DOGS OF VIRTUE PART I

(Besides its direct reference to the Greek word Cynic/Dog self-describing men leading a simple and blessed “dog’s” life, this entry’s title is also alluding to the popular nickname of the monks of the Dominican Order ---Dogs of God [Domini Canes], pointing to the peculiar connection between Greek Cynicism and Christian Asceticism.)

Generally speaking, the Cynics of Ancient Greece belong to the margins of the history of philosophy. Why, then, should we care about them on these pages, where even mainstream philosophy has been only partially represented? There are several reasons for this. One answer has already been suggested above, as the bridge between Cynicism and Christianity. Another one is the persona of Diogenes, the strange man who lived in a tub (or in a barrel, by some accounts), who was respectfully placed by Dante, along with such luminaries as Plato and Aristotle, according to his La Comedὶa, in the First Circle of Hell. (Where only the righteous, but non-Christian persons dwelled, with no other punishment exerted on them, except the sorrow of not having known Jesus in their lifetime.) Having been thus mentioned by Dante by name is an extraordinary mark of recognition and distinction, which certainly exceeds the historical merits of Cynicism, but also elevates it to a level where failing to consider it in a substantial fashion would have been a serious oversight.

And then, of course, Diogenes is the man who proclaims, in Nietzsche’s fable, that God is dead…

As if Dante alone would not have been enough, we also have this singular reverence for Diogenes exhibited by Nietzsche. In his undoubtedly most momentous fable, Nietzsche unmistakably points to the well-known tale of Diogenes with his lantern in daytime, looking for virtue, told by his namesake Diogenes Laertius.

Now, most readers about Nietzsche are familiar with just three words from this fable: “God is dead!” There is a terrible bias against Nietzsche among the Christians on account of this catchy out-of-context phrase. Its origin in Nietzsche’s book Die Fröhliche Wissenschaft, awkwardly translated into English as Gay Science, does not endear his work to the modern Christian ear, either. No wonder most English-speaking Christians consider Nietzsche a blasphemous atheist, and, using his own title an “Antichrist.” (Curiously, the Russian Orthodox Church has a much better opinion of Nietzsche. Dozens of doctoral theological dissertations have been written positively about Nietzsche in Russia, and his books are recommended by the Church as indispensable reading. See my many Nietzsche entries, such as, say, Russia’s Nietzsche, posted on this blog on March 1, 2012.) Bearing this in mind, the reader will definitely benefit by reading Nietzsche’s fable in toto, even if the text below is fairly long.----

The Madman. Have you ever heard of the madman, who, on a bright morning, lighted a lantern and ran to the market-place calling out unceasingly: “I seek God! I seek God!!!” As there were many people standing about who did not believe in God, he caused a great deal of amusement. Why? is he lost? said one. Has he strayed away like a child? said another. Or does he keep himself hidden? Is he afraid of us? Has he taken a sea voyage? Has he emigrated? the people cried out laughingly all in a hubbub. The insane man jumped into their midst and transfixed them with his glances. “Where is God gone?” he called out. “I mean to tell you! We have killed him,-- you and I! We are all his murderers!… But how have we done it? How were we able to drink up the sea? Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the whole horizon? What did we do when we loosened this earth from its sun? Whither does it now move? Whither do we move, away from all suns? Do we not dash on unceasingly? Backwards, sideways, forwards, in all directions? Is there still an above and below? Do we not stray, as if through infinite nothingness? Does not empty space breathe upon us? Has it not become colder? Does not night come on continually, darker and darker? Shall we not have to light lanterns in the morning? Do we not hear the noise of the grave-diggers who are burying God? Do we not smell the divine putrefaction?--- for even Gods putrefy! God is dead! God remains dead! And we have killed him! How shall we console ourselves, the most murderous of all murderers? The holiest and the mightiest that the world has hitherto possessed, has bled to death under our knife -- who will wipe the blood from us? With what water could we cleanse ourselves? What lustrums, what sacred games shall we have to devise? Is not the magnitude of this deed too great for us? Shall we not ourselves have to become Gods merely to seem worthy of it? There never was a greater event, and on account of it, all who are born after us belong to a higher history than any history hitherto!…” Here the madman was silent, and looked again at his hearers; they also were silent and looked at him in surprise. At last, he threw his lantern on the ground, so that it broke in pieces and was extinguished. “I come too early,” he then said. “I am not yet at the right time. This prodigious event is still on its way, and is traveling --- it has not yet reached men's ears. Lightning and thunder need time, the light of the stars needs time, deeds need time even after they are done, to be seen and heard. This deed is as yet further from them than the furthest star -- and yet they have done it themselves!” It is further stated that the madman made his way into different churches on the same day, and there he intoned his Requiem aeternam deo. When led out and called to account, he always gave the reply: “What are these churches now, if they are not the tombs and monuments of God?” (#125-- Die Fröhliche Wissenschaft.)

In order to give my reader a chance to think over this fable, and over the in-context significance of the three notorious words, I am making a break here between Parts I and II, with the second part to be posted tomorrow.