No More Learning

iii (#13) #############################################

FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE
ON THE FUTURE OF OUR
)UCATIONAL INSTITUTIONS
HOMER
ND CLASSICAL PHILOLOGY
TRANSLATED, WITH INTRODUCTION, BY
J. M. KENNEDY
T. N. FOULIS
13 & 15 FREDERICK STREET
EDINBURGH: and LONDON
1909


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B
33/5
•. 3
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Printed by Morrison & Gibb Limited, Edinburgh.


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CONTENTS.
TAGS
ianslator's Introduction . . . v
jthor's Preface ----- 3
jthor's Introduction . . . . 7
ie Future of our Educational Institutions:
first lecture - - - - "15
second lecture - - - - 43
third lecture ----- 69
fourth lecture - - - 91
fifth lecture - - - - 117
dmer and classical philqlogy - - 145
207593


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TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION.
"On the Future of our Educational Institu-
tions" comprehends a series of five lectures
delivered by Nietzsche when Professor of Classical
Philology at Bale University. As they were pre-
pared when he was only twenty-seven years of
age, we can scarcely expect to find in them that
broad, "good European" point of view which
we meet with in his later works. These lectures,
however, are not only highly interesting in them-
selves; but indispensable for those who wish
. to trace the gradual development of Nietzsche's
thought. ,
Nietzsche's aim, as is now pretty well known, was
the elevation of the type man. At this period of
his life he believed that this end could be best
attained by the protection and careful development
of men of genius. Hence his antagonism in the
following lectures towards the purely time-serving
xerman schools and colleges of his age, in which
culture was not only neglected but not even known
—the one aim of the teachers being to instruct the
pupils in the art of " getting on," of playing a
successful part in the struggle for existence, of
becoming useful citizens. Of course, Nietzsche was
too little of a wild reformer to be adverse to a
b
■


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Vlll INTRODUCTION.
schooling of this nature. He freely admits that:
a bread-winning education is necessary for the
majority, and that officials are necessary to the
State ; but he adds that everything learnt as a pre-
paration for taking part in the commercial or
political battle of life has nothing to do with culture.
True culture is only for a few select minds, which
it is necessary to bring together under the protect-
ing roof of an institution that shall prepare them for
culture, and for culture only. Such an institution,
he goes on to say, does not yet exist; but we must
have it if the delicate flower of the German mind is
no longer to be choked by the noxious weeds which
have gathered round it. As instances of minds
thus "choked," Nietzsche mentions Lessing,
Winckelmann, and Schiller.
The standard of culture to be aimed at by the
man of genius Nietzsche had in mind was to be
found in the model literary and artistic works which
have come down to us from ancient Greece. To
understand these works, of course, the classical
authors had to be studied in the original, and the
methods of teaching then in vogue paid too much
attention to inconsequential points (e. g. variant
readings) instead of dealing with the subject in
a broad-minded philosophical spirit. Nietzsche i
endeavoured to counteract this tendency in the i
"Homer and Classical Philology," his inaugural |
address at Bale University, by outlining a much
vaster conception of philology than his fellow-
teachers had ever dreamt of, laying stress upon
the artistic results which would accrue if the
science were applied on a wider scale—results


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INTRODUCTION. IX
which would be of a much higher order than
those obtained by the narrow pedantry then
prevailing.
It is a very superficial comment on these lectures
to say that Nietzsche was merely referring to the
German schools and colleges of his time. It would
be even shallower to suggest that his remarks do not
apply to the schools and teachers of present-day
England and America; forwe likewise donot possess
the cultural institution, theraz/educational establish-
ment, that Nietzsche longed for. Broadly speaking,
the English public schools, the older English
universities, and the American high schools, train
their scholars to be useful to the State: the modern
universities and the remaining schools give that
instruction in bread-winning which Nietzsche admits
to be necessary for the majority; but in no case is
an attempt made to pick out a few higher minds
and train them for culture. Our crude methods of
teaching the classical languages are too well known
to be commented upon; and an insight into classical
antiquity, with the good taste, the firm principles,
and the lofty aims obtained therefrom, is exactly
what our various educational institutions do not aim
at giving. Yet, as Nietzsche truly says, no progress
in any other direction, no matter how brilliant, can jC
deliver our students from the curse of an education
which adapts itself more and more to the needs of
the age, and thus loses all its power of guiding the
i. ge. Let the student who, as the victim of this
system, suffers more from it than his teachers care
to admit, read the paragraph on pp. 132 and 133
containing the sentences—
x


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X INTRODUCTION.
He feels that he can neither lead nor help himself. . . _
His condition is undignified, even dreadful: he keeps
between the two extremes of work at high pressure and.
a state of melancholy enervation. . . . He seeks consolation
in hasty and incessant action so as to hide himself from.
himself, etc. ,
and then let him confess that Nietzsche's insight
into his psychology is profound and decisive. The
whole paragraph might have been written by
Nietzsche after a visit to present-day England.
As bearing upon the same subject, the reader will
find it interesting to compare the lectures here
translated with Matthew Arnold's prose writings
passim; particularly the Essays in Criticism,
Mixed Essays, and Culture and Anarchy.
J. M. KENNEDY.
London, May 1909.


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THE FUTURE OF OUR
EDUCATIONAL INSTITUTIONS.
HOMER
AND CLASSICAL PHILOLOGY.


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PREFACE.
(To be read before the lectures, although it in no
way relates to them! )
The reader from whom I expect something must
possess three qualities: he must be calm and
must read without haste; he must not be ever
interposing his own personality and his own
special " culture "; and he must not expect as the
ultimate results of his study of these pages that he
will be presented with a set of new formulae. I do
not propose to furnish formulae or new plans of
study for Gymnasia or other schools; and I am
much more inclined to admire the extraordinary
power of those who are able to cover the whole
distance between the depths of empiricism and the
heights of special culture-problems, and who again
descend to the level of the driest rules and the
most neatly expressed formulas. I shall be
content if only I can ascend a tolerably lofty
mountain, from the summit of which, after having
recovered my breath, I may obtain a general
survey of the ground; for I shall never be able, in
this book, to satisfy the votaries of tabulated


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4 PREFACE.
rules. Indeed, I see a time coming when seric
men, working together in the service of a co
pletely rejuvenated and purified culture, may ag£
become the directors of a system of every d
instruction, calculated to promote that cultur
and they will probably be compelled once mo
to draw up sets of rules: but how remote th
time now seems! And what may not happe
meanwhile! It is just possible that between no
and then all Gymnasia—yea, and perhaps a
universities, may be destroyed, or have become s
utterly transformed that their very regulation,
may, in the eyes of future generations, seem to be
but the relics of the cave-dwellers' age.
This book is intended for calm readers,—for
men who have not yet been drawn into the mad
headlong rush of our hurry-skurrying age, and who
do not experience any idolatrous delight in throw-
ing themselves beneath its chariot-wheels. It is
for men, therefore, who are not accustomed to
estimate the value of everything according to
the amount of time it either saves or wastes.
In short, it is for the few. These, we believe,
"still have time. " Without any qualms of
conscience they may improve the most fruitful
and vigorous hours of their day in meditating on
the future of our education; they may even
believe when the evening has come that they
have used their day in the most dignified ajid
useful way, namely, in the meditatio generis futui
No one among them has yet forgotten to thiw
while reading a book; he still understands tjit
secret of reading between the lines, and is indi


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PREFACE. 5
so generous in what he himself brings to his study,
that he continues to reflect upon what he has read,
perhaps long after he has laid the book aside.
And he does this, not because he wishes to write
a criticism about it or even another book; but
simply because reflection is a pleasant pastime to
him. Frivolous spendthrift! Thou art a reader
after my own heart; for thou wilt be patient
enough to accompany an author any distance,
even though he himself cannot yet see the goal at
which he is aiming,—even though he himself feels
only that he must at all events honestly believe in
a goal, in order that a future and possibly very
remote generation may come face to face with
that towards which we are now blindly and
instinctively groping. Should any reader demur
and suggest that all that is required is prompt and
bold reform; should he imagine that a new
"organisation" introduced by the State, were all
that is necessary, then we fear he would have
misunderstood not only the author but the very
nature of the problem under consideration.
The third and most important stipulation is,
that he should in no case be constantly bringing
himself and his own " culture" forward, after the
style of most modern men, as the correct standard
and measure of all things. We would have him
so highly educated that he could even think
meanly of his education or despise it altogether.
Only thus would he be able to trust entirely to
the author's guidance; for it is only by virtue
of ignorance and his consciousness of ignorance,
that the latter can dare to make himself heard.



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6 PREFACE.
Finally, the author would wish his reader to
fully alive to the specific character of our prese
barbarism and of that which distinguishes us, ,
the barbarians of the nineteenth century, fro
other barbarians.
Now, with this book in his hand, the writ*
seeks all those who may happen to be wandering
hither and thither, impelled by feelings similar t
his own. Allow yourselves to be discovered y
lonely ones in whose existence I believe! Vi
unselfish ones, suffering in yourselves from th(
corruption of the German spirit! Ye contem-
plative ones who cannot, with hasty glances, turn
your eyes swiftly from one surface to another!
Ye lofty thinkers, of whom Aristotle said that ye
wander through life vacillating and inactive so
long as no great honour or glorious Cause calleth
ou to deeds! It is you I summon! Refrain
this once from seeking refuge in your lairs
of solitude and dark misgivings. Bethink you
that this book was framed to be your herald
When ye shall go forth to battle in your full
panoply, who among you will not rejoice in looking
back upon the herald who rallied you?
x:


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INTRODUCTION.
The title I gave to these lectures ought, like all
titles, to have been as definite, as plain, and as
significant as possible; now, however, I observe
that owing to a certain excess of precision, in its
present form it is too short and consequently mis-
leading. My first duty therefore will be to explain
the title, together with the object of these lectures,
to you, and to apologise for being obliged to do
this. When I promised to speak to you concern-
ing the future of our educational institutions, I was
not thinking especially of the evolution of our
particular institutions in Bale. However frequently
my general observations may seem to bear par-
ticular application to our own conditions here, I
personally have no desire to draw these inferences,
and do not wish to be held responsible if they
should be drawn, for the simple reason that I con-
sider myself still far too much an inexperienced
stranger among you, and much too superficially
acquainted with your methods, to pretend to pass
judgment upon any such special order of scholastic
establishments, or to predict the probable course
their development will follow. On the other hand,


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8 INTRODUCTION.
I know full well under what distinguished auspf c
I have to deliver these lectures—namely, in
city which is striving to educate and enlighten i
inhabitants on a scale so magnificently out of pre
portion to its size, that it must put all larger citie
to shame. This being so, I presume I am Justine
in assuming that in a quarter where so much i
done for the things of which I wish to speak
people must also think a good deal about them
My desire—yea, my very first condition, therefore,
would be to become united in spirit with those who
have not only thought very deeply upon educa-
tional problems, but have also the will to promote
what they think to be right by all the means in
their power. And, in view of the difficulties of
my task and the limited time at my disposal, to
such listeners, alone, in my audience, shall I be
able to make myself understood—and even then,
it will be on condition that they shall guess what
I can do no more than suggest, that they shall
supply what I am compelled to omit; in brief,
that they shall need but to be reminded and not
to be taught. Thus, while I disclaim all desire of
being taken for an uninvited adviser on questions
relating to the schools and the University of Bale,
I repudiate even more emphatically still the r61e
of a prophet standing on the horizon of civilisation
and pretending to predict the future of education
and of scholastic organisation. I can no more
project my vision through such vast periods o(
time than I can rely upon its accuracy when it is
brought too close to an object under examination.
With my title: Our Educational Institutions, I


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INTRODUCTION. 9
wish to refer neither to the establishments in Bale
nor to the incalculably vast number of other
scholastic institutions which exist throughout the
nations of the world to-day; but I wish to refer
to German institutions of the kind which we rejoice
in here. It is their future that will now engage
our attention, i. e. the future of German elementary,
secondary, and public schools (Gymnasien) and
universities. While pursuing our discussion, how-
ever, we shall for once avoid all comparisons and
valuations, and guard more especially against that
flattering illusion that our conditions should be
regarded as the standard for all others and as sur-
passing them. Let it suffice that they are our
institutions, that they have not become a part of
ourselves by mere accident, and were not laid
upon us like a garment; but that they are living
monuments of important steps in the progress of
civilisation, in some respects even the furniture of
a bygone age, and as such link us with the past
of our people, and are such a sacred and venerable
legacy that I can only undertake to speak of the
future of our educational institutions in the sense
of their being a most probable approximation to
the ideal spirit which gave them birth. I am,
moreover, convinced that the numerous alterations
which have been introduced into these institutions
within recent years, with the view of bringing
them up-to-date, are for the most part but distor-
tions and aberrations of the originally sublime
tendencies given to them at their foundation.
And what we dare to hope from the future, in
this behalf, partakes so much of the nature of a


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IO INTRODUCTION.
rejuvenation, a reviviscence, and a refining of
the spirit of Germany that, as a result of this
very process, our educational institutions may
also be indirectly remoulded and born again,
so as to appear at once old and new, whereas
now they only profess to be "modern" or "up-
to-date. "
Now it is only in the spirit of the hope above
mentioned that I wish to speak of the future of
our educational institutions: and this is the
second point in regard to which I must tender an
apology from the outset. The "prophet" pose is
such a presumptuous one that it seems almost
ridiculous to deny that I have the intention of
adopting it. No one should attempt to describe
the future of our education, and the means and
methods of instruction relating thereto, in a
prophetic spirit, unless he can prove that the
picture he draws already exists in germ to-day,
and that all that is required is the extension and
development of this embryo if the necessary
modifications are to be produced in schools and
other educational institutions. All I ask, is, like
a Roman haruspex, to be allowed to steal glimpses
of the future out of the very entrails of existing
conditions, which, in this case, means no more
than to hand the laurels of victory to any one of
the many forces tending to make itself felt in
our present educational system, despite the fact
that the force in question may be neither a favourite,
an esteemed, nor a very extensive one. I con-
fidently assert that it will be victorious, however,
because it has the strongest and mightiest of ail


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INTRODUCTION. II
allies in nature herself; and in this respect it
were well did we not forget that scores of the very
first principles of our modern educational methods
are thoroughly artificial, and that the most fatal
weaknesses of the present day are to be ascribed
to this artificiality. He who feels in complete
harmony with the present state of affairs and who
acquiesces in it as something" selbstverstandlich. es? *
excites our envy neither in regard to his faith nor
in regard to that egregious word "selbstverstandlich"
so frequently heard in fashionable circles.
He, however, who holds the opposite view and
is therefore in despair, does not need to fight any
longer: all he requires is to give himself up to
solitude in order soon to be alone. Albeit,
between those who take everything for granted
and these anchorites, there stand the fighters—
that is to say, those who still have hope, and as
the noblest and sublimest example of this class,
we recognise Schiller as he is described by Goethe
in his " Epilogue to the Bell. "
"Brighter now glow'd his cheek, and still more
bright
With that unchanging, ever youthful glow:—
That courage which o'ercomes, in hard-fought
fight,
Sooner or later ev'ry earthly foe,—
That faith which soaring to the realms of
light,
Now boldly presseth on, now bendeth low,
* Selbstverstandlich=" granted or self-understood. "


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12 INTRODUCTION.
So that the good may work, wax, thrive
amain,
So that the day the noble may attain. " *
I should like you to regard all I have just said
as a kind of preface, the object of which is to
illustrate the title of my lectures and to guard me
against any possible misunderstanding and un-
justified criticisms. And now, in order to give
you a rough outline of the range of ideas from
which I shall attempt to form a judgment con-
cerning our educational institutions, before pro-
ceeding to disclose my views and turning from
the title to the main theme, I shall lay a scheme
before you which, like a coat of arms, will serve
to warn all strangers who come to my door, as to
the nature of the house they are about to enter, in
case they may feel inclined, after having examined
the device, to turn their backs on the premises that
bear it. My scheme is as follows:—
Two seemingly antagonistic forces, equally de-
leterious in their actions and ultimately combining
to produce their results, are at present ruling over
our educational institutions, although these were
based originally upon very different principles.
These forces are: a striving to achieve the greatest
possible extension of education on the one hand,
and a tendency to minimise and to weaken it on
the other. The first-named would fain spread
learning among the greatest possible number of
* The Poems of Goethe. Edgar Alfred Bowring's
Translation. (Ed. 1853. )


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INTRODUCTION. 13
people, the second would compel education to
renounce its highest and most independent claims
in order to subordinate itself to the service of
the State. In the face of these two antagonistic
tendencies, we could but give ourselves up to
despair, did we not see the possibility of pro-
moting the cause of two other contending factors
which are fortunately as completely German as
they are rich in promises for the future; I refer to
the present movement towards limiting and con-
centrating education as the antithesis of the first
of the forces above mentioned, and that other
movement towards the strengthening and the in-
dependence of education as the antithesis of the
second force. If we should seek a warrant for our
belief in the ultimate victory of the two last-named
movements, we could find it in the fact that both
of the forces which we hold to be deleterious are
so opposed to the eternal purpose of nature as the
concentration of education for the few is in harmony
with it, and is true, whereas the first two forces
could succeed only in founding a culture false to
the root.
/""


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THE FUTURE OF OUR
EDUCATIONAL INSTITUTIONS.
FIRST LECTURE.
{Delivered on the \6tk of January 1872. )
Ladies and Gentlemen,—The subject I now
propose to consider with you is such a serious and
important one, and is in a sense so disquieting,
that, like you, I would gladly turn to any one who
could proffer some information concerning it,—were
he ever so young, were his ideas ever so improb-
able—provided that he were able, by the exercise
of his own faculties, to furnish some satisfactory
and sufficient explanation. It is just possible that
he may have had the opportunity of hearing sound
views expressed in reference to the vexed question
of the future of our educational institutions, and
that he may wish to repeat them to you; he may
even have had distinguished teachers, fully quali-
fied to foretell what is to come, and, like the
haruspices of Rome, able to do so after an in-
spection of the entrails of the Present.
Indeed, you yourselves may expect something


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16 FUTURE OF EDUCATIONAL INSTITUTIONS.
of this kind from me. I happened once, in strange
but perfectly harmless circumstances, to overhear
a conversation on this subject between two remark-
able men, and the more striking points of the dis-
cussion, together with their manner of handling the
theme, are so indelibly imprinted on my memory
that, whenever I reflect on these matters, I in-
variably find myself falling into their grooves of
thought. I cannot, however, profess to have the
same courageous confidence which they displayed,
both in their daring utterance of forbidden truths,
and in the still more daring conception of the
hopes with which they astonished me. It there-
fore seemed to me to be in the highest degree
important that a record of this conversation should
be made, so that others might be incited to form
a judgment concerning the striking views and con-
clusions it contains: and, to this end, I had special
grounds for believing that I should do well to
avail myself of the opportunity afforded by this
course of lectures.
I am well aware of the nature of the com-
munity to whose serious consideration I now wish
to commend that conversation—I know it to be
a community which is striving to educate and
enlighten its members on a scale so magnificently
out of proportion to its size that it must put all
larger cities to shame. This being so, I presume
I may take it for granted that in a quarter where
so much is done for the things of which I wish to
speak, people must also think a good deal about
them. In my account of the conversation already
mentioned, I shall be able to make myself com-
\


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FIRST LECTURE. 17
pletely understood only to those among my
audience who will be able to guess what I can
do no more than suggest, who will supply what
I am compelled to omit, and who, above all, need
but to be reminded and not taught.
Listen, therefore, ladies and gentlemen, while
I recount my harmless experience and the less
harmless conversation between the two gentlemen
whom, so far, I have not named.
Let us now imagine ourselves in the position of
a young student—that is to say, in a position
which, in our present age of bewildering movement
and feverish excitability, has become an almost
impossible one. It is necessary to have lived
through it in order to believe that such careless
self-lulling and comfortable indifference to the
moment, or to time in general, are possible. In
this condition I, and a friend about my own age,
spent a year at the University of Bonn on the
Rhine,—it was a year which, in its complete lack
of plans and projects for the future, seems almost
like a dream to me now—a dream framed, as it
were, by two periods of growth. We two remained
quiet and peaceful, although we were surrounded
by fellows who in the main were very differently
disposed, and from time to time we experienced
considerable difficulty in meeting and resisting the
somewhat too pressing advances of the young men
of our own age. Now, however, that I can look
upon the stand we had to take against these
opposing forces, I cannot help associating them
in my mind with those checks we are wont to
receive in our dreams, as, for instance, when we
B


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18 FUTURE OF EDUCATIONAL INSTITUTIONS.
imagine we are able to fly and yet feel ourselves
held back by some incomprehensible power.
I and my friend had many reminiscences in
common, and these dated from the period of our
boyhood upwards. One of these I must relate to
you, since it forms a sort of prelude to the harm-
less experience already mentioned. On the occa-
sion of a certain journey up the Rhine, which we
had made together one summer, it happened that
he and I independently conceived the very same
plan at the same hour and on the same spot, and
we were so struck by this unwonted coincidence
that we determined to carry the plan out forth-
with. We resolved to found a kind of small club
which would consist of ourselves and a few friends,
and the object of which would be to provide us
with a stable and binding organisation directing
and adding interest to our creative impulses in
art and literature; or, to put it more plainly:
each of us would be pledged to present an original
piece of work to the club once a month,—either
a poem, a treatise, an architectural design, or a
musical composition, upon which each of the
others, in a friendly spirit, would have to pass free
and unrestrained criticism.
We thus hoped, by means of mutual correction,
to be able both to stimulate and to chasten our
creative impulses and, as a matter of fact, the
success of the scheme was such that we have both
always felt a sort of respectful attachment for the
hour and the place at which it first took shape in
our minds.
This attachment was very soon transformed


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FIRST LECTURE. 19
into a rite; for we all agreed to go, whenever it
was possible to do so, once a year to that lonely
spot near Rolandseck, where on that summer's
day, while sitting together, lost in meditation, we
were suddenly inspired by the same thought.
Frankly speaking, the rules which were drawn up
on the formation of the club were never very
strictly observed; but owing to the very fact that
we had many sins of omission on our conscience
during our student-year in Bonn, when we were
once more on the banks of the Rhine, we firmly
resolved not only to observe our rule, but also to
gratify our feelings and our sense of gratitude by
reverently visiting that spot near Rolandseck on
the day appointed.
It was, however, with some difficulty that we
were able to carry our plans into execution; for,
on the very day we had selected for our excursion,
the large and lively students' association, which
always hindered us in our flights, did their utmost
to put obstacles in our way and to hold us back.
Our association had organised a general holiday
excursion to Rolandseck on the very day my
friend and I had fixed upon, the object of the
outing being to assemble all its members for the
last time at the close of the half-year and to send
them home with pleasant recollections of their
last hours together.
The day was a glorious one; the weather was
of the kind which, in our climate at least, only
falls to our lot in late summer: heaven and earth
merged harmoniously with one another, and,
glowing wondrously in the sunshine, autumn


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20 FUTURE OF EDUCATIONAL INSTITUTIONS.
freshness blended with the blue expanse above.
Arrayed in the bright fantastic garb in which,
amid the gloomy fashions now reigning, students
alone may indulge, we boarded a steamer which
was gaily decorated in our honour, and hoisted
our flag on its mast. From both banks of the
river there came at intervals the sound of signal-
guns, fired according to our orders, with the view
of acquainting both our host in Rolandseck and
the inhabitants in the neighbourhood with our
approach. I shall not speak of the noisy journey
from the landing-stage, through the excited and
expectant little place, nor shall I refer to the
esoteric jokes exchanged between ourselves; I
also make no mention of a feast which became
both wild and noisy, or of an extraordinary
musical production in the execution of which,
whether as soloists or as chorus, we all ultimately
had to share, and which I, as musical adviser of
our club, had not only had to rehearse, but was
then forced to conduct. Towards the end of this
piece, which grew ever wilder and which was sung
to ever quicker time, I made a sign to my friend,
and just as the last chord rang like a yell through
the building, he and I vanished, leaving behind us
a raging pandemonium.
In a moment we were in the refreshing and
breathless stillness of nature. The shadows were
already lengthening, the sun still shone steadily,
though it had sunk a good deal in the heavens,
and from the green and glittering waves of the
Rhine a cool breeze was wafted over our hot faces.
Our solemn rite bound us only in so far as the


## p. 21 (#41) ##############################################

FIRST LECTURE. 21
latest hours of the day were concerned, and we
therefore determined to employ the last moments
of clear daylight by giving ourselves up to one of
our many hobbies.
At that time we were passionately fond of
pistol-shooting, and both of us in later years found
the skill we had acquired as amateurs of great use
in our military career. Our club servant happened
to know the somewhat distant and elevated spot
which we used as a range, and had carried our
pistols there in advance. The spot lay near the upper
border of the wood which covered the lesser heights
behind Rolandseck: it was a small uneven plateau,
close to the place we had consecrated in memory
of its associations. On a wooded slope alongside
of our shooting-range there was a small piece of
ground which had been cleared of wood, and which
made an ideal halting-place; from it one could get
a view of the Rhine over the tops of the trees and
the brushwood, so that the beautiful, undulating
lines of the Seven Mountains and above all of the
Drachenfels bounded the horizon against the group
of trees, while in the centre of the bow formed by
the glistening Rhine itself the island of Nonnen-
worth stood out as if suspended in the river's arms.
This was the place which had become sacred to
us through the dreams and plans we had had in
common, and to which we intended to withdraw,
later in the evening,—nay, to which we should be
obliged to withdraw, if we wished to close the day
in accordance with the law we had imposed on
ourselves.
At one end of the little uneven plateau, and not


## p. 22 (#42) ##############################################

22 FUTURE OF EDUCATIONAL INSTITUTIONS.
very far away, there stood the mighty trunk of an
oak-tree, prominently visible against a background
quite bare of trees and consisting merely of low
undulating hills in the distance. Working to-
gether, we had once carved a pentagram in the
side of this tree-trunk. Years of exposure to rain
and storm had slightly deepened the channels we
had cut, and the figure seemed a welcome target
for our pistol-practice. It was already late in the
afternoon when we reached our improvised range,
and our oak-stump cast a long and attenuated
shadow across the barren heath. All was still:
thanks to the lofty trees at our feet, we were un-
able to catch a glimpse of the valley of the Rhine
below. The peacefulness of the spot seemed only
to intensify the loudness of our pistol-shots—and
I had scarcely fired my second barrel at the
pentagram when I felt some one lay hold of my
arm and noticed that my friend had also some one
beside him who had interrupted his loading. }
Turning sharply on my heels I found myself'
face to face with an astonished old gentleman, I.
and felt what must have been a very powerful dog
make a lunge at my back. My friend had been
approached by a somewhat younger man than I |
had; but before we could give expression to our i
surprise the older of the two interlopers burst forth
in the following threatening and heated strain:
"No! no! " he called to us, " no duels must be G
fought here, but least of all must you young
students fight one. Away with these pistols and
compose yourselves. Be reconciled, shake hands!
What ? —and are you the salt of the earth, the


## p. 23 (#43) ##############################################

FIRST LECTURE. 23
intelligence of the future, the seed of our hopes—
and are you not even able to emancipate yourselves
from the insane code of honour and its violent
regulations? I will not cast any aspersions on
your hearts, but your heads certainly do you no
credit. You, whose youth is watched over by the
wisdom of Greece and Rome, and whose youthful
spirits, at the cost of enormous pains, have been
flooded with the light of the sages and heroes of
antiquity,—can you not refrain from making the
code of knightly honour—that is to say, the code
of folly and brutality—the guiding principle of
your conduct? —Examine it rationally once and
for all, and reduce it to plain terms; lay its piti-
able narrowness bare, and let it be the touchstone,
not of your hearts but of your minds. If you do
not regret it then, it will merely show that your
head is not fitted for work in a sphere where great
gifts of discrimination are needful in order to burst
the bonds of prejudice, and where a well-balanced
understanding is necessary for the purpose of
distinguishing right from wrong, even when the
difference between them lies deeply hidden and is
not, as in this case, so ridiculously obvious. In
that case, therefore, my lads, try to go through
life in some other honourable manner; join the
army or learn a handicraft that pays its way. "
To this rough, though admittedly just, flood of
eloquence, we replied with some irritation, inter-
rupting each other continually in so doing :" In the
first place, you are mistaken concerning the main
point; for we are not here to fight a duel at all;
but rather to practise pistol-shooting. Secondly,


## p. 24 (#44) ##############################################

24 FUTURE OF EDUCATIONAL INSTITUTIONS.
you do not appear to know how a real duel is
conducted;—do you suppose that we should have
faced each other in this lonely spot, like two high-
waymen, without seconds or doctors, etc, etc. ?
Thirdly, with regard to the question of duelling,
we each have our own opinions, and do not require
to be waylaid and surprised by the sort of in-
struction you may feel disposed to give us. "
This reply, which was certainly not polite, made
a bad impression upon the old man. At first,
when he heard that we were not about to fight a
duel, he surveyed us more kindly: but when we
reached the last passage of our speech, he seemed
so vexed that he growled. When, however, we
began to speak of our point of view, he quickly
caught hold of his companion, turned sharply
round, and cried to us in bitter tones: "People
should not have points of view, but thoughts! "
And then his companion added: "Be respectful
when a man such as this even makes mistakes! "
Meanwhile, my friend, who had reloaded, fired
a shot at the pentagram, after having cried:
"Look out! " This sudden report behind his back
made the old man savage; once more he turned
round and looked sourly at my friend, after which
he said to his companion in a feeble voice: "What
shall we do? These young men will be the death
of me with their firing. "—" You should know,"
said the younger man, turning to us, " that your
noisy pastimes amount, as it happens on this
occasion, to an attempt upon the life of philosophy.
You observe this venerable man,—he is in a posi-
tion to beg you to desist from firing here. And


## p. 25 (#45) ##############################################

FIRST LECTURE. 25
when such a man begs ""Well, his request
is generally granted," the old man interjected, sur-
veying us sternly.
As a matter of fact, we did not know what to
make of the whole matter; we could not under-
stand what our noisy pastimes could have in
common with philosophy; nor could we see why,
out of regard for polite scruples, we should
abandon our shooting-range, and at this moment
we may have appeared somewhat undecided and
perturbed. The companion noticing our moment-
ary discomfiture, proceeded to explain the matter
to us.
"We are compelled," he said, "to linger in this
immediate neighbourhood for an hour or so; we
have a rendezvous here. An eminent friend of
this eminent man is to meet us here this evening;
and we had actually selected this peaceful spot,
with its few benches in the midst of the wood,
for the meeting. It would really be most un-
pleasant if, owing to your continual pistol-practice,
we were to be subjected to an unending series of
shocks; surely your own feelings will tell you
that it is impossible for you to continue your fir-
ing when you hear that he who has selected this
quiet and isolated place for a meeting with a
friend is one of our most eminent philosophers. "
This explanation only succeeded in perturbing
us the more; for we saw a danger threatening
us which was even greater than the loss of our
shooting-range, and we asked eagerly, " Where is
this quiet spot? Surely not to the left here, in
the wood? "


## p. 26 (#46) ##############################################

26 FUTURE OF EDUCATIONAL INSTITUTIONS.
"That is the very place. "
"But this evening that place belongs to us,"
my friend interposed. "We must have it," we
cried together.
Our long-projected celebration seemed at that
moment more important than all the philosophies
of the world, and we gave such vehement and
animated utterance to our sentiments that in view
of the incomprehensible nature of our claims we
must have cut a somewhat ridiculous figure. At
any rate, our philosophical interlopers regarded us
with expressions of amused inquiry, as if they
expected us to proffer some sort of apology. But
we were silent, for we wished above all to keep
our secret.
Thus we stood facing one another in silence,
while the sunset dyed the tree-tops a ruddy gold.
The philosopher contemplated the sun, his com-
panion contemplated him, and we turned our eyes
towards our nook in the woods which to-day we
seemed in such great danger of losing. A feeling
of sullen anger took possession of us. What is
philosophy, we asked ourselves, if it prevents a
man from being by himself or from enjoying the
select company of a friend,—in sooth, if it pre-
vents him from becoming a philosopher? For
we regarded the celebration of our rite as a
thoroughly philosophical performance. In celebrat-
ing it we wished to form plans and resolutions for
the future, by means of quiet reflections we hoped
to light upon an idea which would once again help
us to form and gratify our spirit in the future, just
as that former idea had done during our boyhood.


## p. 27 (#47) ##############################################

FIRST LECTURE. 27
The solemn act derived its very significance from
this resolution, that nothing definite was to be
done, we were only to be alone, and to sit still
and meditate, as we had done five years before
when we had each been inspired with the same
thought. It was to be a silent solemnisation, all
reminiscence and all future; the present was to
be as a hyphen between the two. And fate, now
unfriendly, had just stepped into our magic circle
—and we knew not how to dismiss her;—the
very unusual character of the circumstances filled
us with mysterious excitement.
Whilst we stood thus in silence for some time,
divided into two hostile groups, the clouds above
waxed ever redder and the evening seemed to
grow more peaceful and mild; we could almost
fancy we heard the regular breathing of nature as
she put the final touches to her work of art—the
glorious day we had just enjoyed; when, suddenly,
the calm evening air was rent by a confused and
boisterous cry of joy which seemed to come
from the Rhine. A number of voices could be
heard in the distance—they were those of our
fellow - students who by that time must have
taken to the Rhine in small boats. It occurred
to us that we should be missed and that we
should also miss something: almost simultane-
ously my friend and I raised our pistols: our
shots were echoed back to us, and with their echo
there came from the valley the sound of a well-
known cry intended as a signal of identification.
For our passion for shooting had brought us both
repute and ill-repute in our club. At the same


## p. 28 (#48) ##############################################

28 FUTURE OF EDUCATIONAL INSTITUTIONS.
time we were conscious that our behaviour towards
the silent philosophical couple had been excep-
tionally ungentlemanly; they had been quietly-
contemplating us for some time, and when we fired
the shock made them draw close up to each other.
We hurried up to them, and each in our turn
cried out: "Forgive us. That was our last shot,
and it was intended for our friends on the Rhine.
They have understood us, do you hear? If you
insist upon having that place among the trees,
grant us at least the permission to recline there
also. You will find a number of benches on the
spot: we shall not disturb you; we shall sit quite
still and shall not utter a word: but it is now
past seven o'clock and we must go there at once.
"That sounds more mysterious than it is," I
added after a pause; "we have made a solemn
vow to spend this coming hour on that ground,
and there were reasons for the vow. The spot is
sacred to us, owing to some pleasant associations,
it must also inaugurate a good future for us. We
shall therefore endeavour to leave you with no dis-
agreeable recollections of our meeting—even though
we have done much to perturb and frighten you. "
The philosopher was silent; his companion,
however, said: "Our promises and plans unfortun-
ately compel us not only to remain, but also to
spend the same hour on the spot you have selected.
It is left for us to decide whether fate or perhaps
a spirit has been responsible for this extraordinary
coincidence. "
"Besides, my friend," said the philosopher, " I
am not half so displeased with these warlike


## p. 29 (#49) ##############################################

FIRST LECTURE. 2g
youngsters as I was. Did you observe how quiet
they were a moment ago, when we were con- •»
templating the sun? They neither spoke nor
smoked, they stood stone still, I even believe they
meditated. "
Turning suddenly in our direction, he said:
"Were you meditating? Just tell me about it
as we proceed in the direction of our common
trysting-place. " We took a few steps together
and went down the slope into the warm balmy
air of the woods where it was already much
darker. On the way my friend openly revealed
his thoughts to the philosopher, he confessed how
much he had feared that perhaps to-day for the
first time a philosopher was about to stand in
the way of his philosophising.
The sage laughed. "What? You were afraid
a philosopher would prevent your philosophising?
This might easily happen: and you have not yet
experienced such a thing? Has your university
life been free from experience? You surely attend
lectures on philosophy? "
This question discomfited us; for, as a matter
of fact, there had been no element of philosophy
in our education up to that time. In those days,
moreover, we fondly imagined that everybody
who held the post and possessed the dignity of a •
philosopher must perforce be one: we were in-
experienced and badly informed. We frankly
admitted that we had not yet belonged to any
philosophical college, but that we would certainly
make up for lost time.
"Then what," he asked, "did you mean when

'


## p. 30 (#50) ##############################################

30 FUTURE OF EDUCATIONAL INSTITUTIO
you spoke of philosophising? " Said I, "W
at a loss for a definition. But to all intent
purposes we meant this, that we wished to
earnest endeavours to consider the best po
means of becoming men of culture. " "Thai
good deal and at the same time very li
growled the philosopher; "just you think the m
over. Here are our benches, let us discuss
question exhaustively: I shall not disturb
meditations with regard to how you are to bee
men of culture. I wish you success and—p<
of view, as in your duelling questions; brand-
original, and enlightened points of view,
philosopher does not wish to prevent your p]
sophising: but refrain at least from disconcer
him with your pistol-shots. Try to imitate
Pythagoreans to-day: they, as servants of a'
philosophy, had to remain silent for five year
possibly you may also be able to remain silent
five times fifteen minutes, as servants of y
own future culture, about which you seem
concerned. "
We had reached our destination: the soler
isation of our rite began. As on the previ(
occasion, five years ago, the Rhine was once irn
flowing beneath a light mist, the sky seemed brij
and the woods exhaled the same fragrance. \
took our places on the farthest corner of the m<
distant bench; sitting there we were almost cc
cealed, and neither the philosopher nor his coi
panion could see our faces. We were alon
when the sound of the philosopher's voice reachi
us, it had become so blended with the rustlii
"N


## p. 31 (#51) ##############################################

FIRST LECTURE. 31
leaves and with the buzzing murmur of the myriads
of living things inhabiting the wooded height, that
it almost seemed like the music of nature; as a
sound it resembled nothing more than a distant
monotonous plaint. We were indeed undisturbed.
Some time elapsed in this way, and while the
glow of sunset grew steadily paler the recollection
of our youthful undertaking in the cause of culture
waxed ever more vivid. It seemed to us as if we
owed the greatest debt of gratitude to that little
society we had founded ; for it had done more than
merely supplement our public school training;
it had actually been the only fruitful society we
had had, and within its frame we even placed our
public school life, as a purely isolated factor help-
ing us in our general efforts to attain to culture.
We knew this, that, thanks to our little society,
no thought of embracing any particular career
had ever entered our minds in those days. The
all too frequent exploitation of youth by the State,
for its own purposes—that is to say, so that it may
rear useful officials as quickly as possible and
guarantee their unconditional obedience to it by
means of excessively severe examinations—had
remained quite foreign to our education. And to
show how little we had been actuated by thoughts
of utility or by the prospect of speedy advancement
and rapid success, on that day we were struck by
the comforting consideration that, even then, we
had not yet decided what we should be—we had
not even troubled ourselves at all on this head.
Our little society had sown the seeds of this happy
indifference in our souls and for it alone we were


## p. 32 (#52) ##############################################

32 FUTURE OF EDUCATIONAL INSTITUTIONS.
prepared to celebrate the anniversary of its founda-
tion with hearty gratitude. I have already pointed
out, I think, that in the eyes of the present age,
which is so intolerant of anything that is not use-
ful, such purposeless enjoyment of the moment,
such a lulling of one's self in the cradle of the
present, must seem almost incredible and at all
events blameworthy. How useless we were!
And how proud we were of being useless! We
used even to quarrel with each other as to which
of us should have the glory of being the more
useless. We wished to attach no importance to
anything, to have strong views about nothing, to
aim at nothing; we wanted to take no thought
for the morrow, and desired no more than to
recline comfortably like good-for-nothings on
the threshold of the present; and we did—bless
us!
—That, ladies and gentlemen, was our stand-
point then! —
Absorbed in these reflections, I was just about
to give an answer to the question of the future of
our Educational Institutions in the same self-
sufficient way, when it gradually dawned upon me
that the "natural music," coming from the philo-
sopher's bench had lost its original character and
travelled to us in much more piercing and distinct
tones than before. Suddenly I became aware
that I was listening, that I was eavesdropping,
and was passionately interested, with both ears
keenly alive to every sound. I nudged my friend
who was evidently somewhat tired,and I whispered:
"Don't fall asleep! There is something for us to


## p. 33 (#53) ##############################################

FIRST LECTURE. 33
learn over there. It applies to us, even though it
be not meant for us. "
For instance, I heard the younger of the two
men defending himself with great animation while
the philosopher rebuked him with ever increasing
vehemence. "You are unchanged," he cried to
him, " unfortunately unchanged. It is quite incom-
prehensible to me how you can still be the same as
you were seven years ago, when I saw you for the
last time and left you with so much misgiving. I
fear I must once again divest you, however re-
luctantly, of the skin of modern culture which you
have donned meanwhile;—and what do I find
beneath it? The same immutable 'intelligible'
character forsooth, according to Kant; but unfor-
tunately the same unchanged 'intellectual' char-
acter, too—which may also be a necessity, though
not a comforting one. I ask myself to what
purpose have I lived as a philosopher, if, possessed
as you are of no mean intelligence and a genuine
thirst for knowledge, all the years you have spent
in my company have left no deeper impression
upon you. At present you are behaving as if you
had not even heard the cardinal principle of all
culture, which I went to such pains to inculcate
upon you during our former intimacy. Tell me,—
what was that principle? "
"I remember," replied the scolded pupil, "you
used to say no one would strive to attain to culture
if he knew how incredibly small the number of
really cultured people actually is, and can ever be.
And even this number of really cultured people
would not be possible if a prodigious multitude,
C


## p. 34 (#54) ##############################################

34 FUTURE OF EDUCATIONAL INSTITUTIO
from reasons opposed to their nature and on
on by an alluring delusion, did not devote 1
selves to education. It were therefore a mi
publicly to reveal the ridiculous disproportio
tween the number of really cultured people an
enormous magnitude of the educational appai
. Here lies the whole secret of culture—namely
an innumerable host of men struggle to achie
and work hard to that end, ostensibly in their
interests, whereas at bottom it is only in order
it may be possible for the few to attain to it. '
"That is the principle," said the philosophy
"and yet you could so far forget yourself a
believe that you are one of the few?
thought has occurred to you—I can see. T
however, is the result of the worthless charactf
I modern education. The rights of genius are b<
i democratised in order that people may be relie
! of the labour of acquiring culture, and their n
of it. Every one wants if possible to recline
the shade of the tree planted by genius, and
escape the dreadful necessity of working for h
so that his procreation may be made possi!
What? Are you too proud to be a teacher?
you despise the thronging multitude of learne
Do you speak contemptuously of the teache
calling? And, aping my mode of life, would y
fain live in solitary seclusion, hostilely isolal
from that multitude? Do you suppose that y
can reach at one bound what I ultimately had
win for myself only after long and determin
struggles, in order even to be able to live like
philosopher? And do you not fear that solitm


## p. 35 (#55) ##############################################

FIRST LECTURE. 35
will wreak its vengeance upon you? Just try ~l
living the life of a hermit of culture. One must
be blessed with overflowing wealth in order to live
for the good of all on one's own resources!
Extraordinary youngsters! They felt it in-
cumbent upon them to imitate what is precisely
most difficult and most high,—what is possible
only to the master, when they, above all, should
know how difficult and dangerous this is, and how
many excellent gifts may be ruined by attempting
it! "
"I will conceal nothing from you, sir," the
companion replied. "I have heard too much
from your lips at odd times and have been too
long in your company to be able to surrender
myself entirely to our present system of education
and instruction. I am too painfully conscious of
the disastrous errors and abuses to which you used
to call my attention—though I very well know
that I am not strong enough to hope for any
success were I to struggle ever so valiantly against
them. I was overcome by a feeling of general
discouragement; my recourse to solitude was the
result neither of pride nor arrogance. I would
fain describe to you what I take to be the nature
of the educational questions now attracting such
enormous and pressing attention. It seemed to
me that I must recognise two main directions in
the forces at work—two seemingly antagonistic
tendencies, equally deleterious in their action, and
ultimately combining to produce their results: a
striving to achieve the greatest possible expansion
of education on the one hand, and a tendency to


## p. 36 (#56) ##############################################

36 FUTURE OF EDUCATIONAL INSTITUTK
minimise and weaken it on the other. The
named would, for various reasons, spread Ie;
among the greatest number of people; the s
would compel education to renounce its hi
noblest and sublimest claims in order to subon
itself to some other department of life—su
the service of the State.
"I believe I have already hinted at the qi
in which the cry for the greatest possible expa
of education is most loudly raised. This expa
belongs to the most beloved of the dogm
modern political economy. As much know
and education as possible; therefore the gre
possible supply and demand—hence as i
happiness as possible :—that is the formula,
this case utility is made the object and go;
'education,—utility in the sense of gain-
greatest possible pecuniary gain. In the qu,
now under consideration culture would be del
as that point of vantage which enables one to '!
in the van of one's age,' from which one car
all the easiest and best roads to wealth, and
which one controls all the means of communica
between men and nations. The purpose
education, according to this scheme, would
'to rear the most' current' men possible,—' cum
being used here in the sense in which it is app
to the coins of the realm. The greater the nurr
of such men, the happier a nation will be; and
precisely is the purpose of our modern educatic
institutions: to help every one, as far as
nature will allow, to become ' current'; to deve
him so that his particular degree of knowledge;


## p. 37 (#57) ##############################################

FIRST LECTURE. 37
science may yield him the greatest possible amount
of happiness and pecuniary gain.