Escape or Endurance: The Nietzschean and Perspective on Suffering

in-the-midst-of-winter:

Upon the surface it may seem as if Buddhist and Nietzschean philosophy are very much similar; in fact, they are in many respects, with the latter being very much informed and influenced by the former. For instance, both Siddhartha Gautama and Nietzsche saw the body not as a vessel of some permanence or essence, as is said in the Vedas, but rather as a protean entity consisting of competitive drives and energies, which Nietzsche understood as manifestations of der Wille zur Macht, the will to power. Similarly, both view the world as being intrinsically permeated with suffering and strife, leading them to prescribe antidotes for enduring, the Nietzschean way, or in the Buddhist’s case, escaping. This difference is the fundamental one between Buddhism and Nietzsche.

Buddhism, following the recognition of the world as suffering, encourages a renunciation of the world in favour of liberation by denying life in an attempt to escape the cycle of rebirth for Nirvana, which is literally a ‘blowing out’ of the flames of suffering. This idea can be commonly epitomised not in Buddhist Canon, but in Christian conduct; specifically Matthew 5:30, in which Jesus says “And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to go into hell.” In other words, should your worldly experience prove to be suffering, rid of it entirely: this is the Buddhists path to liberation.

On the other hand, Nietzsche repudiated all renunciation of life because it devalues existence. Instead he proposed for us to, not enjoy as such, but bask in existence no matter if we’re faced with temporary suffering or temporary elation. Nietzsche wants us to be a sea, so that even the dirtiest of water (suffering) dissipates without leaving any effect on the whole. In fact, Nietzsche encouraged the utilisation of negative experience for the for ones benefit: “was mich nicht umbringt, was mich starker” (what does not destroy me makes me stronger.)

Cioran on Nietzsche

in-the-midst-of-winter:

whyexistence:

Well, I realised that he wasn’t a philosopher, but was more: a temperament. So, I read him, but never systematically, now and then. But I really don’t read him anymore. I consider his letters his most authentic work, because in them he’s truthful, while in his other work he’s prisoner to his vision. In his letters one sees that he’s just a poor fellow, that he’s ill, exactly the opposite of everything he claimed. […] His work is an unspeakable megalomania. When one reads the letters he wrote at the same time, one sees that he’s lamentable, it’s very touching, like a character out of Chekhov.

Nietzsche never expresses his own superiority, except comically in ‘Ecce Homo’ with titles such as ‘Why I’m So Wise’ designed to provoke either contempt, from those who misunderstand Nietzsche as a “dancer,” as he says, or laughter, from those who do understand him as a dancer.

As you say, Nietzsche was very aware of his sickness; he suffered with it all his life, and it even led to his demise. Were he felt he made a contribution, and so he felt he earned some merit, was in his honesty to intellectual matters, especially psychology. The only thing he ever espoused himself as was a “free spirit,” which he makes synonymous with intellectual levity and honesty, and “Dionysus,” because he centralised the human, specifically human will, as Schopenhauer did too.

He even proposed that the health, synonymous with life affirmation in Nietzschean philosophy, is the amount of sickness/suffering/self-tyranny one can bare. In the traditional sense then, Nietzsche was sick, but in his own eyes he embodied his penultimate virtue, “amor fati,” which is essentially gratitude for life.

“Power,” in the Nietzschean sense, is nothing to do with physical health, or ones mentality. Instead, the will to power is a will to create, to liberate, to overcome, which Nietzsche feels he did well as a musician, poet, philosopher, novelist, etc. It stands, then, that Nietzsche never advocated one thing and lived another; he lived exactly what he advocated. Besides, even if he did (which he doesn’t), that wouldn’t make any of what he wrote about less worthwhile; it’d just mean there’s a divorce between his work and his life, which isn’t uncommon in philosophy anyway.

Anonymous asked: Can you explain that last aphorism?

The aphorism in question: “Countless dark bodies are to be inferred beside the sun - and we shall never see them. Among ourselves, this is a parable; and a psychologist of morals reads the whole writing of the stars only as a parable - and sign-language which can be used to bury much in silence.”

in-the-midst-of-winter:

As with all Nietzschean aphorisms, the aphorism operates on various levels of meaning and requires some understanding of Nietzschean philosophy.

We have the literal interpretation: dark bodies, typically comets in Nietzsche’s time, or planets in ours, can be inferred by them superimposing over the sun/a light source. This is actually how physicists find planets in far off solar systems, by the monitoring the spectra emitted by the star, from which they can observe, or infer, a planet (and its size, etc.) by scrutinising the ‘dips’ in the spectra.

As a parable this relates to human psychology too, in a kind of Freudian way. The sun, as a metaphor, relates to the mask of an individual, in other words, what is observed on the surface or seen/is visible. As with all masks, as Nietzsche says, they’re superficial; they show a lot “but they betray a lot more.” Under the mask of an individual, then, there are “dark bodies,” which the psychologist can only infer when they crop up and pierce the mask, if only for a short time. This is related to the various manifestations of will to power, which are in constant war with each other for liberation/dominance/freedom (ideas synonymous in Nietzschean thinking). In terms of depth psychology, this kind of thinking was taken upon by Freud, whose concern was primarily the unconscious, which is the “dark body,” and Fritz Perls in Gestalt therapy, who wanted to strip away the mask, or shield, we build because of societal norms to reach the true person.

What I actually think Nietzsche meant is in terms of moral thinking, because this comes from a part of ‘Beyond Good & Evil’ in which the “natural history of morals” is dealt with. So, the “psychologist of morals” is someone who wants to understand how morality has formed and permeated human beings in society and as individuals. Only Nietzsche and Paul Ree have made genuine attempts at this, as far as I understand, but Nietzsche hoped for more scrutiny of moral thinking to come in future – I don’t particularly think his prophecy has been fulfilled. For the “psychologist of morals” then, the “writing of the stars” relates to astrology, which Nietzsche previously mentions as a ruse. Nietzsche accuses the ancient astrologers as having in mind, first their aim, from which they read the stars in accordance with. In essence, Nietzsche’s saying that astrologists pick their message before actually engaging in astrology. They read their message into their work. This is what Nietzsche accuses moralists, like Kant, Schopenhauer, Spinoza, etc., of doing. This they start with a principle, usually the “Golden Rule,” which is merely a societal prejudice as far as Nietzsche is concerned, and they attempt to find the “rational basis of morality.”

Take this scathing diatribe against Schopenhauer for instance, which Nietzsche writes a few aphorisms beforehand:

“Listen, for example with what almost venerable innocence Schopenhauer still described his task, and then draw your conclusions about the scientific standing of a “science” whose ultimate masters still talk like children and little old women: “The principle,” he says, “the fundamental proposition on whose contents all moral philosophers are really agreed – hurt no one; rather, help as much as you can, - that is really the proposition for which all moralists endeavour to find the rational foundation … the real basis of ethics for which one has been looking for thousands of years as for the philosopher’s stone.””

The problem for Nietzsche is obvious: Schopenhauer has faith in the idea of the Golden Rule before evening beginning his task. Shouldn’t he start tabula rasa, with a blank slate, and see where it leads him? Nietzsche despises philosophers, calling them “children and little old women,” for this kind of trickery, and he accuses most, if not all, of it.

Der Wille zur Macht: Part 1

Der Wille zur Macth: The Will to Power

The staple core on which all mature Nietzschean philosophy is founded, the will to power, is frequently misunderstood via the very mechanism of its manifestation, perspective. In other words, the fundamental doctrine, a constant of kinds, the will to power, is frequently misconstrued by those unfamiliar with Nietzschean philosophy because of subjectivism and interpretation. It’s my duty, therefore, to expound somewhat upon this staple requirement by explaining its genesis, Nietzsche’s ‘discovery’ of it, its workings and the end which it leads us to.

The philosophy of Nietzsche, during his philological years and shortly following them, is characterised by a dualism many of us are familiar with: reason opposed to feeling, or the Apollonian opposed to the Dionysian, respectively, taken from the character of the Greek gods of the same name. Apollo, the God of knowledge, is the rational, systematic principle, whereas Dionysus, the God of ecstasy, is the sensual and spontaneous value. What’s important is not to liken the Dionysian to hedonism of any kind, but liken it to dancing, with the Apollonian being walking. The Dionysian is the artist, the Apollonian the scientist so to speak. This dualism led to some issues for Nietzsche, who found any dualism to be unaccounted for in terms of anything else. If the Apollonian is accountable for in terms of the Dionysian, as a manifestation of it, or vice-versa, then ultimately the Dionysian becomes supreme, and the dualism disintegrates. This began Nietzsche’s search for one fundamental principle which can beget all other principles, including the Apollonian and the Dionysian.  

Inspired by Schopenhauer’s “will to live”, which Nietzsche saw as lacking explanatory value of all phenomena, Nietzsche considered another force which can describe all experience. This he termed the “desire for power,” which essentially equated with tyranny: an insatiable desire for crude power. This blunt estimation was soon to be side-lined when Nietzsche realised that pleasure, begotten by an exertion of power, was to be consciously created too, not simply felt. In other words, pleasure is a construction of will too, not merely the product of exercising will. This subtle inclination undermined the “desire for power” because the kind of power it encompassed was merely sensual pleasure, not ‘spiritual’ pleasure, which is ascertainable distinctively from pleasure of the sensual variety. Nietzsche was left with a dualism again: pleasure derived from two means, base power and spiritual power. What we observe though is that the common denominator is ‘power.’ Thus we have it, the will to power: a will, insatiable and desiring of its object in any form, as long as it is satisfied somehow.

The will to power is not a philosophy of ought, but a philosophy of is, to use Humean language. The will to power, as so often misinterpreted by the misinformed, is not a prescriptive model and justification of tyranny or domination. In fact, the will to power, in Nietzsche’s eyes, is as prescriptive as the law of gravity. The will to power is no more an instruction to tyranny or domination of the weak than the law of gravity is a prescription to fall over. What’s common, though, is that the will to power describes tyranny, just as gravity describes falling over. To clarify, the will to power is descriptive, not prescriptive.

Nietzsche’s central conception encompasses, that is to say it describes entirely, all human functioning, and some even claim Nietzsche believed it to be the cosmological constant undermining all natural occurrences, though this is in dispute. The desire for happiness, ascertained crudely by material possessions, a sign of power, though admittedly base power, or by liberation, a manifestation of power, is explained as a fulfilling of will. The ascetic, which Schopenhauer’s “will to live” fails to explain, is understandable though the dynamics of power. The religious instinct is explicable via the will to power. It encompasses all other wills, desires and psychological happenings. Attempt to find phenomena that undermines Nietzsche’s conception of the will to power, as being inexplicable by it, and you’ll come to nothing, or so Nietzsche believed.

Now we have it, the fundamental principle of Nietzschean philosophy: power dynamics. What are next are the consequences of such a disposition, especially in the existential sphere of things. Can we fulfil the will to power? By what means to we fulfil it? Can we utilise what is the case to our own advantage?

Stay tuned for part 2.

Nietzsche On Buddhism

in-the-midst-of-winter:

Nietzsche repeatedly refers to Buddhism as a decadent and nihilistic religion. It seems to be a textbook case of just what Nietzsche is out to remedy in human thinking. It devalues the world as illusory and merely apparent, instead looking to an underlying reality for value and meaning. Its stated goals seem to be negative and escapist, Nietzsche sometimes seems to praise certain aspects of Buddhist teaching—and some of his own core ideas bear a resemblance to Buddhist doctrine.

What exactly is Nietzsche’s evaluation of Buddhism? Is it merely unmitigated nihilism, or is there positive value to be found in Buddhism? There is also good reason to believe that Nietzsche’s knowledge of Buddhism was inaccurate and incomplete, if only due to his historic situation in 19th century Europe. Given current greater Western understanding of Buddhism, would Nietzsche still label Buddhism as life-denying and nihilistic?

Nietzsche most often addresses Buddhism as a rhetorical foil for Christianity, rather than analysing it directly.
Nietzsche exaggerates any aspects he approves in Buddhism as part of his rhetorical strategy. Buddhism is not moral, it is hygienic, prescribing a cure for the horror of the world rather than covering it up in dishonest grammar. In his highest praise of Buddhism, Nietzsche admits that it has dropped the slave morality—and the self-deception that accompanies it. Nietzsche describes Buddhism as clouded by morality. Perhaps specifically defining a thing as beyond good and evil keeps it trapped in the paradigm of defining the valuable by the valueless.
But Nietzsche only speaks favourably of Buddhism by comparison: when he mentions Buddhism apart from Christianity, it is all described as nihilism and desire for nothingness.

An Indian Nietzsche could easily have given Buddhism pride of place in the hierarchy of dangerous, life-denying institutions to discredit. Buddhism has perfected nihilism, but this is not a perfection to be desired.
But while Nietzsche accuses Buddhism of decadence and nihilism in no uncertain terms throughout his work, he still appreciates its honesty: “Buddhism is the only positivistic religion in history; even in its epistemology a strict phenomenalism. In its age, Buddhism has become passive and complacent—feelings of unsatisfactoriness are just accepted without struggle. Buddhism is frail and withdrawn from the world and has resigned itself to weakness and weariness. It no longer desires excuses, it just wants relief.

Buddhism according to Nietzsche is degenerate and lifeless. Buddhism is certainly not saying with its delicate constitution and perpetual worries about healthfulness.
Nietzsche also praises Buddhism for its discarding of God. But while the Buddhists may know that God is dead, they must overthrow their own lingering paradigm:
Nietzsche deplores the last man for his refusal to see the death of God, but Buddhism has its own relics to dispose of. The sensitive and hygienic teachings of the Buddha are just as life-denying as any Christian ressentiment—they propose ways to manage the cruelty of the world, but they do not engage or celebrate the world.
For Nietzsche Buddhism devalues the world in favour of an illusory promise. The world as it is is too terrible, so comforting fictions are spun to keep the herd pacified.

The world is not a nice fluffy place, and so other realms and places of escape are invented. Rather than accepting and affirming the hard truth, self-deception is perpetuated.

Nietzsche describes nihilism as a European Buddhism:
This is certainly further evidence of Nietzsche’s rejection of Buddhism, associating it with a negative, reflex reaction to the devaluation of the world. It is just as bad as the institutions it rebels against. Instead of mindlessly following convention, it mindlessly overturns convention. European Buddhism is active rather than passive, but it still craves destruction as it flails about in the dark. However, as much as Nietzsche rejects nihilism, he also seems to.

Nietzsche’s depiction of Buddhism is consistent as to its nihilism and denial of life. Apart from his rhetorical use of it in revealing the ugly underpinnings of Christianity, Buddhism too perpetuates negativity and passivity in Nietzsche’s view. But can Buddhism be defended?

Nietzsche’s knowledge of Buddhism was necessarily limited. Indian philosophy was only just becoming available in Europe. According to research Nietzsche did read a number of second-hand accounts of Buddhism, as well as a few translated original texts. Many of these books described Buddhism as depressed and nihilistic, and did not describe the many different forms of Buddhism outside of India. Perhaps our more current perspective would change his evaluation? Further, what can be made of the apparent similarities between Buddhism and Nietzsche?

The four noble truths are central to all flavours of Buddhism: (1) There exists suffering, or ‘unsatisfactoriness,’ (2) this suffering arises from desire or ‘thirst,’ (3) the cessation of suffering is nirvana, and (4) the noble eightfold path is the way to nirvana. It is important to note that suffering arises from more or less everything in life—pleasurable experiences as well as pain. Our senses lead us to desires which lead us to attachments and existence (rebirth) and existence is necessarily suffering. The world is transitory—there is nothing stable to grasp on to. In ignorance we think the self is enduring, but it too is at most a chain of passing states. The self is conventional. This lack of suitable objects for our grasping leads to our suffering—seeing the world as it really is hurts. This idea is compatible with Nietzsche—Buddhism and his philosophy identify the same unsettling lack of meaning in the world. But they prescribe different cures. Buddhist practices are intended to break this cycle of desires and suffering by removing desire—willing not to will. In Zen Buddhism there is also the idea of wu wei—actionless action—that describes a sort of immersion in the natural flow of the world, rather than willed action. This is one of the inherent contradictions of Buddhism but it could also be described as ‘life to not life,’ which sounds objectionably life-denying. Living with the hope or intention of not living it all again is not embracing the world as it is.
However, while nirvana is commonly characterized in the West as annihilation, there are arguments that it is in fact positive. Nirvana does not necessarily mean nothingness or death. It could be described as finally seeing the world as it actually is which ends the cycle of desire and suffering. Here Nietzsche and Buddhism would again agree that this is valuable. The awakened or enlightened one has overcome his illusions of self and desire for attachment. If there is no self there can be no real annihilation, but further, nirvana could just be a state of mind and not a physical, permanent escape from life.

Nietzsche possesses some images in common with Buddhism: the child as a model for becoming, awakening, and the enlightened one who returns to help the rest of the world achieve enlightenment. For Nietzsche, the child is the creative and sacred Yes-saying that comes after the lion—in Zen Buddhism the child is a model for the sage. The joy, innocence, and embracing nature of the child are valued by both. Zarathustra is the awakened one who goes down to return to the valley of the sleepers. In Buddhism, a bodhisattva may refuse nirvana until the rest of the world has attained enlightenment as well. The Buddhist idea of the self as a transient and ever-changing collection of parts also fits with Nietzsche’s account of persons being a collection of wills overmastered by one strongest. These similarities of metaphor make Nietzsche out to be an unconscious Buddhist—but there is one important point of disagreement.
Central to Nietzsche’s positive philosophy is the idea of eternal recurrence—the horror of this he shares with Buddhism. To be able to affirm life in your loneliest loneliness and will to repeat it is the ultimate test of Yes-saying. Not mere acceptance of the true nature of the world as it is, but positive celebration. This is Nietzsche’s solution to the ‘human condition,’ if it can be called that—he doesn’t exactly see it as a problem. The word is not characterized by suffering for Nietzsche, but by the struggle of wills. This willing of eternal recurrence is a direct and fundamental conflict with Buddhism, where the goal is to escape samsara. This is where Buddhism is most obviously life-denying under Nietzsche’s evaluation. Buddhism sees life as eternal suffering and sees this as a health problem. The cure is to end the cycle of suffering and escape the eternal recurrence. Nietzsche also sees the world to be difficult to accept without our constructs of morality—although not as a problem per se—but he meets it with affirmation. Whatever the nature of nirvana—be it annihilation, escape to some heavenly realm, a mere change in mental state—it is certainly a devaluation and denial of this life through the wish to escape it.

It is this conflict over eternal recurrence that is the insurmountable difference between Nietzsche and Buddhism. They both see the same meaningless world but respond to it differently. The Buddhist finds the world to be profoundly disquieting and seeks to abandon the senses and will away his desires. Nietzsche instead embraces this horrible meaninglessness and creates meaning within it through power of will. He does not deny or seek to avoid or devalue the world.
Nietzsche evaluated the Buddhism he knew as decadent, nihilistic, and life-denying. While the West now knows much more about the diversity of Buddhist philosophies, some of which argues against the perception of Buddhism as nihilistic, the very core of Buddhism remains at odds with Nietzsche’s life-affirming criteria. Buddhism aims to see the world as it really is rather than forcing a metaphysics on the unlovely truth. But the Buddhist diagnosis of life as suffering, and the cure of rejecting desire and willing, is essentially opposite of Nietzsche’s overwhelmingly affirmative answer to life as it is. Buddhism still tries to project its own system of values on the world rather than embracing the reality and is thus still life-denying.

A lot of this is well analysed, and while misleading in some parts, is a generally good extrapolation of Buddhism from the Nietzschean perspective. What I take query with is the implicit sentiment that Nietzsche misunderstood Buddhism purely because he wasn’t acquainted with it sufficiently, and in turn his criticisms of it aren’t so well founded — ‘straw-Buddha’ if you like. Well I believe that to be wrong.

First of all, Nietzsche was significantly influenced by Schopenhauer, whom was fully aware of Indian religions, especially early Vedantic religions, which Buddhist rose out of. Nietzsche is likely to have picked up correct estimations concerning Buddhism from Schopenhauer, though of course this isn’t a full understanding.

Where Nietzsche derived his understanding of Buddhism from, which has left him   described as “one of the best and most solidly grounded in Buddhism”, is likely to have been from direct scripture — and not even translated scripture, for he knew Sanskrit (from his earlier philological years). As a philologist, Nietzsche is surely qualified enough to read scripture and understand it more than most people. It is from these premises that I say his understanding of Buddhism is quite satisfactory, and in turn his scathing criticisms, too, are well founded.

To add a bit to the article, or to clarify it, Nietzsche is likely to have ascertained his conception of eternal recurrence from the Buddhist notion of bodhisattva, who’re beings who consciously choose to relive life (when they have the choice to escape it) infinite times to facilitate the enlightenment of other human beings. Is this not what Zarathustra does when he descends from the mountains? when his cup is overflowing? after his going under? Zarathustra, and in turn the Overman, is a figure extremely similar to the Buddhist bodhisattva.

Nietzsche’s contention, and occasional admiration, of the ascetic, typical of the serious Buddhist, is often confusing. One could argue either way whether Nietzsche really refuted the ascetic, though ultimately I think he did. In some respects, Nietzsche admires the ascetic as the one who seems devoid of will to power, which for him seems an impossible feat. What he sees is that the ascetic is a powerful manifestation of will, but slightly misinformed, to speak meekly, or cowardly, to speak truthfully.

If the ascetic could direct his will, the objective of will, towards creation instead of suppression then these spirits could very well become the “free spirits” Nietzsche encourages. One could say there’s a very fine line between suppression and liberation — the ascetic could be equally as ‘powerful’, in terms of will, as the free spirit, but, for Nietzsche, they’re certainty not as grand, nor appreciative of life, which seems to be the highest virtue for Nietzsche.

It is the escapism of all religion that Nietzsche disputes.

Anonymous asked: was nietzche really misogynist?

in-the-midst-of-winter:

From what I have read, and from what I’ve ascertained of his aphorisms regarding women, he was a misogynist to a degree, but, as with all Nietzschean ideas, I’d be doing him a disservice to reduce his relationship with women to something so base. Something worth noting at the offset is that Nietzsche’s life was filled with women, but all were negative encounter of themselves, or the result of a negative life event.

First, as a result of his father dying at an early age, Nietzsche was raised in a household of several women, with no male role models.  Later in his life, when acquainted with Wagner, Nietzsche seems to have fallen in love with Wagner’s wife, Cosima Wagner, whom he referred to as ‘Ariadne’ — the bride of Dionysus in Greek mythology, a name of a God Nietzsche used as a pseudonym. I believe there were also two other loves in his life, though I can’t remember their names, both of whom declined his marriage proposals, sending him into cycles of despair. Later in his life, Nietzsche’s sister, Elisabeth Forster-Nietzsche, gained some level of fame by marrying a famous anti-Semite, Bernhard Forster, and associated herself with Nietzsche’s philosophy a short time before his mental lapse into insanity, and after it. Of course Nietzsche was not only not anti-Semitic, as some believe, but also highly disparaging of anti-Semites and Germany. For example he writes to Franz Overbeck: “I’m just having all anti-Semites shot.” A phrase said in jest, yet truthfully depicting Nietzsche’s feeling towards those advocating German supremacy.

What’s interesting though is that in ‘Beyond Good and Evil,’ during what one could call his middle period, while alleviating the prejudgements permeating contemporary thought and European culture, he embarks upon divulging his own prejudgements, and admits that his final obstacle is misogyny. He writes that he realises it to be his final prejudice, and an irrational one at that, but he can’t quite get rid of it. What’s also interesting to note is that Nietzsche, following ‘Beyond Good and Evil,’ scarcely mentions women in any of his following works, which are often deemed to be the most important and mature of his philosophical career. It might be inferred from that that he renounced his misogyny once and for all, but who knows?

left-static asked: Could you explain Nietzsche’s religious instinct? I remember he wrote that while theism is dwindling, the religious instinct is alive and well. Do you think that this instinct is active in current academia?

in-the-midst-of-winter:

Okay so the religious instinct, like all instincts and wills (will to life, will to create, etc), is ultimately derived from the will to power, which is Nietzsche’s central cosmological principle. The will to power manifests in countless ways, one of which is to subordinate oneself to something in reverence, and thus you derive a feeling of contentness, which is a crude satisfaction of the will, the ultimate objective of which is liberation and freedom — this is the religious instinct.

The religious instinct — one could equally call it the will to cling, in Nietzschean language —is the main drive of the herd, who strive for contentment, as I mentioned above, as opposed to liberation, which comes when sublimating/subordinating the will to power and unveiling your prejudices. During the past few thousand years then, the religious instinct has manifested in theism, and particularly Christianity, Nietzsche found, which he describes as “Platonism for the people.” During the Enlightenment, thinkers like Hume and Kant seemed to have put the God hypothesis to bed — thus the death of God — but coincidentally, or perhaps because of this, the Enlightenment was a time of huge strides in scientific theory and experimentation. This became the object from which the masses cling, or at least do today.

Nietzsche’s problem with science is not an epistemological one — in that respect he encourages the “natural sciences,” as he called them — but rather an axiological: one a problem of value. Nietzsche’s mission in philosophy was to overcome the gruelling nihilism permeating philosophy and Europe following the death of God, and so naturally, science, which offers no real axiological alternative to theism, is not on Nietzsche’s cards.

I think the religious instinct is alive and kicking, especially in the scientism we see today from the likes of Stephen Hawkings, and even in the religiosity of billions, the majority of which do not know of the death of God, and those that do make God a non-rational entity, i.e., one ascertained from experience of God, or because nothing else makes sense.

A Culmination of Eternity: Nietzsche’s Solution to the Absurd

The Absurd, also known as the doctrine of absurdism, is the philosophical stance depicted by Albert Camus in novels, and philosophical essays, authored throughout his lifetime, and has left a significant impact on existential philosophy ever since. The main precept of absurdism, expressed by Camus, is the divorce between man’s yearning for meaning and the inherent meaninglessness of the world, or the inability for man to ascertain meaning from this world with it existing, if it does at all, beyond the human apparatus. In essence, absurdism is the view that it is impossible for man to have any meaning in life, and thus the world is irrational, nonsensical and well, absurd.

From this view, one may derive the necessary termination of a life characterised by nonsense with no hope of anything more than absurdity, ending eventually in death.”What’s the point in living a temporal existence characterised by suffering that’ll end eventually in death, with no justification or meaning?” is the question, and the answer, given by Camus, is “…the fact you exist spits in the face of this absurdity, and so carry on existing you must.” To exist is to spite the Absurd.

Now, for those familiar with Nietzsche, the ubermensch, or Overman, is known natural telos of his philosophy, which is a philosophy characterised by reputing the majority of philosophy pre-Nietzsche and substituting nothing in return, but seeing the beauty and art in this irrational existence and willing nothing but progress in this face of this irrationality. The man who revels and is elevated by this total lack of meaning is the Overman — the main attitude being “amor fati,” literally a love of one’s fate, including love of all negative experiences, positive experience, neutral experience. The death, suffering, absurdity, boredom, etc, one experiences in one’s life must be revered for it is the only life you’ll lead, and you must love it above all else.

You must venerate it so much that you will it again, and again, for eternity in fact. The Overman wills the eternal recurrence of himself — he shouts “Da Capo!” (From the Top!) and laughs and celebrates in all experience because of the beauty of temporality and suffering and strife.

Is the Overman, then, not the antidote to Camus’s Absurd? The man who, not only gets on with life despite the inherent pointlessness of life, but wills this pointlessness and suffering an infinite number of times over; the man who idolises life above all, and has no hope but the momentary hope of only more life, whatever it brings.

Does God exist?

I’m currently debating ~11 Catholics with regard to the question above. Some of you may be interested in watching as events unfold and so I thought I’d post it here for people who don’t follow my other blog.

My initial assertion is to be found at: http://in-the-midst-of-winter.tumblr.com/

It encompasses refutations of what I believe to be the crux of the arguments for religious belief: design, fine-tuning, the cosmological argument, the moral argument and altruism.

Head on over if you’re that way inclined!