No More Learning

We all ought to have become aware of this, of
our own accord. Besides, one of the few who had
the right to speak to Germans in terms of reproach
publicly drew attention to the fact. “We Germans
are of yesterday,” Goethe once said to Eckermann.
“True, for the last hundred years we have diligently


## p. 11 (#100) #############################################

IO THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
cultivated ourselves, but a few centuries may yet
have to run their course before our fellow-country-
men become permeated with sufficient intellectu-
ality and higher culture to have it said of them,
it is a long time since they were barbarians"
II.
If, however, our public and private life is so
manifestly devoid of all signs of a productive
and characteristic culture; if, moreover, our great
artists, with that earnest vehemence and honesty
which is peculiar to greatness admit, and have
admitted, this monstrous fact—so very humiliating
to a gifted nation; how can it still be possible for
contentment to reign to such an astonishing extent
among German scholars? And since the last war
this complacent spirit has seemed ever more and
more ready to break forth into exultant cries and
demonstrations of triumph. At all events, the
belief seems to be rife that we are in possession of
a genuine culture, and the enormous incongruity
of this triumphant satisfaction in the face of the
inferiority which should be patent to all, seems only
to be noticed by the few and the select. For all
those who think with the public mind have blind-
folded their eyes and closed their ears. The in-
congruity is not even acknowledged to exist. How
is this possible? What power is sufficiently in-
fluential to deny this existence? What species of
men must have attained to supremacy in Germany
that feelings which are so strong and simple should


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DAVID STRAUSS. II
be denied or prevented from obtaining expression?
This power, this species of men, I will name—they
are the Philistines of Culture.
As every one knows, the word "Philistine" is
borrowed from the vernacular of student-life, and,
in its widest and most popular sense, it signifies
the reverse of a son of the Muses, of an artist, and
of the genuine man of culture. The Philistine of
culture, however, the study of whose type and the
hearing of whose confessions (when he makes them)
have now become tiresome duties, distinguishes
himself from the general notion of the order
"Philistine" by means of a superstition: he fancies
that he is himself a son of the Muses and a man of
culture. This incomprehensible error clearly shows
that he does not even know the difference between
a Philistine and his opposite. We must not be
surprised, therefore, if we find him, for the most
part, solemnly protesting that he is no Philistine.
Owing to this lack of self-knowledge, he is con-
vinced that his "culture" is the consummate mani-
festation of real German culture; and, since he
everywhere meets with scholars of his own type,
since all public institutions, whether schools, uni-
versities, or academies, are so organised as to be in
complete harmony with his education and needs,
wherever he goes he bears with him the triumphant
feeling that he is the worthy champion of prevailing
German culture, and he frames his pretensions and
claims accordingly.
If, however, real culture takes unity of style for
granted (and even an inferior and degenerate
culture cannot be imagined in which a certain


## p. 12 (#102) #############################################

12 THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
coalescence of the profusion of forms has not taken
place), it is just possible that the confusion under-
lying the Culture-Philistine's error may arise from
the fact that, since he comes into contact every-
where with creatures cast in the same mould as
himself, he concludes that this uniformity among
all " scholars " must point to a certain uniformity
in German education—hence to culture. All round
him, he sees only needs and views similar to his
own; wherever he goes, he finds himself embraced
by a ring of tacit conventions concerning almost
everything, but more especially matters of religion
and art. This imposing sameness, this tutti unisono
which, though it responds to no word of command,
is yet ever ready to burst forth, cozens him
into the belief that here a culture must be estab-
lished and flourishing. But Philistinism, despite its
systematic organisation and power, does not
constitute a culture by virtue of its system alone;
it does not even constitute an inferior culture, but
invariably the reverse—namely, firmly established
barbarity. For the uniformity of character which is
so apparent in the German scholars of to-day is only
the result of a conscious or unconscious exclusion and
negation of all the artistically productive forms and
requirements of a genuine style. The mind of the
cultured Philistine must have become sadly un-
hinged; for precisely what culture repudiates he
regards as culture itself; and, since he proceeds
logically, he succeeds in creating a connected
group of these repudiations—a system of non-
culture, to which one might at a pinch grant a
certain "unity of style," provided of course it were


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DAVID STRAUSS. 13
not nonsense to attribute style to barbarity.
If he have to choose between a stylish act and
its opposite, he will invariably adopt the latter,
and, since this rule holds good throughout, every
one of his acts bears the same negative stamp.
Now, it is by means of this stamp that he is able
to identify the character of the " German culture,"
which is his own patent; and all things that do not
bear it are so many enemies and obstacles drawn
up against him. In the presence of these arrayed
forces the Culture-Philistine either does no more
than ward off the blows, or else he denies, holds his
tongue, stops his ears, and refuses to face facts.
He is a negative creature—even in his hatred and
animosity. Nobody, however, is more disliked by
him than the man who regards him as a Philistine,
and tells him what he is — namely, the barrier
in the way of all powerful men and creators,
the labyrinth for all who doubt and go astray,
the swamp for all the weak and the weary, the
fetters of those who would run towards lofty goals,
the poisonous mist that chokes all germinating
hopes, the scorching sand to all those German
thinkers who seek for, and thirst after, a new life.
For the mind of Germany is seeking; and ye hate
it because it is seeking, and because it will not
accept your word, when ye declare that ye have
found what it is seeking. How could it have
been possible for a type like that of the Culture-
Philistine to develop? and even granting its de-
velopment, how was it able to rise to the powerful
position of supreme judge concerning all questions
of German culture? How could this have been


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14 THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
possible, seeing that a whole procession of grand
and heroic figures has already filed past us, whose
every movement, the expression of whose every
feature, whose questioning voice and burning eye
betrayed the one fact, that tfiey were seekers, and
that they sought that which the Culture-Philistine
had long fancied he had found—to wit, a genuine
original German culture? Is there a soil—thus
they seemed to ask—a soil that is pure enough,
unhandselled enough, of sufficient virgin sanctity, to
allow the mind of Germany to build its house
upon it? Questioning thus, they wandered through
the wilderness, and the woods of wretched ages and
narrow conditions, and as seekers they disappeared
from our vision; one of them, at an advanced age,
was even able to say, in the name of all: "For
half a century my life has been hard and bitter
enough; I have allowed myself no rest, but have
ever striven, sought and done, to the best and to
the utmost of my ability. "
What does our Culture-Philistinism say of these
seekers? It regards them simply as discoverers,
and seems to forget that they themselves only
claimed to be seekers. We have our culture, say
her sons; for have we not our "classics"? Not
only is the foundation there, but the building
already stands upon it—we ourselves constitute that
building. And, so saying, the Philistine raises his
hand to his brow.
But, in order to be able thus to misjudge, and
thus to grant left-handed veneration to our classics,
people must have ceased to know them. This,
generally speaking, is precisely what has happened.


## p. 15 (#105) #############################################

DAVID STRAUSS. 15
For, otherwise, one ought to know that there is
only one way of honouring them, and that is to
continue seeking with the same spirit and with the
same courage, and not to weary of the search.
But to foist the doubtful title of "classics" upon
them, and to "edify" oneself from time to time
by reading their works, means to yield to those
feeble and selfish emotions which all the paying
public may purchase at concert-halls and theatres.
Even the raising of monuments to their memory,
and the christening of feasts and societies with their
names—all these things are but so many ringing
cash payments by means of which the Culture-
Philistine discharges his indebtedness to them,
so that in all other respects he may be rid of them,
and, above all, not bound to follow in their wake
and prosecute his search further. For henceforth
inquiry is to cease: that is the Philistine watchword.
This watchword once had some meaning. In
Germany, during the first decade of the nineteenth
century, for instance, when the heyday and con-
fusion of seeking, experimenting, destroying, pro-
mising, surmising, and hoping was sweeping in
currents and cross-currents over the land, the
thinking middle-classes were right in their concern
for their own security. It was then quite right of
them to dismiss from their minds with a shrug of
their shoulders the omnium gatherum of fantastic
and language-maiming philosophies, and of rabid
special-pleading historical studies, the carnival of
all gods and myths, and the poetical affectations
and fooleries which a drunken spirit may be re-
sponsible for. In this respect they were quite


## p. 16 (#106) #############################################

16 THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
right; for the Philistine has not even the privilege
of licence. With the cunning proper to base
natures, however, he availed himself of the oppor-
tunity, in order to throw suspicion even upon the
seeking spirit, and to invite people to join in the
more comfortable pastime of finding. His eye
opened to the joy of Philistinism; he saved him-
self from wild experimenting by clinging to the
idyllic, and opposed the restless creative spirit that
animates the artist, by means of a certain smug
ease—the ease of self-conscious narrowness, tran-
quillity, and self-sufficiency. His tapering finger
pointed, without any affectation of modesty, to all
the hidden and intimate incidents of his life, to the
many touching and ingenuous joys which sprang
into existence in the wretched depths of his unculti-
vated existence, and which modestly blossomed
forth on the bog-land of Philistinism.
There were, naturally, a few gifted narrators who,
with a nice touch, drew vivid pictures of the happi-
ness, the prosaic simplicity, the bucolic robustness,
and all the well-being which floods the quarters of
children, scholars, and peasants. With picture-
books of this class in their hands, these smug ones
now once and for all sought to escape from the
yoke of these dubious classics and the command
which they contained—to seek further and to find.
They only started the notion of an epigone-age in
order to secure peace for themselves, and to be able
to reject all the efforts of disturbing innovators
summarily as the work of epigones. With the view
of ensuring their own tranquillity, these smug ones
even appropriated history, and sought to transform


## p. 17 (#107) #############################################

DAVID STRAUSS. If
all sciences that threatened to disturb their wretched
ease into branches of history—more particularly
philosophy and classical philology. Through his-
torical consciousness, they saved themselves from
enthusiasm; for, in opposition to Goethe, it was
maintained that history would no longer kindle
enthusiasm. No, in their desire to acquire an
historical grasp of everything, stultification became
the sole aim of these philosophical admirers of "nil
admirari" While professing to hate every form of
fanaticism and intolerance, what they really hated,
at bottom, was the dominating genius and the
tyranny of the real claims of culture. They there-
fore concentrated and utilised all their forces in
those quarters where a fresh and vigorous move-
ment was to be expected, and then paralysed,
stupefied, and tore it to shreds. In this way, a
philosophy which veiled the Philistine confessions
of its founder beneath neat twists and flourishes of
language proceeded further to discover a formula
for the canonisation of the commonplace. It ex-
patiated upon the rationalism of all reality, and
thus ingratiated itself with the Culture-Philistine,
who also loves neat twists and flourishes, and who,
above all, considers himself real, and regards his
reality as the standard of reason for the world.
From this time forward he began to allow every
one, and even himself, to reflect, to investigate, to
aestheticise, and, more particularly, to make poetry,
music, and even pictures—not to mention systems
of philosophy; provided, of course, that everything
were done according to the old pattern, and that
no assault were made upon the "reasonable" and
B


## p. 18 (#108) #############################################

18 THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
the " real"—that is to say, upon the Philistine. The
latter really does not at all mind giving himself up,
from time to time, to the delightful and daring
transgressions of art or of sceptical historical studies,
and he does not underestimate the charm of such
recreations and entertainments; but he strictly
separates "the earnestness of life" (under which
term he understands his calling, his business, and
his wife and child) from such trivialities, and among
the latter he includes all things which have any
relation to culture. Therefore, woe to the art that
takes itself seriously, that has a notion of what it
may exact, and that dares to endanger his income,
his business, and his habits! Upon such an art he
turns his back, as though it were something dis-
solute; and, affecting the attitude of a guardian of
chastity, he cautions every unprotected virtue on
no account to look.
Being such an adept at cautioning people, he is
always grateful to any artist who heeds him and
listens to caution. He then assures his protege
that things are to be made more easy for him;
that, as a kindred spirit, he will no longer
be expected to make sublime masterpieces, but
that his work must be one of two kinds—either
the imitation of reality to the point of simian
mimicry, in idylls or gentle and humorous satires,
or the free copying of the best-known and most
famous classical works, albeit with shamefast con-
cessions to the taste of the age. For, although he
may only be able to appreciate slavish copying or
accurate portraiture of the present, still he knows
that the latter will but glorify him, and increase


## p. 19 (#109) #############################################

DAVID STRAUSS. 10.
the well-being of " reality "; while the former, far
from doing him any harm, rather helps to establish
his reputation as a classical judge of taste, and is
not otherwise troublesome; for he has, once and
for all, come to terms with the classics. Finally,
he discovers the general and effective formula
"Health" for his habits, methods of observation,
judgments, and the objects of his patronage; while
he dismisses the importunate disturber of the peace
with the epithets "hysterical" and "morbid. " It
is thus that David Strauss—a genuine example of
the satisfait in regard to our scholastic institutions,
and a typical Philistine—it is thus that he speaks
of "the philosophy of Schopenhauer" as being
"thoroughly intellectual, yet often unhealthy and
unprofitable. " It is indeed a deplorable fact that
intellect should show such a decided preference for
the " unhealthy" and the " unprofitable "; and even
the Philistine, if he be true to himself, will admit
that, in regard to the philosophies which men of
his stamp produce, he is conscious of a frequent
lack of intellectuality, although of course they are
always thoroughly healthy and profitable.
Now and again, the Philistines, provided they are
by themselves, indulge in a bottle of wine, and then
they grow reminiscent, and speak of the great deeds
of the war, honestly and ingenuously. On such
occasions it often happens that a great deal comes to
light which would otherwise have been most stead-
fastly concealed, and one of them may even be
heard to blurt out the most precious secrets of the
whole brotherhood. Indeed, a lapse of this sort
occurred but a short while ago, to a well-known


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20 THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
aesthete of the Hegelian school of reasoning. It
must, however, be admitted that the provocation
thereto was of an unusual character. A company
of Philistines were feasting together, in celebration
of the memory of a genuine anti-Philistine—one
who, moreover, had been, in the strictest sense of
the words, wrecked by Philistinism. This man
was Holderlin, and the afore-mentioned aesthete
was therefore justified, under the circumstances, in
speaking of the tragic souls who had foundered on
"reality "—reality being understood, here, to mean
Philistine reason. But the " reality " is now different,
and it might well be asked whether Holderlin would
be able to find his way at all in the present great
age. "I doubt," says Dr. Vischer, "whether his
delicate soul could have borne all the roughness
which is inseparable from war, and whether it had
survived the amount of perversity which, since the
war, we now see flourishing in every quarter. Per-
haps he would have succumbed to despair. His
was one of the unarmed souls; he was the Werther
of Greece, a hopeless lover; his life was full of soft-
ness and yearning, but there was strength and sub-
stance in his will, and in his style, greatness, riches
and life; here and there it is even reminiscent of
iEschylus. His spirit, however, lacked hardness.
He lacked the weapon humour; he could not
grant that one may be a Philistine and still be no
barbarian. " Not the sugary condolence of the
post-prandial speaker, but this last sentence con-
cerns us. Yes, it is admitted that one is a Philis-
tine; but, a barbarian? — No, not at any price!
Unfortunately, poor Holderlin could not make such


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DAVID STRAUSS. 21
fine distinctions. If one reads the reverse of civili-
sation, or perhaps sea-pirating, or cannibalism, into
the word " barbarian," then the distinction is justi-
fiable enough. But what the aesthete obviously
wishes to prove to us is, that we may be Philistines
and at the same time men of culture. Therein
lies the humour which poor Holderlin lacked and
the need of which ultimately wrecked him. *
On this occasion a second admission was made
by the speaker: "It is not always strength of will,
but weakness, which makes us superior to those
tragic souls which are so passionately responsive
to the attractions of beauty," or words to this
effect. And this was said in the name of the
assembled "We "; that is to say, the "superiors,"
the " superiors through weakness. " Let us content
ourselves with these admissions. We are now in
possession of information concerning two matters
from one of the initiated: first, that these "We"
stand beyond the passion for beauty; secondly,
that their position was reached by means of weak-
ness. In less confidential moments, however, it
was just this weakness which masqueraded in the
guise of a much more beautiful name: it was the
famous "healthiness " of the Culture-Philistine. In
view of this very recent restatement of the case,
however, it would be as well not to speak of them
any longer as the "healthy ones," but as the
"weakly," or, still better, as the "feeble. " Oh, if
* Nietzsche's allusion to Holderlin here is full of tragic
significance; for, like Holderlin, he too was ultimately
wrecked and driven insane by the Philistinism of his age.
—Translator's note.


## p. 22 (#112) #############################################

22 THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
only these feeble ones were not in power! How
is it that they concern themselves at all about
what we call them! They are the rulers, and he
is a poor ruler who cannot endure to be called by
a nickname. Yes, if one only have power, one
soon learns to poke fun—even at oneself. It
cannot matter so very much, therefore, even if
one do give oneself away; for what could not
the purple mantle of triumph conceal? The
strength of the Culture-Philistine steps into the
broad light of ,-day when he acknowledges his
weakness; and the more he acknowledges it—
the more cynically he acknowledges it—the more
completely he betrays his consciousness of his own
importance and superiority. We are living in a
period of cynical Philistine confessions. Just as
Friedrich Vischer gave us his in a word, so has
David Strauss handed us his in a book; and both
that word and that book are cynical.
III.
Concerning Culture-Philistinism, David Strauss
makes a double confession, by word and by deed;
that is to say, by the word of the confessor, and
the act of the writer. His book entitled The Old-
Faith and the New is, first in regard to its contents,
and secondly in regard to its being a book and a
literary production, an uninterrupted confession;
while, in the very fact that he allows himself to
write confessions at all about his faith, there already
lies a confession. Presumably, every one seems to


## p. 23 (#113) #############################################

DAVID STRAUSS. 23
have the right to compile an autobiography after
his fortieth year; for the humblest amongst us may
have experienced things, and may have seen them
at such close quarters, that the recording of them
may prove of use and value to the thinker. But
to write a confession of one's faith cannot but be
regarded as a thousand times more pretentious,
since it takes for granted that the writer attaches
worth, not only to the experiences and investiga-
tions of his life, but also to his beliefs. Now, what
the nice thinker will require to know, above all
else, is the kind of faith which happens to be
compatible with natures of the Straussian order,
and what it is they have "half dreamily conjured
up " (p. 10) concerning matters of which those alone
have the right to speak who are acquainted with
them at first hand. Whoever would have desired
to possess the confessions, say, of a Ranke or a
Mommsen? And these men were scholars and
historians of a very different stamp from David
Strauss. If, however, they had ever ventured to
interest us in their faith instead of in their scientific
investigations, we should have felt that they were
overstepping their limits in a most irritating fashion.
Yet Strauss does this when he discusses his faith.
Nobody wants to know anything about it, save,
perhaps, a few bigoted opponents of the Straussian
doctrines, who, suspecting, as they do, a substratum
of satanic principles beneath these doctrines, hope
that he may compromise his learned utterances by
revealing the nature of those principles. These
clumsy creatures may, perhaps, have found what
they sought in the last book; but we, who had no


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24 THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
occasion to suspect a satanic substratum, dis-
covered nothing of the sort, and would have felt
rather pleased than not had we been able to discern
even a dash of the diabolical in any part of the
volume. But surely no evil spirit could speak as
Strauss speaks of his new faith. In fact, spirit in
general seems to be altogether foreign to the book—
more particularly the spirit of genius. Only those
whom Strauss designates as his "We," speak as
he does, and then, when they expatiate upon their
faith to us, they bore us even more than when
they relate their dreams; be they " scholars, artists,
military men, civil employes, merchants, or landed
proprietors; come they in their thousands, and not
the worst people in the land either! " If they do
not wish to remain the peaceful ones in town or
country, but threaten to wax noisy, then let not
the din of their unisono deceive us concerning the
poverty and vulgarity of the melody they sing.
How can it dispose us more favourably towards
a profession of faith to hear that it is approved
by a crowd, when it is of such an order that if
any individual of that crowd attempted to make
it known to us, we should not only fail to hear
him out, but should interrupt him with a yawn?
If thou sharest such a belief, we should say unto
him, in Heaven's name, keep it to thyself! Maybe,
in the past, some few harmless types looked for
the thinker in David Strauss; now they have dis-
covered the " believer" in him, and are disappointed.
Had he kept silent, he would have remained, for
these, at least, the philosopher; whereas, now, no
one regards him as such. He no longer craved


## p. 25 (#115) #############################################

DAVID STRAUSS. 2$
the honours of the thinker, however; all he wanted
to be was a new believer, and he is proud of his
new belief. In making a written declaration of it,
he fancied he was writing the catechism of" modern
thought," and building the "broad highway of the
world's future. " Indeed, our Philistines have ceased
to be faint-hearted and bashful, and have acquired
almost cynical assurance. There was a time, long,
long ago, when the Philistine was only tolerated
as something that did not speak, and about which
no one spoke; then a period ensued during which
his roughness was smoothed, during which he
was found amusing, and people talked about him.
Under this treatment he gradually became a prig,
rejoiced with all his heart over his rough places
and his wrongheaded and candid singularities, and
began to talk, on his own account, after the style
of Riehl's music for the home.
"But what do I see? Is it a shadow? Is it
reality? How long and broad my poodle grows! "
For now he is already rolling like a hippopotamus
along "the broad highway of the world's future,"
and his growling and barking have become trans-
formed into the proud incantations of a religious
founder. And is it your own sweet wish, Great
Master, to found the religion of the future ? " The
times seem to us not yet ripe (p. 7). It does not
occur to us to wish to destroy a church. " But
why not, Great Master? One but needs the
ability. Besides, to speak quite openly in the
matter, you yourself are convinced that you
possess this ability. Look at the last page of
your book. There you actually state, forsooth,


## p. 26 (#116) #############################################

26 THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
that your new way " alone is the future highway
of the world, which now only requires partial
completion, and especially general use, in order
also to become easy and pleasant. "
Make no further denials, then. The religious
founder is unmasked, the convenient and agree-
able highway leading to the Straussian Paradise
is built. It is only the coach in which you wish
to convey us that does not altogether satisfy
you, unpretentious man that you are! You tell
us in your concluding remarks: "Nor will I pre-
tend that the coach to which my esteemed readers
have been obliged to trust themselves with me
fulfils every requirement, . . . all through one is
much jolted" (p. 438). Ah! you are casting about
for a compliment, you gallant old religious founder!
But let us be straightforward with you. If your
reader so regulates the perusal of the 368 pages
of your religious catechism as to read only one
page a day—that is to say, if he take it in the
smallest possible doses—then, perhaps, we should
be able to believe that he might suffer some evil
effect from the book—if only as the outcome of
his vexation when the results he expected fail to
make themselves felt. Gulped down more heartily,
however, and as much as possible being taken at
each draught, according to the prescription to be
recommended in the case of all modern books, the
drink can work no mischief; and, after taking it,
the reader will not necessarily be either out of
sorts or out of temper, but rather merry and
well-disposed, as though nothing had happened;
as though no religion had been assailed, no world's


## p. 27 (#117) #############################################

DAVID STRAUSS. 27
highway been built, and no profession of faith been
made. And I do indeed call this a result! The
doctor, the drug, and the disease—everything for-
gotten!
And the joyous laughter! The continual
provocation to hilarity! You are to be envied, Sir;
for you have founded the most attractive of all re-
ligions—one whose followers do honour to its founder
by laughing at him.
IV.
The Philistine as founder of the religion of the
future—that is the new belief in its most emphatic
form of expression. The Philistine becomes a
dreamer—that is the unheard-of occurrence which
distinguishes the German nation of to-day. But
for the present, in any case, let us maintain an
attitude of caution towards this fantastic exalta-
tion. For does not David Strauss himself advise
us to exercise such caution, in the following pro-
found passage, the general tone of which leads
us to think of the Founder of Christianity rather
than of our particular author? (p. 92): "We know
there have been noble enthusiasts—enthusiasts of
genius; the influence of an enthusiast can rouse,
exalt, and produce prolonged historic effects; but
we do not wish to choose him as the guide of
our life. He will be sure to mislead us, if we do
not subject his influence to the control of reason. "
But we know something more: we know that there
are enthusiasts who are not intellectual, who do
not rouse or exalt, and who, nevertheless, not only
expect to be the guides of our lives, but, as such, to


## p. 28 (#118) #############################################

28 THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
exercise a very lasting historical influence into the
bargain, and to rule the future;—all the more reason
why we should place their influence under the
control of reason. Lichtenberg even said: "There
are enthusiasts quite devoid of ability, and these
are really dangerous people. " In the first place,
as regards the above-mentioned control of reason,
we should like to have candid answers to the three
following questions: First, how does the new
believer picture his heaven? Secondly, how far
does the courage lent him by the new faith extend?
And, thirdly, how does he write his books? Strauss
the Confessor must answer the first and second ques-
tions; Strauss the Writer must answer the third.
The heaven of the new believer must, perforce, be
a heaven upon earth; for the Christian "prospect
of an immortal life in heaven," together with the
other consolations, "must irretrievably vanish" for
him who has but "one foot" on the Straussian
platform. The way in which a religion represents
its heaven is significant, and if it be true that
Christianity knows no other heavenly occupations
than singing and making music, the prospect of the
Philistine, a la Strauss, is truly not a very comfort-
ing one. In the book of confessions, however,
there is a page which treats of Paradise (p. 342).
Happiest of Philistines, unroll this parchment scroll
before anything else, and the whole of heaven will
seem to clamber down to thee! " We would but
indicate how we act, how we have acted these many
years. Besides our profession—for we are members
of the most various professions, and by no means
exclusively consist of scholars or artists, but of


## p. 29 (#119) #############################################

DAVID STRAUSS. 29
military men and civil employes, of merchants and
landed proprietors; . . . and again, as I have said
already, there are not a few of us, but many
thousands, and not the worst people in the
country;—besides our profession, then, I say, we
are eagerly accessible to all the higher interests of
humanity; we have taken a vivid interest, during
late years, and each after his manner has partici-
pated in the great national war, and the reconstruc-
tion of the German State; and we have been
profoundly exalted by the turn events have taken, as
unexpected as glorious, for our much tried nation.
To the end of forming just conclusions in these things,
we study history, which has now been made easy,
even to the unlearned, by a series of attractively and
popularly written works; at the same time, we
endeavour to enlarge our knowledge of the natural
sciences, where also there is no lack of sources of in-
formation; and lastly, in the writings of our great
poets, in the performances of our great musicians, we
find a stimulus for the intellect and heart, for wit
and imagination, which leaves nothing to be desired.
Thus we live, and hold on our way in joy. "
"Here is our man ! " cries the Philistine exultingly,
who reads this: "for this is exactly how we live;
it is indeed our daily life. " * And how perfectly he
understands the euphemism! When, for example,
he refers to the historical studies by means of which
we help ourselves in forming just conclusions re-
garding the political situation, what can he be
thinking of, if it be not our newspaper-reading?
* This alludes to a German student-song.


## p. 30 (#120) #############################################

30 THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
When he speaks of the active part we take in the
reconstruction of the German State, he surely has
only our daily visits to the beer-garden in his
mind; and is not a walk in the Zoological Gardens
implied by 'the sources of information through
which we endeavour to enlarge our knowledge of
the natural sciences'? Finally, the theatres and
concert-halls are referred to as places from which
we take home ' a stimulus for wit and imagination
which leaves nothing to be desired. '—With what
dignity and wit he describes even the most
suspicious of our doings! Here indeed is our
man; for his heaven is our heaven! "
Thus cries the Philistine; and if we are not quite
so satisfied as he, it is merely owing to the fact that
we wanted to know more. Scaliger used to say:
"What does it matter to us whether Montaigne
drank red or white wine? " But, in this more
important case, how greatly ought we to value
definite particulars of this sort! If we could but
learn how many pipes the Philistine smokes daily,
according to the prescriptions of the new faith, and
whether it is the Spener or the National Gazette
that appeals to him over his coffee! But our curi-
osity is not satisfied. With regard to one point only
do we receive more exhaustive information, and
fortunately this point relates to the heaven in
heaven—the private little art-rooms which will be
consecrated to the use of great poets and musicians,
and to which the Philistine will go to edify himself;
in which, moreover, according to his own showing,
he will even get "all his stains removed and wiped
away " (p. 433); so that we are led to regard these


## p. 31 (#121) #############################################

DAVID STRAUSS. 31
private little art-rooms as a kind of bath-rooms.
"But this is only effected for some fleeting moments;
it happens and counts only in the realms of
phantasy; as soon as we return to rude reality, and
the cramping confines of actual life, we are again
on all sides assailed by the old cares,"—thus our
Master sighs. Let us, however, avail ourselves of
the fleeting moments during which we remain in
those little rooms; there is just sufficient time to
get a glimpse of the apotheosis of the Philistine—
that is to say, the Philistine whose stains have been
removed and wiped away, and who is now an
absolutely pure sample of his type. In truth, the
opportunity we have here may prove instructive:
let no one who happens to have fallen a victim to
the confession-book lay it aside before having read
the two appendices, "Of our Great Poets" and
"Of our Great Musicians. " Here the rainbow of
the new brotherhood is set, and he who can find no
pleasure in it "for such an one there is no help,"
as Strauss says on another occasion; and, as he
might well say here, "he is not yet ripe for our
point of view. " For are we not in the heaven of
heavens? The enthusiastic explorer undertakes
to lead us about, and begs us to excuse him if, in
the excess of his joy at all the beauties to be seen,
he should by any chance be tempted to talk too
much. "If I should, perhaps, become more gar-
rulous than may seem warranted in this place, let
the reader be indulgent to me; for out of the
abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh. Let
him only be assured that what he is now about to
read does not consist of older materials, which I


## p. 32 (#122) #############################################

32 THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
take the opportunity of inserting here, but that
these remarks have been written for their present
place and purpose" (pp. 345-46). This confession
surprises us somewhat for the moment. What can
it matter to us whether or not the little chapters
were freshly written? As if it were a matter of
writing! Between ourselves, I should have been
glad if they had been written a quarter of a century
earlier; then, at least, I should have understood
why the thoughts seem to be so bleached, and why
they are so redolent of resuscitated antiquities.
But that a thing should have been written in 1872
and already smell of decay in 1872 strikes me as
suspicious. Let us imagine some one's falling
asleep while reading these chapters—what would
he most probably dream about? A friend answered
this question for me, because he happened to have
had the experience himself. He dreamt of a wax-
work show. The classical writers stood there,
elegantly represented in wax and beads. Their
arms and eyes moved, and a screw inside them
creaked an accompaniment to their movements.
He saw something gruesome among them—a mis-
shapen figure, decked with tapes and jaundiced
paper, out of whose mouth a ticket hung, on which
"Lessing" was written. My friend went close up
to it and learned the worst: it was the Homeric
Chimera; in front it was Strauss, behind it was
Gervinus, and in the middle Chimera. The tout-
ensemble was Lessing. This discovery caused him
to shriek with terror: he waked, and read no more.
In sooth, Great Master, why have you written such
fusty little chapters?


## p. 33 (#123) #############################################

DAVID STRAUSS. 33
We do, indeed, learn something new from them;
for instance, that Gervinus made it known to the
world how and why Goethe was no dramatic genius;
that, in the second part of Faust, he had only pro-
duced a world of phantoms and of symbols; that
Wallenstein is a Macbeth as well as a Hamlet; that
the Straussian reader extracts the short stories out of
the Wanderjahre " much as naughty children pick
the raisins and almonds out of a tough plum-cake ";
that no complete effect can be produced on the
stage without the forcible element, and that Schiller
emerged from Kant as from a cold-water cure.
All this is certainly new and striking; but, even so,
it does not strike us with wonder, and so sure as it
is new, it will never grow old, for it never was
young; it was senile at birth. What extraordinary
ideas seem to occur to these Blessed Ones, after
the New Style, in their aesthetic heaven! And
why can they not manage to forget a few of them,
more particularly when they are of that unaesthetic,
earthly, and ephemeral order to which the scholarly
thoughts of Gervinus belong, and when they so
obviously bear the stamp of puerility? But it
almost seems as though the modest greatness of a
Strauss and the vain insignificance of a Gervinus
were only too well able to harmonise: then long live
all those Blessed Ones! may we, the rejected, also
live long, if this unchallenged judge of art continues
any longer to teach his borrowed enthusiasm, and
the gallop of that hired steed of which the honest
Grillparzer speaks with such delightful clearness,
until the whole of heaven rings beneath the hoof
of that galumphing enthusiasm. Then, at least,
C


## p. 34 (#124) #############################################

34 THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
things will be livelier and noisier than they are at
the present moment, in which the carpet-slippered
rapture of our heavenly leader and the lukewarm
eloquence of his lips only succeed in the end in
making us sick and tired. I should like to know
how a Hallelujah sung by Strauss would sound:
I believe one would have to listen very carefully,
lest it should seem no more than a courteous
apology or a lisped compliment. Apropos of this,
I might adduce an instructive and somewhat for-
bidding example. Strauss strongly resented the
action of one of his opponents who happened to
refer to his reverence for Lessing. The unfortunate
man had misunderstood;—true, Strauss did de-
clare that one must be of a very obtuse mind
not to recognise that the simple words of para-
graph 86 come from the writer's heart. Now, I
do not question this warmth in the very least; on
the contrary, the fact that Strauss fosters these
feelings towards Lessing has always excited my
suspicion; I find the same warmth for Lessing
raised almost to heat in Gervinus—yea, on the
whole, no great German writer is so popular
among little German writers as Lessing is; but
for all that, they deserve no thanks for their pre-
dilection; for what is it, in sooth, that they praise
in Lessing? At one moment it is his catholicity—
the fact that he was critic and poet, archaeologist
and philosopher, dramatist and theologian. Anon,
"it is the unity in him of the writer and the man, of
the head and the heart. " The last quality, as a rule,
is just as characteristic of the great writer as of the
little one; as a rule, a narrow head agrees only too


## p. 35 (#125) #############################################

DAVID STRAUSS. 35
fatally with a narrow heart. And as to the catho-
licity; this is no distinction, more especially when,
as in Lessing's case, it was a dire necessity. What
astonishes one in regard to Lessing-enthusiasts
is rather that they have no conception of the
devouring necessity which drove him on through
life and to this catholicity; no feeling for the fact
that such a man is too prone to consume himself
rapidly, like a flame; nor any indignation at the
thought that the vulgar narrowness and pusil-
lanimity of his whole environment, especially of his
learned contemporaries, so saddened, tormented,
and stifled the tender and ardent creature that he
was, that the very universality for which he is
praised should give rise to feelings of the deepest
compassion. "Have pity on the exceptional
man! " Goethe cries to us; "for it was his lot
to live in such a wretched age that his life was one
long polemical effort. " How can ye, my worthy
Philistines, think of Lessing without shame? He
who was ruined precisely on account of your
stupidity, while struggling with your ludicrous
fetiches and idols, with the defects of your theatres,
scholars, and theologists, without once daring to
attempt that eternal flight for which he had been
born. And what are your feelings when ye think
of Winckelman, who, in order to turn his eyes from
your grotesque puerilities, went begging to the
Jesuits for help, and whose ignominious conversion
dishonours not him, but you? Dare ye mention
Schiller's name without blushing? Look at his
portrait. See the flashing eyes that glance con-
temptuously over your heads, the deadly red


## p. 36 (#126) #############################################

36 THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
cheek—do these things mean nothing to you? In
him ye had such a magnificent and divine toy
that ye shattered it. Suppose, for a moment, it
had been possible to deprive this harassed and
hunted life of Goethe's friendship, ye would then
have been reponsible for its still earlier end. Ye
have had no finger in any one of the life-works of
your great geniuses, and yet ye would make a
dogma to the effect that no one is to be helped in
the future. But for every one of them, ye were
"the resistance of the obtuse world," which Goethe
calls by its name in his epilogue to the Bell; for
all of them ye were the grumbling imbeciles, or
the envious bigots, or the malicious egoists: in
spite of you each of them created his works, against
you each directed his attacks, and thanks to you
each prematurely sank, while his work was still
unfinished, broken and bewildered by the stress of
the battle. And now ye presume that ye are
going to be permitted, tamquam re bene gesta, to
praise such men! and with words which leave no
one in any doubt as to whom ye have in your
minds when ye utter your encomiums, which there-
fore " spring forth with such hearty warmth " that
one must be blind not to see to whom ye are
really bowing. Even Goethe in his day had to cry:
"Upon my honour, we are in need of a Lessing,
and woe unto all vain masters and to the whole
aesthetic kingdom of heaven, when the young tiger,
whose restless strength will be visible in his every
distended muscle and his every glance, shall sally
forth to seek his prey 1"


## p. 37 (#127) #############################################

DAVID STRAUSS. 2)7
How clever it was of my friend to read no further,
once he had been enlightened (thanks to that
chimerical vision) concerning the Straussian Les-
sing and Strauss himself. We, however, read on
further, and even craved admission of the Door-
keeper of the New Faith to the sanctum of music.
The Master threw the door open for us, ac-
companied us, and began quoting certain names,
until, at last, overcome with mistrust, we stood
still and looked at him. Was it possible that we
were the victims of the same hallucination as that to
which our friend had been subjected in his dream?
The musicians to whom Strauss referred seemed
to us to be wrongly designated as long as he spoke
about them, and we began to think that the talk
must certainly be about somebody else, even
admitting that it did not relate to incongruous
phantoms. When, for instance, he mentioned
Haydn with that same warmth which made us
so suspicious when he praised Lessing, and when
he posed as the epopt and priest of a mysterious
Haydn cult; when, in a discussion upon quartette-
music, if you please, he even likened Haydn to
a "good unpretending soup" and Beethoven to
"sweetmeats" (p. 432); then, to our minds, one
thing, and one thing alone, became certain—namely
that his Sweetmeat-Beethoven is not our Beethoven,
and his Soup-Haydn is not our Haydn. The
Master was moreover of the opinion that our
orchestra is too good to perform Haydn, and that


## p. 38 (#128) #############################################

38 THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
only the most unpretentious amateurs can do
justice to that music—a further proof that he was
referring to some other artist and. some other work,
possibly to Riehl's music for the home.
But whoever can this Sweetmeat-Beethoven of
Strauss's be? He is said to have composed nine
symphonies, of which the Pastoral is "the least re-
markable "; we are told that " each time in com-
posing the third, he seemed impelled to exceed his
bounds, and depart on an adventurous quest," from
which we might infer that we are here concerned
with a sort of double monster, half horse and half
cavalier. With regard to a certain Eroica, this
Centaur is very hard pressed, because he did not
succeed in making it clear " whether it is a question
of a conflict on the open field or in the deep heart
of man. " In the Pastoral there is said to be "a
furiously raging storm," for which it is "almost too
insignificant" to interrupt a dance of country-folk,
and which, owing to "its arbitrary connection with
a trivial motive," as Strauss so adroitly and
correctly puts it, renders this symphony "the least
remarkable. " A more drastic expression appears
to have occurred to the Master; but he prefers to
speak here, as he says, " with becoming modesty. "
But no, for once our Master is wrong; in this case
he is really a little too modest. Who, indeed, will
enlighten us concerning this Sweetmeat-Beethoven,
if not Strauss himself—the only person who seems
to know anything about him? But, immediately
below, a strong judgment is uttered with becoming
non-modesty, and precisely in regard to the Ninth
Symphony. It is said, for instance, that this


## p. 39 (#129) #############################################

DAVID STRAUSS. 39
symphony "is naturally the favourite of a pre-
valent taste, which in art, and music especially,
mistakes the grotesque for the genial, and the
formless for the sublime" (p. 428). It is true that
a critic as severe as Gervinus was gave this work a
hearty welcome, because it happened to confirm one
of his doctrines; but Strauss is " far from going to
these problematic productions" in search of the
merits of his Beethoven. "It is a pity," cries our
Master, with a convulsive sigh, "that one is com-
pelled, by such reservations, to mar one's enjoyment
of Beethoven, as well as the admiration gladly
accorded to him. " For our Master is a favourite
of the Graces, and these have informed him that
they only accompanied Beethoven part of the way,
and that he then lost sight of them. "This is a
defect," he cries, "but can you believe that it may
also appear as an advantage? " "He who is
painfully and breathlessly rolling the musical idea
along will seem to be moving the weightier one,
and thus appear to be the stronger" (pp. 423-24).
This is a confession, and not necessarily one con-
cerning Beethoven alone, but concerning "the
classical prose-writer" himself. He, the celebrated
author, is not abandoned by the Graces. From the
play of airy jests—that is to say, Straussian jests —
to the heights of solemn earnestness—that is to say,
Straussian earnestness—they remain stolidly at his
elbow. He, the classical prose-writer, slides his
burden along playfully and with a light heart,
whereas Beethoven rolls his painfully and breath-
lessly. He seems merely to dandle his load; this is
indeed an advantage. But would anybody believe


## p. 40 (#130) #############################################

40 THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
that it might equally be a sign of something
wanting? In any case, only those could believe
this who mistake the grotesque for the genial, and
the formless for the sublime—is not that so, you
dandling favourite of the Graces? We envy no
one the edifying moments he may have, either in
the stillness of his little private room or in a new
heaven specially fitted out for him; but of all
possible pleasures of this order, that of Strauss's is
surely one of the most wonderful, for he is even
edified by a little holocaust. He calmly throws
the sublimest works of the German nation into the
flames, in order to cense his idols with their smoke.
Suppose, for a moment, that by some accident,
the Eroica, the Pastoral, and the Ninth Sym-
phony had fallen into the hands of our priest
of the Graces, and that it had been in his power to
suppress such problematic productions, in order to
keep the image of the Master pure, who doubts
but what he would have burned them? And it is
precisely in this way that the Strausses of our time
demean themselves: they only wish to know so
much of an artist as is compatible with the service
of their rooms; they know only the extremes—
censing or burning. To all this they are heartily
welcome; the one surprising feature of the whole
case is that public opinion, in matters artistic,
should be so feeble, vacillating, and corruptible as
contentedly to allow these exhibitions of indigent
Philistinism to go by without raising an objection;
yea, that it does not even possess sufficient sense of
humour to feel tickled at the sight of an unsesthetic
little master's sitting in judgment upon Beethoven.


## p. 41 (#131) #############################################

DAVID STRAUSS. 41
As to Mozart, what Aristotle says of Plato ought
really to be applied here: "Insignificant people
ought not to be permitted even to praise him. " In
this respect, however, all shame has vanished—from
the public as well as from the Master's mind: he is
allowed, not merely to cross himself before the
greatest and purest creations of German genius, as
though he had perceived something godless and
immoral in them, but people actually rejoice over
his candid confessions and admission of sins—more
particularly as he makes no mention of his own,
but only of those which great men are said to have
committed. Oh, if only our Master be in the right!
his readers sometimes think, when attacked by a
paroxysm of doubt; he himself, however, stands
there, smiling and convinced, perorating, condemn-
ing, blessing, raising his hat to himself, and is at
any minute capable of saying what the Duchesse
Delaforte said to Madame de Stael, to wit: " My
dear, I must confess that I find no one but myself
invariably right. "
VI.
A corpse is a pleasant thought for a worm, and a
worm is a dreadful thought for every living creature.
Worms fancy their kingdom of heaven in a fat
body; professors of philosophy seek theirs in
rummaging among Schopenhauer's entrails, and as
long as rodents exist, there will exist a heaven for
rodents. In this, we have the answer to our first
question: How does the believer in the new faith
picture his heaven? The Straussian Philistine


## p. 42 (#132) #############################################

42 THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
harbours in the works of our great poets and
musicians like a parasitic worm whose life is
destruction, whose admiration is devouring, and
whose worship is digesting.
Now, however, our second question must be
answered: How far does the courage lent to its
adherents by this new faith extend? Even this
question would already have been answered, if
courage and pretentiousness had been one; for
then Strauss would not be lacking even in the just
and veritable courage of a Mameluke. At all
events, the "becoming modesty" of which Strauss
speaks in the above-mentioned passage, where he
is referring to Beethoven, can only be a stylistic
and not a moral manner of speech. Strauss has
his full share of the temerity to which every
successful hero assumes the right: all flowers grow
only for him—the conqueror; and he praises the
sun because it shines in at his window just at the
right time. He does not even spare the venerable
old universe in his eulogies—as though it were
only now and henceforward sufficiently sanctified
by praise to revolve around the central monad
David Strauss. The universe, he is happy to
inform us, is, it is true, a machine with jagged iron
wheels, stamping and hammering ponderously,
but: "We do not only find the revolution of pitiless
wheels in our world-machine, but also the shedding
of soothing oil" (p. 435). The universe, provided
it submit to Strauss's encomiums, is not likely to
overflow with gratitude towards this master of
weird metaphors, who was unable to discover
better similes in its praise. But what is the oil


## p. 43 (#133) #############################################

DAVID STRAUSS. 43
called which trickles down upon the hammers and
stampers? And how would it console a workman
who chanced to get one of his limbs caught in the
mechanism to know that this oil was trickling over
him? Passing over this simile as bad, let us turn
our attention to another of Strauss's artifices,
whereby he tries to ascertain how he feels disposed
towards the universe; this question of Marguerite's,
"He loves me—loves me not—loves me ? " hanging
on his lips the while. Now, although Strauss is
not telling flower-petals or the buttons on his
waistcoat, still what he does is not less harmless,
despite the fact that it needs perhaps a little more
courage. Strauss wishes to make certain whether
his feeling for the "All" is either paralysed or
withered, and he pricks himself; for he knows that
one can prick a limb that is either paralysed or
withered without causing any pain. As a matter
of fact, he does not really prick himself, but selects
another more violent method, which he describes
thus: "We open Schopenhauer, who takes every
occasion of slapping our idea in the face" (p. 167).
Now, as an idea—even that of Strauss's concerning
the universe—has no face, if there be any face in
the question at all it must be that of the idealist,
and the procedure may be subdivided into the
following separate actions:—Strauss, in any case,
throws Schopenhauer open, whereupon the latter
slaps Strauss in the face. Strauss then reacts re-
ligiously; that is to say, he again begins to belabour
Schopenhauer, to abuse him, to speak of absurdities,
blasphemies, dissipations, and even to allege that
Schopenhauer could not have been in his right


## p. 44 (#134) #############################################

44 THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON.
senses. Result of the dispute: "We demand the
same piety for our Cosmos that the devout of old
demanded for his God"; or, briefly, "He loves
me. " Our favourite of the Graces makes his life a
hard one, but he is as brave as a Mameluke, and
fears neither the Devil nor Schopenhauer. How
much " soothing oil" must he use if such incidents
are of frequent occurrence!