When we look merely for the sake of looking, that which we see becomes a mere spectacle to us. It cannot, however, be truthfully said that the activity of the senses without any practical purpose is in itself purposeless, but only that it is a purpose unto itself, that it exists for its own sake. It is on this delight in sensation alone, in the mere reception of the impressions of the outer world, that all beauty is based and all art; and artistic genius is the intensified capacity for assuming a disinterested, objective attitude towards these impressions, for devoting oneself to them with one's whole soul. If a man maintains a purely thinking, comprehensive, reflective attitude, if he tries ever further to deepen that picture of the world which he has formed out of the most varied ideas, to unify it and shape it into a whole, if he tries to make the individual ideas or conceptions more and more clear to himself, combining and harmonising them, until he arrives at a coherent and consistent view of life, if a man, in other words, takes an interest in knowledge and understanding for themselves alone, and if these in themselves suffice to cause him pleasure, then we have what we call philosophical thinking. If we use our senses chiefly as the scouts of our mere practical interests, our thoughts become generally the strategists initiating the attack on the outer world, the attainment of some practical advantage. If a man finds pleasure in reflection and comprehension for their own sakes, his thinking apparently lacks earnest purpose, it appears useless, mere idle play. Hence the narrow-minded man with his purely practical attitude will be just as little inclined to take a philosopher seriously as he would an artist. But philo sophical genius is based on this exclusive interest in thought and cognition. Whoever is not absorbed in an idea with his whole mind and soul will never grasp it. Now, is there also a way of acting which is an end unto itself, just as there is purely disinterested sensation and purely objective thinking? Certainly there is, namely that conduct which is not dictated by a subjective, onesided interest, but which follows out an idea conceived by the disinterested, objective mind. If we do a thing with only a selfish purpose in view, it will be of little or no importance to us how the work is executed, so long as we derive our advantage from it. If our work does not interest us in itself, we shall try to get done with it as quickly as possible, and we shall occupy ourselves with it only in so far as is absolutely necessary for the preservation of our existence. Compulsory work is accompanied by great dislike on our part and will be performed as badly as possible. But to whatever extent our work is done for its own sake, to whatever extent we are objectively interested in what we do, in so far also will every advance, improvement and completion of our work be attended with pleasure. Work which in itself causes delight is executed as perfectly as possible. If genius is synonymous with love, then the mode of action of the man of genius will consist in doing what he does with all his soul, with a complete devotion to the work itself, be it what it may. The narrow-minded man is astonished at what is apparently child's-play to the genius, and does not see that it is in point of fact somewhat of the nature of play, since the man of genius takes pleasure in the work for itself and the actual, practical purpose falls more into the background. Anything done merely because it gives pleasure, an act performed solely for its own sake, we call play; so that, however strange it may sound, the more |