In the previous entry, as well as in several other entries scattered throughout this book, I have been making my point of principle that the familiar religious saying "God is Truth" makes “truth” as such incomprehensible, and therefore we must come up with a chain of practical definitions, if we wish to keep using the word truth meaningfully, and with comprehension. It is no wonder that Nietzsche, always on the lookout for inherently-inconsistent platitudes, which he enjoys demolishing everywhere he finds them, attacks the frail conception of human truth, in dictums like this: “There are no eternal facts, as there are no absolute truths.” I do not approve of this outright rejection of the necessary concept of absolute truth (without which “truth” becomes relativist, and, to me, loses its meaning), but I do understand Nietzsche’s angry frustration.
The philosophical question of Truth, not in its incomprehensible dimension of Divine Infinity, but within the critical accessibility of its imperfect practical applications, is once again raised in Nietzsche’s Jenseits (5) in his merciless offensive against the Philosopher’s “Truth”:
“What provokes one to look at all philosophers half-suspiciously, half mockingly, is not that one discovers how innocent they are, or how often they make mistakes; in short, their childishness, but that they are not honest enough in their work. They are all advocates, who resent that name, and wily spokesmen for their prejudices, which they baptize ‘truths.’
The equally stiff and decorous Tartuffery of the old Kant, as he lures us on the dialectical bypaths leading to his categorical imperative--- really lead astray and seduce… Or the hocus-pocus of mathematical form, with which Spinoza clad his philosophy, really ‘the love of his wisdom,’ in mail and mask, to strike terror into the heart of any assailant,--- how much personal timidity and vulnerability this masquerade of a sick hermit betrays!"
(…And after this devastating blow to name Spinoza among the eight great shadows of Hades, who are more alive to Nietzsche than the living?! Well, Nietzsche’s passion is his lifeblood, and no one, neither the dead nor the living, ought to take offense at his violently changing moods!)
…Besides, probably, both Kant and Spinoza deserve a little criticism of this nature. Unlike Dèscartes, they did not protect themselves by the caveat of idiosyncrasy. And they were indeed putting on some airs: most of their general theories, frankly, do not pass the practicability test, to which all fiction must be subjected. (Once again, to understand this, see my Truth and Fiction series.)
A word or two on the specifics of Nietzsche’s charge. Kant’s categorical imperative, the great Achtung, to which I used to be rather partial in my early years, is a commendable contribution to philosophy, in much greater measure, I should say, than his rather artificial synthetic “aprioris,” whose limited (I do not agree that it is totally nonexistent!) value is certainly out of proportion to the humongous effort Kant had expended on them. By the same token, Spinoza’s pseudo-mathematical style and the formalistic zeal displayed in his Ethica are indeed persistently annoying, but then, he merits a pass on other grounds.
But Nietzsche’s great value here lies not in his abuse of the great shadows, but in the “positive” validity of his general philosophical criticism of “positive” general theories (if I may be allowed this innocent pun on the two meanings of positive). The common folly of practically all great philosophers is their pride in, and defense of (as if this was their greatest contribution to humanity), what has been in fact their most exposed chink in the otherwise shining armor.
The philosophical question of Truth, not in its incomprehensible dimension of Divine Infinity, but within the critical accessibility of its imperfect practical applications, is once again raised in Nietzsche’s Jenseits (5) in his merciless offensive against the Philosopher’s “Truth”:
“What provokes one to look at all philosophers half-suspiciously, half mockingly, is not that one discovers how innocent they are, or how often they make mistakes; in short, their childishness, but that they are not honest enough in their work. They are all advocates, who resent that name, and wily spokesmen for their prejudices, which they baptize ‘truths.’
The equally stiff and decorous Tartuffery of the old Kant, as he lures us on the dialectical bypaths leading to his categorical imperative--- really lead astray and seduce… Or the hocus-pocus of mathematical form, with which Spinoza clad his philosophy, really ‘the love of his wisdom,’ in mail and mask, to strike terror into the heart of any assailant,--- how much personal timidity and vulnerability this masquerade of a sick hermit betrays!"
(…And after this devastating blow to name Spinoza among the eight great shadows of Hades, who are more alive to Nietzsche than the living?! Well, Nietzsche’s passion is his lifeblood, and no one, neither the dead nor the living, ought to take offense at his violently changing moods!)
…Besides, probably, both Kant and Spinoza deserve a little criticism of this nature. Unlike Dèscartes, they did not protect themselves by the caveat of idiosyncrasy. And they were indeed putting on some airs: most of their general theories, frankly, do not pass the practicability test, to which all fiction must be subjected. (Once again, to understand this, see my Truth and Fiction series.)
A word or two on the specifics of Nietzsche’s charge. Kant’s categorical imperative, the great Achtung, to which I used to be rather partial in my early years, is a commendable contribution to philosophy, in much greater measure, I should say, than his rather artificial synthetic “aprioris,” whose limited (I do not agree that it is totally nonexistent!) value is certainly out of proportion to the humongous effort Kant had expended on them. By the same token, Spinoza’s pseudo-mathematical style and the formalistic zeal displayed in his Ethica are indeed persistently annoying, but then, he merits a pass on other grounds.
But Nietzsche’s great value here lies not in his abuse of the great shadows, but in the “positive” validity of his general philosophical criticism of “positive” general theories (if I may be allowed this innocent pun on the two meanings of positive). The common folly of practically all great philosophers is their pride in, and defense of (as if this was their greatest contribution to humanity), what has been in fact their most exposed chink in the otherwise shining armor.
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