On the Future of Our Educational Institutions

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On the Future of ourEducationalInstitutions

Nietzsche

W o r k r e r o d

u c e d w i t h n o

e d i t o r i a l r e s

o n s i b i l i t



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PREFACE.

(To be read before the l ect ures, al t hough i t ino w ay rel at es to t hem.

)

The reader from whom I expect somethinmust possess three qualities: he must be calmand must read without haste; he must not bever interposing his own personality and hown special "culture"; and he must not expeas the ultimate results of his study of thespages that he will be presented with a set o

new formulæ. I do not propose to furnish fomulæ or new plans of study for Gymnasia oother schools; and I am much more inclined tadmire the extraordinary power of those whare able to cover the whole distance betwee

the depths of empiricism and the heights ospecial culture-problems, and who again descend to the level of the driest rules and thmost neatly expressed formulæ. I shall be con

tent if only I can ascend a tolerably lofty moun



tain, from the summit of which, after havinrecovered my breath, I may obtain a genersurvey of the ground; for I shall never be abl

in this book, to satisfy the votaries of tabulaterules.[4] Indeed, I see a time coming when serous men, working together in the service of completely rejuvenated and purified culturmay again become the directors of a system o

everyday instruction, calculated to promothat culture; and they will probably be compelled once more to draw up sets of rules: buhow remote this time now seems! And wha

may not happen meanwhile! It is just possibthat between now and then all Gymnasia—yeand perhaps all universities, may be destroyedor have become so utterly transformed thatheir very regulations may, in the eyes of futur

generations, seem to be but the relics of thcave-dwellers' age.

This book is intended for calm readers,—fomen who have not yet been drawn into th



mad headlong rush of our hurry-skurrying agand who do not experience any idolatrous delight in throwing themselves beneath its cha

iot-wheels. It is for men, therefore, who are noaccustomed to estimate the value of everythinaccording to the amount of time it either saveor wastes. In short, it is for the few. These, wbelieve, "still have time." Without any qualm

of conscience they may improve the most fruiful and vigorous hours of their day in meditaing on the future of our education; they maeven believe when the evening has come tha

they have used their day in the most dignifieand useful way, namely, in the meditatio generfuturi. No one among them has yet forgotten tthink while reading a book; he still understandthe secret of reading between the lines, and

indeed [5]so generous in what he himsebrings to his study, that he continues to refleupon what he has read, perhaps long after hhas laid the book aside. And he does this, nobecause he wishes to write a criticism about



or even another book; but simply because reflection is a pleasant pastime to him. Frivolouspendthrift! Thou art a reader after my ow

heart; for thou wilt be patient enough to acompany an author any distance, even thoughe himself cannot yet see the goal at which he aiming,—even though he himself feels onlthat he must at all events honestly believe in

goal, in order that a future and possibly verremote generation may come face to face witthat towards which we are now blindly aninstinctively groping. Should any reader demu

and suggest that all that is required is prompand bold reform; should he imagine that a new"organisation" introduced by the State, were athat is necessary, then we fear he would havmisunderstood not only the author but the ver

nature of the problem under consideration.

The third and most important stipulation ithat he should in no case be constantly bringinhimself and his own "culture" forward, after th



style of most modern men, as the correct standard and measure of all things. We would havhim so highly educated that he could eve

think meanly of his education or despise it atogether. Only thus would he be able to truentirely to the author's guidance; for it is onlby virtue of ignorance and his consciousness oignorance, that the latter can dare to make him

self heard. [6]Finally, the author would wishis reader to be fully alive to the specific chaacter of our present barbarism and of thawhich distinguishes us, as the barbarians of th

nineteenth century, from other barbarians.

Now, with this book in his hand, the writeseeks all those who may happen to be wandeing, hither and thither, impelled by feeling

similar to his own. Allow yourselves to be dicovered—ye lonely ones in whose existence believe! Ye unselfish ones, suffering in youselves from the corruption of the German spiriYe contemplative ones who cannot, with hast



glances, turn your eyes swiftly from one suface to another! Ye lofty thinkers, of whom Aistotle said that ye wander through life vacilla

ing and inactive so long as no great honour oglorious Cause calleth you to deeds! It is yousummon! Refrain this once from seeking refugin your lairs of solitude and dark misgivingBethink you that this book was framed to b

your herald. When ye shall go forth to battle iyour full panoply, who among you will norejoice in looking back upon the herald whrallied you?

[7]INTRODUCTION.ToC

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The title I gave to these lectures ought, like atitles, to have been as definite, as plain, and asignificant as possible; now, however, I observ

that owing to a certain excess of precision, in ipresent form it is too short and consequentlmisleading. My first duty therefore will be texplain the title, together with the object othese lectures, to you, and to apologise for be

ing obliged to do this. When I promised tspeak to you concerning the future of our educational institutions, I was not thinking especially of the evolution of our particular institu

tions in Bâle. However frequently my generobservations may seem to bear particular application to our own conditions here, I personally have no desire to draw these inferenceand do not wish to be held responsible if the

should be drawn, for the simple reason thatconsider myself still far too much an inexperenced stranger among you, and much too superficially acquainted with your methods, tpretend to pass judgment upon any such spe



cial order of scholastic establishments, or tpredict the probable course their developmenwill follow. On the other hand, [8]I know fu

well under what distinguished auspices I havto deliver these lectures—namely, in a citwhich is striving to educate and enlighten iinhabitants on a scale so magnificently out oproportion to its size, that it must put all large

cities to shame. This being so, I presume I amjustified in assuming that in a quarter where smuch is done for the things of which I wish tspeak, people must also think a good deal abou

them. My desire—yea, my very first conditiontherefore, would be to become united in spirwith those who have not only thought verdeeply upon educational problems, but havalso the will to promote what they think to b

right by all the means in their power. And, iview of the difficulties of my task and the limited time at my disposal, to such listeneralone, in my audience, shall I be able to makmyself understood—and even then, it will b



on condition that they shall guess what I can dno more than suggest, that they shall supplwhat I am compelled to omit; in brief, that the

shall need but to be reminded and not to btaught. Thus, while I disclaim all desire of being taken for an uninvited adviser on questionrelating to the schools and the University oBâle, I repudiate even more emphatically sti

the rôle of a prophet standing on the horizon ocivilisation and pretending to predict the futurof education and of scholastic organisation. can no more project my vision through suc

vast periods of time than I can rely upon iaccuracy when it is brought too close to an object under examination. With my title: OuEducational Institutions, I [9]wish to refer nether to the establishments in Bâle nor to th

incalculably vast number of other scholastinstitutions which exist throughout the nationof the world to-day; but I wish to refer to Geman institutions of the kind which we rejoice ihere. It is their future that will now engage ou



attention, i.e. the future of German elementarysecondary, and public schools (Gymnasienand universities. While pursuing our discu

sion, however, we shall for once avoid all comparisons and valuations, and guard more especially against that flattering illusion that ouconditions should be regarded as the standarfor all others and as surpassing them. Let

suffice that they are our institutions, that thehave not become a part of ourselves by meraccident, and were not laid upon us like a gament; but that they are living monuments o

important steps in the progress of civilisationin some respects even the furniture of a bygonage, and as such link us with the past of oupeople, and are such a sacred and venerablegacy that I can only undertake to speak of th

future of our educational institutions in thsense of their being a most probable approxmation to the ideal spirit which gave thembirth. I am, moreover, convinced that the numerous alterations which have been introduce



into these institutions within recent years, witthe view of bringing them up-to-date, are fothe most part but distortions and aberrations o

the originally sublime tendencies given to themat their foundation. And what we dare to hopfrom the future, in this behalf, partakes smuch of the nature of a [10]rejuvenation, a reviviscence, and a refining of the spirit of Ge

many that, as a result of this very process, oueducational institutions may also be indirectlremoulded and born again, so as to appear aonce old and new, whereas now they only pro

fess to be "modern" or "up-to-date."

Now it is only in the spirit of the hope abovmentioned that I wish to speak of the future oour educational institutions: and this is the se

ond point in regard to which I must tender aapology from the outset. The "prophet" pose such a presumptuous one that it seems almoridiculous to deny that I have the intention oadopting it. No one should attempt to describ



the future of our education, and the means anmethods of instruction relating thereto, in prophetic spirit, unless he can prove that th

picture he draws already exists in germ to-dayand that all that is required is the extension andevelopment of this embryo if the necessarmodifications are to be produced in schooand other educational institutions. All I ask, i

like a Roman haruspex, to be allowed to steaglimpses of the future out of the very entrails oexisting conditions, which, in this case, meanno more than to hand the laurels of victory t

any one of the many forces tending to makitself felt in our present educational systemdespite the fact that the force in question mabe neither a favourite, an esteemed, nor a verextensive one. I confidently assert that it will b

victorious, however, because it has the strongest and mightiest of all [11]allies in nature heself; and in this respect it were well did we noforget that scores of the very first principles oour modern educational methods are tho



oughly artificial, and that the most fatal weaknesses of the present day are to be ascribed tthis artificiality. He who feels in complete ha

mony with the present state of affairs and whacquiesces in it as something "selbstveständliches,"[1] excites our envy neither in rgard to his faith nor in regard to that egregiouword "selbstverständlich," so frequently heard i

fashionable circles.

He, however, who holds the opposite view anis therefore in despair, does not need to fighany longer: all he requires is to give himself uto solitude in order soon to be alone. Albeibetween those who take everything for granteand these anchorites, there stand the fighters—that is to say, those who still have hope, and a

the noblest and sublimest example of this claswe recognise Schiller as he is described bGoethe in his "Epilogue to the Bell."

"Brighter now glow'd his cheek, and sti

more brigh






With that unchanging, ever youthful glow:—That courage which o'ercomes, in hard-foughfight,

Sooner or later ev'ry earthly foe,—That faith which soaring to the realms of lighNow boldly presseth on, now bendeth lowSo that the good may work, wax, thrive amainSo that the day the noble may attain."[2]

[12]I should like you to regard all I have jusaid as a kind of preface, the object of which to illustrate the title of my lectures and to guarme against any possible misunderstanding an

unjustified criticisms. And now, in order tgive you a rough outline of the range of ideafrom which I shall attempt to form a judgmenconcerning our educational institutions, beforproceeding to disclose my views and turninfrom the title to the main theme, I shall lay scheme before you which, like a coat of armwill serve to warn all strangers who come tmy door, as to the nature of the house they ar

about to enter, in case they may feel inclined






after having examined the device, to turn thebacks on the premises that bear it. My schemis as follows:—

Two seemingly antagonistic forces, equalldeleterious in their actions and ultimately combining to produce their results, are at presenruling over our educational institutions, a

though these were based originally upon verdifferent principles. These forces are: a strivinto achieve the greatest possible extension of education on the one hand, and a tendency to minmise and to weaken it on the other. The firsnamed would fain spread learning among thgreatest possible number of [13]people, thsecond would compel education to renounce ihighest and most independent claims in orde

to subordinate itself to the service of the StatIn the face of these two antagonistic tendenciewe could but give ourselves up to despair, diwe not see the possibility of promoting the cause of two other contending factors which ar



fortunately as completely German as they arrich in promises for the future; I refer to thpresent movement towards limiting and concen

trating education as the antithesis of the first othe forces above mentioned, and that other movement towards the strengthening and the indpendence of education as the antithesis of thsecond force. If we should seek a warrant fo

our belief in the ultimate victory of the two lasnamed movements, we could find it in the fathat both of the forces which we hold to bdeleterious are so opposed to the eternal pu

pose of nature as the concentration of educatiofor the few is in harmony with it, and is truwhereas the first two forces could succeed onlin founding a culture false to the root.



FOOTNOTES:

[1] Selbstverständlich = "granted or selunderstood."

[2] The Poems of Goethe. Edgar Alfred BowringTranslation. (Ed. 1853.)

[14]

[15]

THE FUTURE OF OUR EDUCATIONAINSTITUTIONS.

FIRST LECTURE.ToC

(Del i vered on the 16th of January 1872.)












Ladies and Gentlemen,—The subject I nowpropose to consider with you is such a seriouand important one, and is in a sense so disqu

eting, that, like you, I would gladly turn to anone who could proffer some information concerning it,—were he ever so young, were hideas ever so improbable—provided that hwere able, by the exercise of his own facultie

to furnish some satisfactory and sufficient explanation. It is just possible that he may havhad the opportunity of hearing sound viewexpressed in reference to the vexed question o

the future of our educational institutions, anthat he may wish to repeat them to you; he maeven have had distinguished teachers, fullqualified to foretell what is to come, and, likthe haruspices of Rome, able to do so after a

inspection of the entrails of the Present.

Indeed, you yourselves may expect somethin[16]of this kind from me. I happened once, istrange but perfectly harmless circumstance



to overhear a conversation on this subject between two remarkable men, and the more striking points of the discussion, together with the

manner of handling the theme, are so indeliblimprinted on my memory that, whenever I reflect on these matters, I invariably find mysefalling into their grooves of thought. I cannohowever, profess to have the same courageou

confidence which they displayed, both in thedaring utterance of forbidden truths, and in thstill more daring conception of the hopes witwhich they astonished me. It therefore seeme

to me to be in the highest degree important tha record of this conversation should be madso that others might be incited to form a judgment concerning the striking views and conclusions it contains: and, to this end, I had speci

grounds for believing that I should do well tavail myself of the opportunity afforded by thcourse of lectures.



I am well aware of the nature of the communitto whose serious consideration I now wish tcommend that conversation—I know it to be

community which is striving to educate anenlighten its members on a scale so magnifcently out of proportion to its size that it muput all larger cities to shame. This being so,presume I may take it for granted that in

quarter where so much is done for the things owhich I wish to speak, people must also thinkgood deal about them. In my account of thconversation already mentioned, I shall be ab

to make myself [17]completely understood onlto those among my audience who will be ablto guess what I can do no more than suggeswho will supply what I am compelled to omiand who, above all, need but to be reminde

and not taught.

Listen, therefore, ladies and gentlemen, whilerecount my harmless experience and the les



harmless conversation between the two gentlemen whom, so far, I have not named.

Let us now imagine ourselves in the position oa young student—that is to say, in a positiowhich, in our present age of bewildering movement and feverish excitability, has become aalmost impossible one. It is necessary to hav

lived through it in order to believe that succareless self-lulling and comfortable indiffeence to the moment, or to time in general, arpossible. In this condition I, and a friend aboumy own age, spent a year at the University oBonn on the Rhine,—it was a year which, in icomplete lack of plans and projects for the future, seems almost like a dream to me now—dream framed, as it were, by two periods o

growth. We two remained quiet and peacefualthough we were surrounded by fellows whin the main were very differently disposed, anfrom time to time we experienced considerabdifficulty in meeting and resisting the som



what too pressing advances of the young meof our own age. Now, however, that I can looupon the stand we had to take against thes

opposing forces, I cannot help associating themin my mind with those checks we are wont treceive in our dreams, as, for instance, whewe [18]imagine we are able to fly and yet feeourselves held back by some incomprehensib

power.

I and my friend had many reminiscences icommon, and these dated from the period oour boyhood upwards. One of these I murelate to you, since it forms a sort of prelude tthe harmless experience already mentioned. Othe occasion of a certain journey up the Rhinwhich we had made together one summer,

happened that he and I independently conceived the very same plan at the same hour anon the same spot, and we were so struck by thunwonted coincidence that we determined tcarry the plan out forthwith. We resolved t



found a kind of small club which would consiof ourselves and a few friends, and the object owhich would be to provide us with a stable an

binding organisation directing and adding interest to our creative impulses in art and literature; or, to put it more plainly: each of uwould be pledged to present an original piecof work to the club once a month,—either

poem, a treatise, an architectural design, or musical composition, upon which each of thothers, in a friendly spirit, would have to pasfree and unrestrained criticism.

We thus hoped, by means of mutual correctionto be able both to stimulate and to chasten oucreative impulses and, as a matter of fact, thsuccess of the scheme was such that we hav

both always felt a sort of respectful attachmenfor the hour and the place at which it first tooshape in our minds.

This attachment was very soon transforme

[19]into a rite; for we all agreed to go, when



ever it was possible to do so, once a year to thalonely spot near Rolandseck, where on thasummer's day, while sitting together, lost i

meditation, we were suddenly inspired by thsame thought. Frankly speaking, the rulewhich were drawn up on the formation of thclub were never very strictly observed; but owing to the very fact that we had many sins o

omission on our conscience during our studenyear in Bonn, when we were once more on thbanks of the Rhine, we firmly resolved not onlto observe our rule, but also to gratify our fee

ings and our sense of gratitude by reverentlvisiting that spot near Rolandseck on the daappointed.

It was, however, with some difficulty that w

were able to carry our plans into execution; foon the very day we had selected for our excusion, the large and lively students' associationwhich always hindered us in our flights, ditheir utmost to put obstacles in our way and t



hold us back. Our association had organised general holiday excursion to Rolandseck on thvery day my friend and I had fixed upon, th

object of the outing being to assemble all imembers for the last time at the close of thhalf-year and to send them home with pleasanrecollections of their last hours together.

The day was a glorious one; the weather was othe kind which, in our climate at least, onlfalls to our lot in late summer: heaven anearth merged harmoniously with one anotheand, glowing wondrously in the sunshine, autumn [20]freshness blended with the blue expanse above. Arrayed in the bright fantastgarb in which, amid the gloomy fashions nowreigning, students alone may indulge, w

boarded a steamer which was gaily decoratein our honour, and hoisted our flag on its masFrom both banks of the river there came at intervals the sound of signal-guns, fired according to our orders, with the view of acquaintin



both our host in Rolandseck and the inhabtants in the neighbourhood with our approachI shall not speak of the noisy journey from th

landing-stage, through the excited and expetant little place, nor shall I refer to the esoterjokes exchanged between ourselves; I alsmake no mention of a feast which became botwild and noisy, or of an extraordinary music

production in the execution of which, whetheas soloists or as chorus, we all ultimately had tshare, and which I, as musical adviser of ouclub, had not only had to rehearse, but wa

then forced to conduct. Towards the end of thpiece, which grew ever wilder and which wasung to ever quicker time, I made a sign to mfriend, and just as the last chord rang like a yethrough the building, he and I vanished, leav

ing behind us a raging pandemonium.

In a moment we were in the refreshing anbreathless stillness of nature. The shadowwere already lengthening, the sun still shon



steadily, though it had sunk a good deal in thheavens, and from the green and glitterinwaves of the Rhine a cool breeze was wafte

over our hot faces. Our solemn rite bound uonly in so far as the [21]latest hours of the dawere concerned, and we therefore determineto employ the last moments of clear daylight bgiving ourselves up to one of our many hob

bies.

At that time we were passionately fond of pitol-shooting, and both of us in later years founthe skill we had acquired as amateurs of greause in our military career. Our club servanhappened to know the somewhat distant anelevated spot which we used as a range, anhad carried our pistols there in advance. Th

spot lay near the upper border of the woowhich covered the lesser heights behind Rolandseck: it was a small uneven plateau, closto the place we had consecrated in memory oits associations. On a wooded slope alongsid



of our shooting-range there was a small piecof ground which had been cleared of woodand which made an ideal halting-place; from

one could get a view of the Rhine over the topof the trees and the brushwood, so that thbeautiful, undulating lines of the Seven Mountains and above all of the Drachenfels boundethe horizon against the group of trees, while i

the centre of the bow formed by the glisteninRhine itself the island of Nonnenwörth stooout as if suspended in the river's arms. Thwas the place which had become sacred to u

through the dreams and plans we had had icommon, and to which we intended to withdraw, later in the evening,—nay, to which wshould be obliged to withdraw, if we wished tclose the day in accordance with the law w

had imposed on ourselves.

At one end of the little uneven plateau, and no[22]very far away, there stood the mighty trunof an oak-tree, prominently visible against



background quite bare of trees and consistinmerely of low undulating hills in the distancWorking together, we had once carved a pen

tagram in the side of this tree-trunk. Years oexposure to rain and storm had slightly deepened the channels we had cut, and the figurseemed a welcome target for our pistopractice. It was already late in the afternoo

when we reached our improvised range, anour oak-stump cast a long and attenuateshadow across the barren heath. All was stilthanks to the lofty trees at our feet, we wer

unable to catch a glimpse of the valley of thRhine below. The peacefulness of the sposeemed only to intensify the loudness of oupistol-shots—and I had scarcely fired my seond barrel at the pentagram when I felt som

one lay hold of my arm and noticed that mfriend had also some one beside him who hainterrupted his loading.



Turning sharply on my heels I found myseface to face with an astonished old gentlemanand felt what must have been a very powerfu

dog make a lunge at my back. My friend habeen approached by a somewhat younger mathan I had; but before we could give expressioto our surprise the older of the two interloperburst forth in the following threatening an

heated strain: "No! no!" he called to us, "no duels must be fought here, but least of all muyou young students fight one. Away with thespistols and compose yourselves. Be reconciled

shake hands! What?—and are you the salt othe earth, the [23]intelligence of the future, thseed of our hopes—and are you not even abto emancipate yourselves from the insane codof honour and its violent regulations? I will no

cast any aspersions on your hearts, but youheads certainly do you no credit. You, whosyouth is watched over by the wisdom of Greecand Rome, and whose youthful spirits, at thcost of enormous pains, have been flooded wit



the light of the sages and heroes of antiquity,—can you not refrain from making the code oknightly honour—that is to say, the code o

folly and brutality—the guiding principle oyour conduct?—Examine it rationally once anfor all, and reduce it to plain terms; lay its pitable narrowness bare, and let it be the touchstone, not of your hearts but of your minds.

you do not regret it then, it will merely showthat your head is not fitted for work in a spherwhere great gifts of discrimination are needfuin order to burst the bonds of prejudice, an

where a well-balanced understanding is necesary for the purpose of distinguishing righfrom wrong, even when the difference betweethem lies deeply hidden and is not, as in thcase, so ridiculously obvious. In that cas

therefore, my lads, try to go through life isome other honourable manner; join the armor learn a handicraft that pays its way."



To this rough, though admittedly just, flood oeloquence, we replied with some irritation, interrupting each other continually in so doing

"In the first place, you are mistaken concerninthe main point; for we are not here to fight duel at all; but rather to practise pistoshooting. Secondly, [24]you do not appear tknow how a real duel is conducted;—do yo

suppose that we should have faced each othein this lonely spot, like two highwaymen, without seconds or doctors, etc. etc.? Thirdly, witregard to the question of duelling, we eac

have our own opinions, and do not require tbe waylaid and surprised by the sort of instrution you may feel disposed to give us."

This reply, which was certainly not polit

made a bad impression upon the old man. Afirst, when he heard that we were not about tfight a duel, he surveyed us more kindly: buwhen we reached the last passage of ouspeech, he seemed so vexed that he growled



When, however, we began to speak of oupoint of view, he quickly caught hold of hcompanion, turned sharply round, and cried t

us in bitter tones: "People should not havpoints of view, but thoughts!" And then hcompanion added: "Be respectful when a masuch as this even makes mistakes!"

Meanwhile, my friend, who had reloaded, firea shot at the pentagram, after having cried"Look out!" This sudden report behind his bacmade the old man savage; once more he turneround and looked sourly at my friend, aftewhich he said to his companion in a feeble voce: "What shall we do? These young men wibe the death of me with their firing."—"Yoshould know," said the younger man, turnin

to us, "that your noisy pastimes amount, as happens on this occasion, to an attempt upothe life of philosophy. You observe this veneable man,—he is in a position to beg you tdesist from firing here. And [25]when such



man begs——" "Well, his request is generallgranted," the old man interjected, surveying usternly.

As a matter of fact, we did not know what tmake of the whole matter; we could not undestand what our noisy pastimes could have icommon with philosophy; nor could we se

why, out of regard for polite scruples, wshould abandon our shooting-range, and at thmoment we may have appeared somewhaundecided and perturbed. The companion noticing our momentary discomfiture, proceedeto explain the matter to us.

"We are compelled," he said, "to linger in thimmediate neighbourhood for an hour or so

we have a rendezvous here. An eminent frienof this eminent man is to meet us here this evening; and we had actually selected this peacefuspot, with its few benches in the midst of thwood, for the meeting. It would really be mo

unpleasant if, owing to your continual pisto



practice, we were to be subjected to an unending series of shocks; surely your own feelingwill tell you that it is impossible for you to con

tinue your firing when you hear that he whhas selected this quiet and isolated place for meeting with a friend is one of our most emnent philosophers."

This explanation only succeeded in perturbinus the more; for we saw a danger threateninus which was even greater than the loss of oushooting-range, and we asked eagerly, "Wheris this quiet spot? Surely not to the left here, ithe wood?"

[26]"That is the very place."

"But this evening that place belongs to us," m

friend interposed. "We must have it," we crietogether.

Our long-projected celebration seemed at thamoment more important than all the philoso



phies of the world, and we gave such vehemenand animated utterance to our sentiments thain view of the incomprehensible nature of ou

claims we must have cut a somewhat ridiculous figure. At any rate, our philosophical intelopers regarded us with expressions of amuseinquiry, as if they expected us to proffer somsort of apology. But we were silent, for w

wished above all to keep our secret.

Thus we stood facing one another in silencwhile the sunset dyed the tree-tops a ruddgold. The philosopher contemplated the sunhis companion contemplated him, and wturned our eyes towards our nook in the woodwhich to-day we seemed in such great dangeof losing. A feeling of sullen anger took posse

sion of us. What is philosophy, we asked ouselves, if it prevents a man from being by himself or from enjoying the select company of friend,—in sooth, if it prevents him from becoming a philosopher? For we regarded th



celebration of our rite as a thoroughly philosophical performance. In celebrating it we wisheto form plans and resolutions for the future, b

means of quiet reflections we hoped to lighupon an idea which would once again help uto form and gratify our spirit in the future, juas that former idea had done during our boyhood. [27]The solemn act derived its very sig

nificance from this resolution, that nothindefinite was to be done, we were only to balone, and to sit still and meditate, as we hadone five years before when we had each bee

inspired with the same thought. It was to be silent solemnisation, all reminiscence and afuture; the present was to be as a hyphen between the two. And fate, now unfriendly, hajust stepped into our magic circle—and w

knew not how to dismiss her;—the very unusual character of the circumstances filled uwith mysterious excitement.



Whilst we stood thus in silence for some timdivided into two hostile groups, the cloudabove waxed ever redder and the evenin

seemed to grow more peaceful and mild; wcould almost fancy we heard the regulabreathing of nature as she put the final toucheto her work of art—the glorious day we hajust enjoyed; when, suddenly, the calm evenin

air was rent by a confused and boisterous cry ojoy which seemed to come from the Rhine. number of voices could be heard in the ditance—they were those of our fellow-studen

who by that time must have taken to the Rhinin small boats. It occurred to us that we shoulbe missed and that we should also miss somthing: almost simultaneously my friend and raised our pistols: our shots were echoed bac

to us, and with their echo there came from thvalley the sound of a well-known cry intendeas a signal of identification. For our passion foshooting had brought us both repute and ilrepute in our club. At the same [28]time w



were conscious that our behaviour towards thsilent philosophical couple had been exceptionally ungentlemanly; they had been quietly con

templating us for some time, and when wfired the shock made them draw close up teach other. We hurried up to them, and each iour turn cried out: "Forgive us. That was oulast shot, and it was intended for our friends o

the Rhine. They have understood us, do yohear? If you insist upon having that placamong the trees, grant us at least the permision to recline there also. You will find a num

ber of benches on the spot: we shall not disturyou; we shall sit quite still and shall not utter word: but it is now past seven o'clock and wmust go there at once.

"That sounds more mysterious than it is," I added after a pause; "we have made a solemvow to spend this coming hour on that groundand there were reasons for the vow. The spot sacred to us, owing to some pleasant associa



tions, it must also inaugurate a good future fous. We shall therefore endeavour to leave yowith no disagreeable recollections of our mee

ing—even though we have done much to peturb and frighten you."

The philosopher was silent; his companionhowever, said: "Our promises and plans unfo

tunately compel us not only to remain, but alsto spend the same hour on the spot you havselected. It is left for us to decide whether fator perhaps a spirit has been responsible for thextraordinary coincidence."

"Besides, my friend," said the philosopher, am not half so displeased with these warlik[29]youngsters as I was. Did you observe how

quiet they were a moment ago, when we wercontemplating the sun? They neither spoke nosmoked, they stood stone still, I even believthey meditated."



Turning suddenly in our direction, he said"Were you meditating? Just tell me about it awe proceed in the direction of our commo

trysting-place." We took a few steps togetheand went down the slope into the warm balmair of the woods where it was already mucdarker. On the way my friend openly revealehis thoughts to the philosopher, he confesse

how much he had feared that perhaps to-dafor the first time a philosopher was about tstand in the way of his philosophising.

The sage laughed. "What? You were afraid philosopher would prevent your philosophiing? This might easily happen: and you havnot yet experienced such a thing? Has youuniversity life been free from experience? Yo

surely attend lectures on philosophy?"

This question discomfited us; for, as a matter ofact, there had been no element of philosophin our education up to that time. In those day

moreover, we fondly imagined that everybod



who held the post and possessed the dignity oa philosopher must perforce be one: we werinexperienced and badly informed. We frankl

admitted that we had not yet belonged to anphilosophical college, but that we would cetainly make up for lost time.

"Then what," he asked, "did you mean whe

[30]you spoke of philosophising?" Said I, "Ware at a loss for a definition. But to all intenand purposes we meant this, that we wished tmake earnest endeavours to consider the bepossible means of becoming men of culture"That is a good deal and at the same time verlittle," growled the philosopher; "just you thinthe matter over. Here are our benches, let udiscuss the question exhaustively: I shall no

disturb your meditations with regard to howyou are to become men of culture. I wish yosuccess and—points of view, as in your dueling questions; brand-new, original, anenlightened points of view. The philosophe



does not wish to prevent your philosophisinbut refrain at least from disconcerting him wityour pistol-shots. Try to imitate the Pythago

reans to-day: they, as servants of a true phlosophy, had to remain silent for five years—possibly you may also be able to remain silenfor five times fifteen minutes, as servants oyour own future culture, about which you seem

so concerned."

We had reached our destination: the solemnistion of our rite began. As on the previous occasion, five years ago, the Rhine was once morflowing beneath a light mist, the sky seemebright and the woods exhaled the same fragrance. We took our places on the farthest coner of the most distant bench; sitting there w

were almost concealed, and neither the phlosopher nor his companion could see oufaces. We were alone: when the sound of thphilosopher's voice reached us, it had becomso blended with the rustling [31]leaves an



with the buzzing murmur of the myriads oliving things inhabiting the wooded heighthat it almost seemed like the music of natur

as a sound it resembled nothing more than distant monotonous plaint. We were indeeundisturbed.

Some time elapsed in this way, and while th

glow of sunset grew steadily paler the recolletion of our youthful undertaking in the cause oculture waxed ever more vivid. It seemed to uas if we owed the greatest debt of gratitude tthat little society we had founded; for it hadone more than merely supplement our publschool training; it had actually been the onlfruitful society we had had, and within iframe we even placed our public school life, a

a purely isolated factor helping us in our general efforts to attain to culture.

We knew this, that, thanks to our little societyno thought of embracing any particular caree

had ever entered our minds in those days. Th



all too frequent exploitation of youth by thState, for its own purposes—that is to say, sthat it may rear useful officials as quickly a

possible and guarantee their unconditional obedience to it by means of excessively severe examinations—had remained quite foreign to oueducation. And to show how little we had beeactuated by thoughts of utility or by the pro

pect of speedy advancement and rapid succeson that day we were struck by the comfortinconsideration that, even then, we had not ydecided what we should be—we had not eve

troubled ourselves at all on this head. Our littsociety had sown the seeds of this happy indiference in our souls and for it alone we wer[32]prepared to celebrate the anniversary of ifoundation with hearty gratitude. I have a

ready pointed out, I think, that in the eyes othe present age, which is so intolerant of anything that is not useful, such purposeless enjoyment of the moment, such a lulling of oneself in the cradle of the present, must seem a



most incredible and at all events blameworthyHow useless we were! And how proud wwere of being useless! We used even to quarr

with each other as to which of us should havthe glory of being the more useless. We wisheto attach no importance to anything, to havstrong views about nothing, to aim at nothingwe wanted to take no thought for the morrow

and desired no more than to recline comfortably like good-for-nothings on the threshold othe present; and we did—bless us!

—That, ladies and gentlemen, was our standpoint then!—

Absorbed in these reflections, I was just abouto give an answer to the question of the futur

of our Educational Institutions in the same selsufficient way, when it gradually dawned upome that the "natural music," coming from thphilosopher's bench had lost its original charater and travelled to us in much more piercin

and distinct tones than before. Suddenly I be



came aware that I was listening, that I was eavesdropping, and was passionately interestedwith both ears keenly alive to every sound.

nudged my friend who was evidently somwhat tired, and I whispered: "Don't fall asleepThere is something for us to [33]learn ovethere. It applies to us, even though it be nomeant for us."

For instance, I heard the younger of the twmen defending himself with great animatiowhile the philosopher rebuked him with eveincreasing vehemence. "You are unchangedhe cried to him, "unfortunately unchanged. It quite incomprehensible to me how you can stibe the same as you were seven years ago, wheI saw you for the last time and left you with s

much misgiving. I fear I must once again diveyou, however reluctantly, of the skin of moderculture which you have donned meanwhile;—and what do I find beneath it? The same immutable 'intelligible' character forsooth, accordin



to Kant; but unfortunately the same unchange'intellectual' character, too—which may also ba necessity, though not a comforting one. I as

myself to what purpose have I lived as a phlosopher, if, possessed as you are of no meaintelligence and a genuine thirst for knowledgall the years you have spent in my companhave left no deeper impression upon you. A

present you are behaving as if you had noeven heard the cardinal principle of all culturwhich I went to such pains to inculcate upoyou during our former intimacy. Tell me,—

what was that principle?"

"I remember," replied the scolded pupil, "yoused to say no one would strive to attain tculture if he knew how incredibly small th

number of really cultured people actually iand can ever be. And even this number oreally cultured people would not be possible a prodigious multitude, [34]from reasons opposed to their nature and only led on by a



alluring delusion, did not devote themselves teducation. It were therefore a mistake publiclto reveal the ridiculous disproportion betwee

the number of really cultured people and thenormous magnitude of the educational apparatus. Here lies the whole secret of culture—namely, that an innumerable host of mestruggle to achieve it and work hard to tha

end, ostensibly in their own interests, whereaat bottom it is only in order that it may be posible for the few to attain to it."

"That is the principle," said the philosopher,—"and yet you could so far forget yourself as tbelieve that you are one of the few? Ththought has occurred to you—I can see. Thahowever, is the result of the worthless characte

of modern education. The rights of genius arbeing democratised in order that people mabe relieved of the labour of acquiring culturand their need of it. Every one wants if possibto recline in the shade of the tree planted b



genius, and to escape the dreadful necessity oworking for him, so that his procreation may bmade possible. What? Are you too proud to b

a teacher? Do you despise the thronging multtude of learners? Do you speak contemptuouslof the teacher's calling? And, aping my mode olife, would you fain live in solitary seclusionhostilely isolated from that multitude? Do yo

suppose that you can reach at one bound whaI ultimately had to win for myself only aftelong and determined struggles, in order even tbe able to live like a philosopher? And do yo

not fear that solitude [35]will wreak its vengeance upon you? Just try living the life of a hemit of culture. One must be blessed with oveflowing wealth in order to live for the good oall on one's own resources! Extraordinar

youngsters! They felt it incumbent upon themto imitate what is precisely most difficult anmost high,—what is possible only to the mater, when they, above all, should know how



difficult and dangerous this is, and how manexcellent gifts may be ruined by attempting it!

"I will conceal nothing from you, sir," the companion replied. "I have heard too much fromyour lips at odd times and have been too lonin your company to be able to surrender myseentirely to our present system of education an

instruction. I am too painfully conscious of thdisastrous errors and abuses to which you useto call my attention—though I very well knowthat I am not strong enough to hope for ansuccess were I to struggle ever so valiantlagainst them. I was overcome by a feeling ogeneral discouragement; my recourse to soltude was the result neither of pride nor arrogance. I would fain describe to you what I tak

to be the nature of the educational questionnow attracting such enormous and pressinattention. It seemed to me that I must recognistwo main directions in the forces at work—twseemingly antagonistic tendencies, equall



deleterious in their action, and ultimately combining to produce their results: a striving tachieve the greatest possible expansion of edu

cation on the one hand, and a tendency t[36]minimise and weaken it on the other. Thfirst-named would, for various reasons, sprealearning among the greatest number of peoplthe second would compel education to r

nounce its highest, noblest and sublimeclaims in order to subordinate itself to somother department of life—such as the service othe State.

"I believe I have already hinted at the quarter iwhich the cry for the greatest possible expansion of education is most loudly raised. Thexpansion belongs to the most beloved of th

dogmas of modern political economy. As mucknowledge and education as possible; thereforthe greatest possible supply and demand—hence as much happiness as possible:—that the formula. In this case utility is made the ob



ject and goal of education,—utility in the sensof gain—the greatest possible pecuniary gainIn the quarter now under consideration cultur

would be defined as that point of vantagwhich enables one to 'keep in the van of oneage,' from which one can see all the easiest anbest roads to wealth, and with which one controls all the means of communication betwee

men and nations. The purpose of educationaccording to this scheme, would be to rear thmost 'current' men possible,—'current' beinused here in the sense in which it is applied t

the coins of the realm. The greater the numbeof such men, the happier a nation will be; anthis precisely is the purpose of our modereducational institutions: to help every one, afar as his nature will allow, to become 'curren

to develop him so that his particular degree oknowledge and [37]science may yield him thgreatest possible amount of happiness and pecuniary gain. Every one must be able to formsome sort of estimate of himself; he must know



how much he may reasonably expect from lifThe 'bond between intelligence and propertywhich this point of view postulates has almo

the force of a moral principle. In this quarter aculture is loathed which isolates, which segoals beyond gold and gain, and which requires time: it is customary to dispose of suceccentric tendencies in education as systems o

'Higher Egotism,' or of 'Immoral Culture—Epicureanism.' According to the morality reigning here, the demands are quite different; whais required above all is 'rapid education,' so tha

a money-earning creature may be producewith all speed; there is even a desire to makthis education so thorough that a creature mabe reared that will be able to earn a great deal omoney. Men are allowed only the precis

amount of culture which is compatible with thinterests of gain; but that amount, at least, expected from them. In short: mankind has necessary right to happiness on earth—that



why culture is necessary—but on that accounalone!"

"I must just say something here," said the phlosopher. "In the case of the view you have described so clearly, there arises the great anawful danger that at some time or other thgreat masses may overleap the middle classe

and spring headlong into this earthly blisThat is what is now called 'the social questionIt might seem to these masses that educatiofor the greatest [38]number of men was only means to the earthly bliss of the few: the 'greaest possible expansion of education' so enfeebles education that it can no longer confeprivileges or inspire respect. The most generform of culture is simply barbarism. But I d

not wish to interrupt your discussion."

The companion continued: "There are yet othereasons, besides this beloved economical dogma, for the expansion of education that is bein

striven after so valiantly everywhere. In som



countries the fear of religious oppression is sgeneral, and the dread of its results so markedthat people in all classes of society long for cu

ture and eagerly absorb those elements of which are supposed to scatter the religious instincts. Elsewhere the State, in its turn, strivehere and there for its own preservation, aftethe greatest possible expansion of education

because it always feels strong enough to brinthe most determined emancipation, resultinfrom culture, under its yoke, and readily approves of everything which tends to exten

culture, provided that it be of service to its offcials or soldiers, but in the main to itself, in icompetition with other nations. In this case, thfoundations of a State must be sufficientlbroad and firm to constitute a fitting counte

part to the complicated arches of culture whicit supports, just as in the first case the traces osome former religious tyranny must still be fefor a people to be driven to such desperaremedies. Thus, wherever I hear the masse



raise the cry for an expansion of education,am wont to ask myself whether it is stimulateby a greedy lust [39]of gain and property, b

the memory of a former religious persecutionor by the prudent egotism of the State itself.

"On the other hand, it seemed to me that therwas yet another tendency, not so clamorou

perhaps, but quite as forcible, which, hailinfrom various quarters, was animated by a diferent desire,—the desire to minimise anweaken education.

"In all cultivated circles people are in the habof whispering to one another words somethinafter this style: that it is a general fact that, owing to the present frantic exploitation of th

scholar in the service of his science, his eduction becomes every day more accidental anmore uncertain. For the study of science habeen extended to such interminable lengththat he who, though not exceptionally gifted

yet possesses fair abilities, will need to devot



himself exclusively to one branch and ignore aothers if he ever wish to achieve anything in hwork. Should he then elevate himself above th

herd by means of his speciality, he still remainone of them in regard to all else,—that is to sayin regard to all the most important things ilife. Thus, a specialist in science gets to resemble nothing so much as a factory workman wh

spends his whole life in turning one particulascrew or handle on a certain instrument or machine, at which occupation he acquires the moconsummate skill. In Germany, where w

know how to drape such painful facts with thglorious garments of fancy, this narrow specialisation on the part of our learned men [40]even admired, and their ever greater deviation from the path of true culture is regarded a

a moral phenomenon. 'Fidelity in small things'dogged faithfulness,' become expressions ohighest eulogy, and the lack of culture outsidthe speciality is flaunted abroad as a sign onoble sufficiency.



"For centuries it has been an understood thinthat one alluded to scholars alone when onspoke of cultured men; but experience tells u

that it would be difficult to find any necessarrelation between the two classes to-day. For apresent the exploitation of a man for the pupose of science is accepted everywhere withouthe slightest scruple. Who still ventures to ask

What may be the value of a science which consumes its minions in this vampire fashion? Thdivision of labour in science is practicallstruggling towards the same goal which relig

ions in certain parts of the world are consciously striving after,—that is to say, towardthe decrease and even the destruction of learning. That, however, which, in the case of certaireligions, is a perfectly justifiable aim, both i

regard to their origin and their history, can onlamount to self-immolation when transferred tthe realm of science. In all matters of a generand serious nature, and above all, in regard tthe highest philosophical problems, we hav



now already reached a point at which the scientific man, as such, is no longer allowed tspeak. On the other hand, that adhesive an

tenacious stratum which has now filled up thinterstices between the [41]sciences—Journalism—believes it has a mission to fulfhere, and this it does, according to its own paticular lights—that is to say, as its name im

plies, after the fashion of a day-labourer.

"It is precisely in journalism that the two tendencies combine and become one. The expansion and the diminution of education here joihands. The newspaper actually steps into thplace of culture, and he who, even as a scholawishes to voice any claim for education, muavail himself of this viscous stratum of com

munication which cements the seams betweeall forms of life, all classes, all arts, and all scences, and which is as firm and reliable as newpaper is, as a rule. In the newspaper the peculiar educational aims of the present culminat





"Now, silence a minute!" interjected the phlosopher in a strong and sympathetic voice. understand you now, and ought never to hav

spoken so crossly to you. You are altogetheright, save in your despair. I shall now proceeto say a few words of consolation."

[43]SECOND LECTURE.ToC

(Del i vered on the 6th of February 1872.)

Ladies and Gentlemen,—Those among yowhom I now have the pleasure of addressinfor the first time and whose only knowledge omy first lecture has been derived from repor

will, I hope, not mind being introduced her






into the middle of a dialogue which I had begun to recount on the last occasion, and the lapoints of which I must now recall. The philoso

pher's young companion was just pleadinopenly and confidentially with his distinguished tutor, and apologising for having so farenounced his calling as a teacher in order tspend his days in comfortless solitude. No su

picion of superciliousness or arrogance hainduced him to form this resolve.

"I have heard too much from your lips at varous times," the straightforward pupil said, "anhave been too long in your company, to surender myself blindly to our present systems oeducation and instruction. I am too painfullconscious of the disastrous errors and abuses t

which you were wont to call my attention; anyet I know that I am far from possessing threquisite strength to meet with success, however valiantly I might struggle to shatter thbulwarks [44]of this would-be culture. I wa



overcome by a general feeling of depressionmy recourse to solitude was not arrogance osuperciliousness." Whereupon, to account fo

his behaviour, he described the general charater of modern educational methods so vividlthat the philosopher could not help interruping him in a voice full of sympathy, and cryinwords of comfort to him.

"Now, silence for a minute, my poor friend," hcried; "I can more easily understand you nowand should not have lost my patience with youYou are altogether right, save in your despair.shall now proceed to say a few words of comfort to you. How long do you suppose the statof education in the schools of our time, whicseems to weigh so heavily upon you, will last?

shall not conceal my views on this point fromyou: its time is over; its days are counted. Thfirst who will dare to be quite straightforwarin this respect will hear his honesty re-echoeback to him by thousands of courageous soul



For, at bottom, there is a tacit understandinbetween the more nobly gifted and morwarmly disposed men of the present day. Eve

ry one of them knows what he has had to suffefrom the condition of culture in schools; everone of them would fain protect his offsprinfrom the need of enduring similar drawbackeven though he himself was compelled to sub

mit to them. If these feelings are never quithonestly expressed, however, it is owing to sad want of spirit among modern pedagogueThese lack real initiative; there are too few

practical men among them—that is to say, tofew who happen [45]to have good and newideas, and who know that real genius and threal practical mind must necessarily come together in the same individuals, whilst the sobe

practical men have no ideas and therefore fashort in practice.

"Let any one examine the pedagogic literaturof the present; he who is not shocked at its utte



poverty of spirit and its ridiculously awkwarantics is beyond being spoiled. Here our phlosophy must not begin with wonder but wit

dread; he who feels no dread at this point mube asked not to meddle with pedagogic quetions. The reverse, of course, has been the ruup to the present; those who were terrified raaway filled with embarrassment as you did, m

poor friend, while the sober and fearless onespread their heavy hands over the most delicattechnique that has ever existed in art—over thtechnique of education. This, however, will no

be possible much longer; at some time or othethe upright man will appear, who will not onlhave the good ideas I speak of, but who in oder to work at their realisation, will dare tbreak with all that exists at present: he may b

means of a wonderful example achieve whathe broad hands, hitherto active, could not eveimitate—then people will everywhere begin tdraw comparisons; then men will at least bable to perceive a contrast and will be in a pos







this importance as centres of influence, seeinthat, as they now stand, they are at least, in onimportant aspect, only a kind of annex to th

public school system, as I shall shortly poinout to you. For the moment, let us considetogether, what to my mind constitutes the verhopeful struggle of the two possibilities: eiththat the motley and evasive spirit of publ

schools which has hitherto been fostered, wicompletely vanish, or that it will have to bcompletely purified and rejuvenated. And iorder that I may not shock you with gener

propositions, let us first try to recall one of those public school experiences which we have ahad, and from which we have all suffered. Under severe examination what, as a matter ofact, is the present system of teaching German i

public schools?

"I shall first of all tell you what it should bEverybody speaks and writes German as thooughly badly as it is just possible to do so in a



age of newspaper German: that is why the growing youth who happens to be both noble angifted has to be taken by force and put unde

the glass shade of good taste and of severe linguistic discipline. If this is not possible, I woulprefer in future that Latin be spoken; for I amashamed of a language so bungled and vitiated

"What would be the duty of a higher educational institution, in this respect, if not this—namely, with authority and dignified severitto put youths, neglected, as far as their owlanguage [48]is concerned, on the right pathand to cry to them: 'Take your own languagseriously! He who does not regard this matteas a sacred duty does not possess even thgerm of a higher culture. From your attitude i

this matter, from your treatment of your moher-tongue, we can judge how highly or howlowly you esteem art, and to what extent yoare related to it. If you notice no physical loathing in yourselves when you meet with certai



words and tricks of speech in our journalistjargon, cease from striving after culture; fohere in your immediate vicinity, at every mo

ment of your life, while you are either speakinor writing, you have a touchstone for testinhow difficult, how stupendous, the task of thcultured man is, and how very improbable must be that many of you will ever attain t

culture.'

"In accordance with the spirit of this addresthe teacher of German at a public school woulbe forced to call his pupil's attention to thousands of details, and with the absolute certaintof good taste, to forbid their using such wordand expressions, for instance, as: 'beanspruchen'vereinnahmen,' 'einer Sache Rechnung tragen,' 'd

Initiative ergreifen,' 'selbstverständlich,'[3] etccum tædio in infinitum. The same teacher woulalso have to take our classical authors anshow, line for line, how carefully and witwhat precision every expression has to be cho






sen when a writer has the [49]correct feeling ihis heart and has before his eyes a perfect conception of all he is writing. He would necessa

ily urge his pupils, time and again, to expresthe same thought ever more happily; nowould he have to abate in rigour until the lesgifted in his class had contracted an unholy feaof their language, and the others had deve

oped great enthusiasm for it.

"Here then is a task for so-called 'formal' education[4] [the education tending to develop thmental faculties, as opposed to 'material' education,[5] which is intended to deal only with thacquisition of facts, e.g. history, mathematicetc.], and one of the utmost value: but what dwe find in the public school—that is to say, i

the head-quarters of formal education? He whunderstands how to apply what he has hearhere will also know what to think of the modern public school as a so-called educationainstitution. He will discover, for instance, th









the public school, according to its fundamentprinciples, does not educate for the purposes oculture, but for the purposes of scholarship

and, further, that of late it seems to have adopted a course which indicates rather that it haeven discarded scholarship in favour of jounalism as the object of its exertions. This can bclearly seen from the way in which German

taught.

"Instead of that purely practical method of instruction by which the teacher accustoms hpupils to severe self-discipline in their owlanguage, we find everywhere the rudiments oa [50]historico-scholastic method of teachinthe mother-tongue: that is to say, people dewith it as if it were a dead language and as

the present and future were under no obligations to it whatsoever. The historical methohas become so universal in our time, that evethe living body of the language is sacrificed fothe sake of anatomical study. But this is pr



cisely where culture begins—namely, in undestanding how to treat the quick as somethinvital, and it is here too that the mission of th

cultured teacher begins: in suppressing the ugent claims of 'historical interests' wherever it above all necessary to do properly and not merely to know properly. Our mother-tonguhowever, is a domain in which the pupil mu

learn how to do properly, and to this practicend, alone, the teaching of German is essentiin our scholastic establishments. The historicmethod may certainly be a considerably easie

and more comfortable one for the teacher; also seems to be compatible with a much lowegrade of ability and, in general, with a smalledisplay of energy and will on his part. But wshall find that this observation holds good i

every department of pedagogic life: the simpleand more comfortable method always maquerades in the disguise of grand pretensionand stately titles; the really practical side, thdoing, which should belong to culture an



which, at bottom, is the more difficult sidmeets only with disfavour and contempt. This why the honest man must make himself an

others quite clear concerning this quid pro quo.

"Now, apart from these learned incentives to [51]study of the language, what is there besidewhich the German teacher is wont to offer

How does he reconcile the spirit of his schoowith the spirit of the few that Germany caclaim who are really cultured,—i.e. with thspirit of its classical poets and artists? This is dark and thorny sphere, into which one cannoeven bear a light without dread; but even herwe shall conceal nothing from ourselves; fosooner or later the whole of it will have to breformed. In the public school, the repulsiv

impress of our æsthetic journalism is stampeupon the still unformed minds of youths. Hertoo, the teacher sows the seeds of that crudand wilful misinterpretation of the classicwhich later on disports itself as art-criticism



and which is nothing but bumptious barbarityHere the pupils learn to speak of our uniquSchiller with the superciliousness of prigs; her

they are taught to smile at the noblest and moGerman of his works—at the Marquis of Posat Max and Thekla—at these smiles Germagenius becomes incensed and a worthier poterity will blush.

"The last department in which the German teacher in a public school is at all active, which often regarded as his sphere of highest activityand is here and there even considered the pinnacle of public school education, is the socalled German composition. Owing to the verfact that in this department it is almost alwaythe most gifted pupils who display the greate

eagerness, it ought to have been made cleahow dangerously stimulating, precisely herthe task of the teacher must be. German compostion makes an appeal to the individual, an[52]the more strongly a pupil is conscious of h



various qualities, the more personally will hdo his German composition. This 'personal doinis urged on with yet an additional fillip in som

public schools by the choice of the subject, thstrongest proof of which is, in my opinion, theven in the lower classes the non-pedagogsubject is set, by means of which the pupil led to give a description of his life and of h

development. Now, one has only to read thtitles of the compositions set in a large numbeof public schools to be convinced that probablthe large majority of pupils have to suffer the

whole lives, through no fault of their own, owing to this premature demand for personwork—for the unripe procreation of thoughtAnd how often are not all a man's subsequenliterary performances but a sad result of th

pedagogic original sin against the intellect!

"Let us only think of what takes place at sucan age in the production of such work. It is thfirst individual creation; the still undevelope



powers tend for the first time to crystallise; thstaggering sensation produced by the demanfor self-reliance imparts a seductive charm t

these early performances, which is not onlquite new, but which never returns. All thdaring of nature is hauled out of its depths; avanities—no longer constrained by mighty bariers—are allowed for the first time to assume

literary form: the young man, from that timforward, feels as if he had reached his consummation as a being not only able, but actually invited, to speak [53]and to converse. Th

subject he selects obliges him either to expreshis judgment upon certain poetical works, tclass historical persons together in a descriptioof character, to discuss serious ethical problemquite independently, or even to turn the search

light inwards, to throw its rays upon his owdevelopment and to make a critical report ohimself: in short, a whole world of reflection spread out before the astonished young ma



who, until then, had been almost unconsciouand is delivered up to him to be judged.

"Now let us try to picture the teacher's usuattitude towards these first highly influentiexamples of original composition. What doehe hold to be most reprehensible in this class owork? What does he call his pupil's attentio

to?—To all excess in form or thought—that is tsay, to all that which, at their age, is essentiallcharacteristic and individual. Their really indpendent traits which, in response to this verpremature excitation, can manifest themselveonly in awkwardness, crudeness, and grotesque features,—in short, their individuality reproved and rejected by the teacher in favouof an unoriginal decent average. On the othe

hand, uniform mediocrity gets peevish praisfor, as a rule, it is just the class of work likely tbore the teacher thoroughly.

"There may still be men who recognise a mo

absurd and most dangerous element of the pu



blic school curriculum in the whole farce of thGerman composition. Originality is demandehere: but the only shape in which it can man

fest itself is rejected, and the 'formal' educatiothat [54]the system takes for granted is attaineto only by a very limited number of men whcomplete it at a ripe age. Here everybody without exception is regarded as gifted for literatur

and considered as capable of holding opinionconcerning the most important questions anpeople, whereas the one aim which propeeducation should most zealously strive t

achieve would be the suppression of all ridiculous claims to independent judgment, and thinculcation upon young men of obedience tthe sceptre of genius. Here a pompous form odiction is taught in an age when every spoke

or written word is a piece of barbarism. Nowlet us consider, besides, the danger of arousinthe self-complacency which is so easily awakened in youths; let us think how their vanitmust be flattered when they see their literar





Hephaistos limping forward who would pretend to help us to something. To educate meto earnest and inexorable habits and views, i

this respect, should be the highest aim of amental training, whereas the general laisser allof the 'fine personality' can be nothing else thathe hall-mark of barbarism. From what I havsaid, however, it must be clear that, at least i

the teaching of German, no thought is given tculture; something quite different is in view,—namely, the production of the afore-mentione'free personality.' And so long as German pub

lic schools prepare the road for outrageous anirresponsible scribbling, so long as they do noregard the immediate and practical disciplinof speaking and writing as their most holduty, so long as they treat the mother-tongue a

if it were only a necessary evil or a dead body,shall not regard these institutions as belonginto real culture.



"In regard to the language, what is surely leanoticeable is any trace of the influence of classcal examples: that is why, on the strength of th

consideration alone, the so-called 'classical education' which is supposed to be provided bour public school, strikes me as something exceedingly doubtful and confused. For howcould anybody, after having cast one glance

those examples, fail to see the great earnestneswith which the Greek and the Roman regardeand treated his language, from his yout[56]onwards—how is it possible to mistak

one's example on a point like this one?—provided, of course, that the classical Hellenand Roman world really did hover before theducational plan of our public schools as thhighest and most instructive of all morals—

fact I feel very much inclined to doubt. Thclaim put forward by public schools concerninthe 'classical education' they provide seems tbe more an awkward evasion than anythinelse; it is used whenever there is any questio



raised as to the competency of the publschools to impart culture and to educate. Clasical education, indeed! It sounds so dignified

It confounds the aggressor and staves off thassault—for who could see to the bottom of thbewildering formula all at once? And this halong been the customary strategy of the publschool: from whichever side the war-cry ma

come, it writes upon its shield—not overloadewith honours—one of those confusing catchwords, such as: 'classical education,' 'formeducation,' 'scientific education':—three glor

ous things which are, however, unhappily aloggerheads, not only with themselves buamong themselves, and are such that, if thewere compulsorily brought together, woulperforce bring forth a culture-monster. For

'classical education' is something so unheard odifficult and rare, and exacts such complicatetalent, that only ingenuousness or impudenccould put it forward as an attainable goal in oupublic schools. The words: 'formal education





example of classical antiquity and its glorioumethods of training in languages. 'Formal education,' however, which is supposed to b

achieved by this method of teaching Germanhas been shown to be wholly at the pleasure othe 'free personality,' which is as good as saying that it is barbarism and anarchy. And as fothe preparation in science, which is one of th

consequences of this teaching, our Germaniswill have to determine, in all justice, how littthese learned beginnings in public schools havcontributed to the splendour of their science

and how much the personality of individuuniversity professors has done so.—Put briefly[58]the public school has hitherto neglected imost important and most urgent duty towardthe very beginning of all real culture, which

the mother-tongue; but in so doing it halacked the natural, fertile soil for all furtheefforts at culture. For only by means of sternartistic, and careful discipline and habit, in language, can the correct feeling for the grea



ness of our classical writers be strengthenedUp to the present their recognition by the public schools has been owing almost solely to th

doubtful æsthetic hobbies of a few teachers oto the massive effects of certain of their tragedies and novels. But everybody should, himself, be aware of the difficulties of the languaghe should have learnt them from experienc

after long seeking and struggling he must reacthe path our great poets trod in order to be abto realise how lightly and beautifully they troit, and how stiffly and swaggeringly the other

follow at their heels.

"Only by means of such discipline can thyoung man acquire that physical loathing fothe beloved and much-admired 'elegance' o

style of our newspaper manufacturers and novelists, and for the 'ornate style' of our literarmen; by it alone is he irrevocably elevated at stroke above a whole host of absurd questionand scruples, such, for instance, as whethe



Auerbach and Gutzkow are really poets, for hdisgust at both will be so great that he will bunable to read them any longer, and thus th

problem will be solved for him. Let no onimagine that it is an easy matter to develop thfeeling to the extent [59]necessary in order thave this physical loathing; but let no one hopto reach sound æsthetic judgments along an

other road than the thorny one of languagand by this I do not mean philological researchbut self-discipline in one's mother-tongue.

"Everybody who is in earnest in this matter wihave the same sort of experience as the recruin the army who is compelled to learn walkinafter having walked almost all his life as a diletante or empiricist. It is a hard time: one almo

fears that the tendons are going to snap anone ceases to hope that the artificial and consciously acquired movements and positions othe feet will ever be carried out with ease ancomfort. It is painful to see how awkwardl



and heavily one foot is set before the other, anone dreads that one may not only be unable tlearn the new way of walking, but that one wi

forget how to walk at all. Then it suddenly become noticeable that a new habit and a seconnature have been born of the practised movments, and that the assurance and strength othe old manner of walking returns with a littl

more grace: at this point one begins to realishow difficult walking is, and one feels in a postion to laugh at the untrained empiricist or thelegant dilettante. Our 'elegant' writers, as the

style shows, have never learnt 'walking' in thsense, and in our public schools, as our othewriters show, no one learns walking eitheCulture begins, however, with the correct movement of the language: and once it has prop

erly begun, it begets that physical [60]sensatioin the presence of 'elegant' writers which known by the name of 'loathing.'



"We recognise the fatal consequences of oupresent public schools, in that they are unabto inculcate severe and genuine culture, whic

should consist above all in obedience and habituation; and that, at their best, they mucmore often achieve a result by stimulating ankindling scientific tendencies, is shown by thhand which is so frequently seen uniting scho

arship and barbarous taste, science and journaism. In a very large majority of cases to-day wcan observe how sadly our scholars fall short othe standard of culture which the efforts o

Goethe, Schiller, Lessing, and Winckelmanestablished; and this falling short shows itseprecisely in the egregious errors which the mewe speak of are exposed to, equally among lierary historians—whether Gervinus or Julia

Schmidt—as in any other company; everywhere, indeed, where men and women converse. It shows itself most frequently and painfully, however, in pedagogic spheres, in thliterature of public schools. It can be prove



that the only value that these men have in a reeducational establishment has not been mentioned, much less generally recognised for ha

a century: their value as preparatory leaderand mystogogues of classical culture, guideby whose hands alone can the correct roaleading to antiquity be found.

"Every so-called classical education can havbut one natural starting-point—an artistic, eanest, and exact familiarity with the use of th[61]mother-tongue: this, together with the secret of form, however, one can seldom attain tof one's own accord, almost everybody requirethose great leaders and tutors and must plachimself in their hands. There is, however, nsuch thing as a classical education that coul

grow without this inferred love of form. Herwhere the power of discerning form and babarity gradually awakens, there appear thpinions which bear one to the only real home oculture—ancient Greece. If with the solitar



help of those pinions we sought to reach thosfar-distant and diamond-studded walls encicling the stronghold of Hellenism, we shoul

certainly not get very far; once more, thereforwe need the same leaders and tutors, our Geman classical writers, that we may be borne uptoo, by the wing-strokes of their past endeavours—to the land of yearning, to Greece.

"Not a suspicion of this possible relationshibetween our classics and classical educatioseems to have pierced the antique walls of public schools. Philologists seem much more eagerly engaged in introducing Homer and Sophocles to the young souls of their pupils, itheir own style, calling the result simply by thunchallenged euphemism: 'classical education

Let every one's own experience tell him whahe had of Homer and Sophocles at the hands osuch eager teachers. It is in this department thathe greatest number of deepest deceptions ocur, and whence misunderstandings are inad



vertently spread. In German public schools have never yet found a trace of what mighreally be called 'classical education,' and ther

is nothing surprising in this when one thinks othe way in [62]which these institutions havemancipated themselves from German classicwriters and the discipline of the German language. Nobody reaches antiquity by means of

leap into the dark, and yet the whole method otreating ancient writers in schools, the plaicommentating and paraphrasing of our philoogical teachers, amounts to nothing more tha

a leap into the dark.

"The feeling for classical Hellenism is, as a mater of fact, such an exceptional outcome of thmost energetic fight for culture and artistic ta

ent that the public school could only have professed to awaken this feeling owing to a vercrude misunderstanding. In what age? In aage which is led about blindly by the most sensational desires of the day, and which is no



aware of the fact that, once that feeling for Helenism is roused, it immediately becomes aggressive and must express itself by indulging i

an incessant war with the so-called culture othe present. For the public school boy of to-daythe Hellenes as Hellenes are dead: yes, he gesome enjoyment out of Homer, but a novel bSpielhagen interests him much more: yes, h

swallows Greek tragedy and comedy with certain relish, but a thoroughly modern dramlike Freitag's 'Journalists,' moves him in quianother fashion. In regard to all ancient author

he is rather inclined to speak after the manneof the æsthete, Hermann Grimm, who, on onoccasion, at the end of a tortuous essay on thVenus of Milo, asks himself: 'What does thgoddess's form mean to me? Of what use ar

the thoughts she suggests to me? Orestes anŒdipus, Iphigenia and [63]Antigone, whahave they in common with my heart?'—No, mdear public school boy, the Venus of Milo doenot concern you in any way, and concerns you



teacher just as little—and that is the misfortunthat is the secret of the modern public schooWho will conduct you to the land of culture,

your leaders are blind and assume the positioof seers notwithstanding? Which of you wiever attain to a true feeling for the sacred serousness of art, if you are systematically spoiledand taught to stutter independently instead o

being taught to speak; to æstheticise on youown account, when you ought to be taught tapproach works of art almost piously; to phlosophise without assistance, while you ough

to be compelled to listen to great thinkers. Athis with the result that you remain eternally aa distance from antiquity and become the sevants of the day.

"At all events, the most wholesome feature oour modern institutions is to be found in thearnestness with which the Latin and Greelanguages are studied over a long course oyears. In this way boys learn to respect a gram



mar, lexicons, and a language that conforms tfixed rules; in this department of public schoowork there is an exact knowledge of what con

stitutes a fault, and no one is troubled with anthought of justifying himself every minute bappealing (as in the case of modern German) tvarious grammatical and orthographical vagaries and vicious forms. If only this respect fo

language did not hang in the air so, like a theoretical burden which one is pleased to throw othe moment one turns to one's [64]mothetongue! More often than not, the classical ma

ter makes pretty short work of the mothetongue; from the outset he treats it as a department of knowledge in which one is allowethat indolent ease with which the Germatreats everything that belongs to his native soi

The splendid practice afforded by translatinfrom one language into another, which so improves and fertilises one's artistic feeling foone's own tongue, is, in the case of Germannever conducted with that fitting categoric



strictness and dignity which would be above anecessary in dealing with an undisciplined language. Of late, exercises of this kind have ten

ded to decrease ever more and more: peopare satisfied to know the foreign classical tongues, they would scorn being able to appthem.

"Here one gets another glimpse of the scholarltendency of public schools: a phenomenowhich throws much light upon the object whiconce animated them,—that is to say, the serioudesire to cultivate the pupil. This belonged tthe time of our great poets, those few reallcultured Germans,—the time when the magnificent Friedrich August Wolf directed thnew stream of classical thought, introduce

from Greece and Rome by those men, into thheart of the public schools. Thanks to his bolstart, a new order of public schools was established, which thenceforward was not to bmerely a nursery for science, but, above all, th



actual consecrated home of all higher and nobler culture.

"Of the many necessary measures which thchange called into being, some of the mo[65]important have been transferred with lasing success to the modern regulations of publschools: the most important of all, however, di

not succeed—the one demanding that the teacher, also, should be consecrated to the newspirit, so that the aim of the public school hameanwhile considerably departed from thoriginal plan laid down by Wolf, which was thcultivation of the pupil. The old estimate oscholarship and scholarly culture, as an absolute, which Wolf overcame, seems after a slowand spiritless struggle rather to have taken th

place of the culture-principle of more recenintroduction, and now claims its former exclusive rights, though not with the same frankness, but disguised and with features veiledAnd the reason why it was impossible to mak



public schools fall in with the magnificent plaof classical culture lay in the un-German, amost foreign or cosmopolitan nature of thes

efforts in the cause of education: in the beliethat it was possible to remove the native sofrom under a man's feet and that he should stiremain standing; in the illusion that people caspring direct, without bridges, into the strang

Hellenic world, by abjuring German and thGerman mind in general.

"Of course one must know how to trace thGermanic spirit to its lair beneath its many modern dressings, or even beneath heaps of ruinone must love it so that one is not ashamed of in its stunted form, and one must above all bon one's guard against confounding it wit

what now disports itself proudly as 'Up-to-daGerman culture.' The German spirit is very fafrom [66]being on friendly times with this upto-date culture: and precisely in those spherewhere the latter complains of a lack of cultur



the real German spirit has survived, thougperhaps not always with a graceful, but moroften an ungraceful, exterior. On the othe

hand, that which now grandiloquently assumethe title of 'German culture' is a sort of cosmopolitan aggregate, which bears the same relation to the German spirit as Journalism does tSchiller or Meyerbeer to Beethoven: here th

strongest influence at work is the fundamentally and thoroughly un-German civilisation oFrance, which is aped neither with talent nowith taste, and the imitation of which gives th

society, the press, the art, and the literary styof Germany their pharisaical character. Naturally the copy nowhere produces the really atistic effect which the original, grown out of thheart of Roman civilisation, is able to produc

almost to this day in France. Let any one whwishes to see the full force of this contrast compare our most noted novelists with the less noted ones of France or Italy: he will recognise iboth the same doubtful tendencies and aims, a







cation of the German spirit. It is a very compleand [68]difficult task to find the border-linwhich joins the heart of the Germanic spir

with the genius of Greece. Not, however, beforthe noblest needs of genuine German geniusnatch at the hand of this genius of Greece as aa firm post in the torrent of barbarity, not before a devouring yearning for this genius o

Greece takes possession of German genius, annot before that view of the Greek home, owhich Schiller and Goethe, after enormous exertions, were able to feast their eyes, has be

come the Mecca of the best and most giftemen, will the aim of classical education in public schools acquire any definition; and they aleast will not be to blame who teach ever slittle science and learning in public schools, i

order to keep a definite and at the same timideal aim in their eyes, and to rescue their pupils from that glistening phantom which nowallows itself to be called 'culture' and 'education.' This is the sad plight of the public schoo





[69]THIRD LECTURE.ToC

(Del i vered on the 27th of February 1872.)

Ladies and Gentlemen,—At the close of my la

lecture, the conversation to which I was a litener, and the outlines of which, as I clearlrecollect them, I am now trying to lay beforyou, was interrupted by a long and solempause. Both the philosopher and his companio

sat silent, sunk in deep dejection: the peculiarlcritical state of that important educational insttution, the German public school, lay upotheir souls like a heavy burden, which one sin

gle, well-meaning individual is not stron








them a practical training; the connection of cetain practices, encouraged in the public schoolwith the objectionable spirit of our journalist

publicity—all these easily perceptible phenomena of the teaching of German led to the painfucertainty that the most beneficial of those forcewhich have come down to us from classicaantiquity are not yet known in our publ

schools: forces which would train students fothe struggle against the barbarism of the present age, and which will perhaps once mortransform the public schools into the arsena

and workshops of this struggle.

On the other hand, it would seem in the meantime as if the spirit of antiquity, in its fundamental principles, had already been drive

away from the portals of the public schooland as if here also the gates were thrown opeas widely as possible to the be-flattered anpampered type of our present self-styled "Geman culture." And if the solitary talkers caugh





riously: at the very moment we are falling somone else will grasp the banner of our faith. will not even consider whether I am stron

enough for such a fight, whether I can offesufficient resistance; it may even be an honouable death to fall to the accompaniment of thmocking laughter of such enemies, whose serousness has frequently seemed to us to b

something ridiculous. When I think how mcontemporaries prepared themselves for thhighest posts in the scholastic profession, asmyself have done, then I know how we ofte

laughed at the exact contrary, and grew seriouover something quite different——"

"Now, my friend," interrupted the philosophelaughingly, "you speak as one who would fai

dive into the water without being able to swimand who fears something even more than thmere drowning; not being drowned, but laughed at. But being laughed at should be the verlast thing for us to dread; for we are in a spher









of harmonious relationship to the dullness otheir pupils. It is from this majority that whear the ever-resounding call for the establish

ment of new public schools and higher educational institutions: we are living in an agwhich, by ringing the changes on its deafeninand continual cry, would certainly give one thimpression that there was an unprecedente

thirst for culture which [74]eagerly sought to bquenched. But it is just at this point that onshould learn to hear aright: it is here, withoubeing disconcerted by the thundering noise o

the education-mongers, that we must confronthose who talk so tirelessly about the educational necessities of their time. Then we shoulmeet with a strange disillusionment, one whicwe, my good friend, have often met with: thos

blatant heralds of educational needs, when examined at close quarters, are suddenly seen tbe transformed into zealous, yea, fanatical opponents of true culture, i.e. all those who holfast to the aristocratic nature of the mind; for, a





what trade mark she branded thereon. [75]Theducation of the masses cannot, therefore, bour aim; but rather the education of a few pi

ked men for great and lasting works. We weknow that a just posterity judges the collectivintellectual state of a time only by those fewgreat and lonely figures of the period, and gves its decision in accordance with the manne

in which they are recognised, encouraged, anhonoured, or, on the other hand, in which theare snubbed, elbowed aside, and kept downWhat is called the 'education of the masse

cannot be accomplished except with difficultyand even if a system of universal compulsoreducation be applied, they can only be reacheoutwardly: those individual lower levels where, generally speaking, the masses come int

contact with culture, where the people nouishes its religious instinct, where it poetises imythological images, where it keeps up its faitin its customs, privileges, native soil, and language—all these levels can scarcely be reache



by direct means, and in any case only by violent demolition. And, in serious matters of thkind, to hasten forward the progress of th

education of the people means simply thpostponement of this violent demolition, anthe maintenance of that wholesome unconsciousness, that sound sleep, of the people, wihout which counter-action and remedy no cu

ture, with the exhausting strain and excitemenof its own actions, can make any headway.

"We know, however, what the aspiration is othose who would disturb the healthy slumbeof the people, and continually call out to them[76]'Keep your eyes open! Be sensible! Be wisewe know the aim of those who profess to saisfy excessive educational requirements b

means of an extraordinary increase in the number of educational institutions and the conceited tribe of teachers originated therebyThese very people, using these very means, arfighting against the natural hierarchy in th









that humble feeling that we, when comparewith such a world as it was, have no right texist at all: how coolly and fearlessly, as com

pared with us, did that young brood build imiserable nests in the midst of the magnificentemples! A powerful voice from every nooand cranny should ring in the ears of thoswho, from the day they begin their connectio

with the university, roam at will with such selcomplacency and shamelessness among thawe-inspiring relics of that noble civilisation'Hence, ye uninitiated, who will never be init

ated; fly away in silence and shame from thessacred chambers!' But this voice speaks in vainfor one must to some extent be a Greek to understand a Greek curse of excommunicationBut these people I am speaking of are so ba

baric that they dispose of these relics to suthemselves: all their modern conveniences anfancies are brought with them and concealeamong those ancient pillars and tombstoneand it gives rise to great rejoicing when some





ian. What a deep breath he draws when he suceeds in raising yet another dark corner of antiquity to the level of his own intelligence!—

when, for example, he discovers in Pythagoraa colleague who is as enthusiastic as himself iarguing about politics. Another racks his brainas to why Œdipus was condemned by fate tperform such abominable deeds—killing h

father, marrying his mother. Where lies thblame! Where the poetic justice! Suddenly occurs to him: Œdipus was a passionate fellowlacking all Christian gentleness—he even fe

into an unbecoming rage when Tiresias callehim a monster and the curse of the whole country. Be humble and meek! was what Sophocletried to teach, otherwise you will have to marryour mothers and kill your fathers! Other

again, pass their lives in counting the numbeof verses written by Greek and Roman poetand are delighted with the proportions 7:13 14:26. Finally, one of them brings forward hsolution of a question, such as the Homer



poems considered from the standpoint [80]oprepositions, and thinks he has drawn the trut

from the bottom of the well with and

All of them, however, with the most widelseparated aims in view, dig and burrow iGreek soil with a restlessness and a blunderinawkwardness that must surely be painful to true friend of antiquity: and thus it comes t

pass that I should like to take by the hand evertalented or talentless man who feels a certaiprofessional inclination urging him on to thstudy of antiquity, and harangue him as fo

lows: 'Young sir, do you know what perithreaten you, with your little stock of schoolearning, before you become a man in the fusense of the word? Have you heard that, acording to Aristotle, it is by no means a trag

death to be slain by a statue? Does that surprisyou? Know, then, that for centuries philologishave been trying, with ever-failing strength, tre-erect the fallen statue of Greek antiquity, bu

without success; for it is a colossus aroun



which single individual men crawl like pygmies. The leverage of the united representativeof modern culture is utilised for the purpos

but it invariably happens that the huge columis scarcely more than lifted from the grounwhen it falls down again, crushing beneath iweight the luckless wights under it. That, however, may be tolerated, for every being mu

perish by some means or other; but who there to guarantee that during all these atempts the statue itself will not break in pieceThe philologists are being crushed by th

Greeks—perhaps we can [81]put up with this—but antiquity itself threatens to be crushed bthese philologists! Think that over, you easygoing young man; and turn back, lest you toshould not be an iconoclast!'"

"Indeed," said the philosopher, laughing, "therare many philologists who have turned back ayou so much desire, and I notice a great contrast with my own youthful experience. Con







spect, namely, not being written in preIndogermanic. Whoever is acquainted with oupresent public schools well knows what a wid

gulf separates their teachers from classicismand how, from a feeling of this want, comparative philology and allied professions have increased their numbers to such an unheard-odegree."

"What I mean is," said the other, "it would depend upon whether a teacher of classical cuture did not confuse his Greeks and Romanwith the other peoples, the barbarians, whethehe could never put Greek and Latin on a levwith other languages: so far as his classicalismis concerned, it is a matter of indifferencwhether the framework of these languages con

curs with or is in any way related to the othelanguages: such a [83]concurrence does nointerest him at all; his real concern is with whais not common to both, with what shows him thathose two peoples were not barbarians as com







We are education! We are at the zenith! We arthe apexes of the pyramids! We are the aims ouniversal history!'—when they hear the sedu

tive promises, when the shameful signs of nonculture, the plebeian publicity of the so-calle'interests of culture' are extolled for their benefit in magazines and newspapers as an entirelnew and the best possible, full-grown form o

culture! Whither shall the poor fellows flwhen they feel the presentiment that thespromises are not true—where but to the moobtuse, sterile scientificality, that here th

shriek of culture may no longer be audible tthem? Pursued in this way, must they not endlike the ostrich, by burying their heads in thsand? Is it not a real happiness for them, burieas they are among dialects, etymologies, an

conjectures, to lead a life like that of the anteven though they are miles removed from truculture, if only they can close their ears tightland be deaf to the voice of the 'elegant' culturof the time."



[85]"You are right, my friend," said the phlosopher, "but whence comes the urgent necesity for a surplus of schools for culture, whic

further gives rise to the necessity for a surpluof teachers?—when we so clearly see that thdemand for a surplus springs from a spherwhich is hostile to culture, and that the consquences of this surplus only lead to non

culture. Indeed, we can discuss this dire necesity only in so far as the modern State is willinto discuss these things with us, and is prepareto follow up its demands by force: which phe

nomenon certainly makes the same impressioupon most people as if they were addressed bthe eternal law of things. For the rest, a 'Cuture-State,' to use the current expression, whicmakes such demands, is rather a novelty, an

has only come to a 'self-understanding' withithe last half century, i.e. in a period when (tuse the favourite popular word) so many 'selunderstood' things came into being, but whicare in themselves not 'self-understood' at al



This right to higher education has been takeso seriously by the most powerful of moderStates—Prussia—that the objectionable princ

ple it has adopted, taken in connection with thwell-known daring and hardihood of this Statis seen to have a menacing and dangerous consequence for the true German spirit; for we seendeavours being made in this quarter to rais

the public school, formally systematised, up tthe so-called 'level of the time.' Here is to bfound all that mechanism by means of which amany scholars as possible are urged on to tak

up courses of [86]public school training: herindeed, the State has its most powerful inducement—the concession of certain privilegerespecting military service, with the naturconsequence that, according to the unpreju

diced evidence of statistical officials, by thiand by this only, can we explain the universcongestion of all Prussian public schools, anthe urgent and continual need for new oneWhat more can the State do for a surplus o









those impulses which did not seem to be immediately applicable. For this very reason thprofound Greek had for the State that stron

feeling of admiration and thankfulness which so distasteful to modern men; because hclearly recognised not only that without sucState protection the germs of his culture coulnot develop, but also that all his inimitable an

perennial culture had flourished so luxuriantlunder the wise and careful guardianship of thprotection afforded by the State. The State wafor his culture not a supervisor, regulator, an

watchman, but a vigorous and muscular companion and friend, ready for war, who accompanied his noble, admired, and, as it were, ehereal friend through disagreeable realityearning his thanks therefor. This, howeve

does not happen when a modern State layclaim to such hearty gratitude because it renders such chivalrous service to German culturand art: for in this regard its past is as ignominious as its present, as a proof of which w





spirit which speaks to us so wondrously fromthe inner heart of the German ReformationGerman music, and German philosophy, an

which, like a noble exile, is regarded with sucindifference and scorn by the luxurious education afforded by the State. This spirit is stranger: it passes by in solitary sadness, anfar away from it the censer of pseudo-culture

swung backwards and forwards, which, amidthe acclamations of 'educated' teachers anjournalists, arrogates to itself its name anprivileges, and metes out insulting treatment t

the word 'German.' Why does the State requirthat surplus of educational institutions, oteachers? Why this education of the masses osuch an extended scale? Because the true Geman spirit is hated, because the aristocrat

nature of true culture is feared, because thpeople endeavour in this way to drive singgreat individuals into self-exile, so that thclaims of the masses to education may be, so tspeak, planted down and carefully tended, i



order that the many may in this way endeavouto escape the rigid and strict discipline of thfew great leaders, so that the masses may b

persuaded that they can easily find the path fothemselves—following the guiding star of thState!

[90]"A new phenomenon! The State as the guid

ing star of culture! In the meantime one thinconsoles me: this German spirit, which peopare combating so much, and for which thehave substituted a gaudily attired locum tenenthis spirit is brave: it will fight and redeem iself into a purer age; noble, as it is now, anvictorious, as it one day will be, it will alwaypreserve in its mind a certain pitiful toleratioof the State, if the latter, hard-pressed in th

hour of extremity, secures such a pseudoculture as its associate. For what, after all, dwe know about the difficult task of governinmen, i.e. to keep law, order, quietness, and peace among millions of boundlessly egoistica





[91]FOURTH LECTURE.ToC

(Del i vered on the 5th of M arch 1872.)

Ladies and Gentlemen,—Now that you havfollowed my tale up to this point, and that whave made ourselves joint masters of the soltary, remote, and at times abusive duologue o

the philosopher and his companion, I sincerelhope that you, like strong swimmers, are readto proceed on the second half of our journeyespecially as I can promise you that a few othemarionettes will appear in the puppet-play o

my adventure, and that if up to the present yohave only been able to do little more than endure what I have been telling you, the waves omy story will now bear you more quickly an

easily towards the end. In other words we hav






now come to a turning, and it would be adviable for us to take a short glance backwards tsee what we think we have gained from such

varied conversation.

"Remain in your present position," the philosopher seemed to say to his companion, "for yomay cherish hopes. It is more and more clearl

evident that we have no educational institutions at all; but that we ought to have themOur public schools—established, it woulseem, for this high object—have either becomthe nurseries [92]of a reprehensible culturwhich repels the true culture with profounhatred—i.e. a true, aristocratic culture, foundeupon a few carefully chosen minds; or thefoster a micrological and sterile learning which

while it is far removed from culture, has at leathis merit, that it avoids that reprehensible cuture as well as the true culture." The philosopher had particularly drawn his companionattention to the strange corruption which mu











away with noiseless steps and an air of derisivmockery.[6]

"I will thus ask you, my friend, not to confounthis culture, this sensitive, fastidious, etheregoddess, with that useful maid-of-all-worwhich is also called 'culture,' but which is onl[95]the intellectual servant and counsellor o

one's practical necessities, wants, and means olivelihood Every kind of training, howevewhich holds out the prospect of bread-winninas its end and aim, is not a training for culturas we understand the word; but merely a colection of precepts and directions to show howin the struggle for existence, a man may prserve and protect his own person. It may bfreely admitted that for the great majority o

men such a course of instruction is of the highest importance; and the more arduous thstruggle is the more intensely must the younman strain every nerve to utilise his strength tthe best advantage.








fly, the meads, the mountain slopes, must aspeak to him in their own language; in them hmust, as it were, come to know himself again i

countless reflections and images, in a variegated round of changing visions; and in thway he will unconsciously and gradually fethe metaphysical unity of all things in the greaimage of nature, and at the same time tranqui

lise his soul in the contemplation of her eternaendurance and necessity. But how many younmen should be permitted to grow up in succlose and almost personal proximity to natur

The others must learn another truth betimehow to subdue nature to themselves. Here is aend of this naive metaphysics; and the physioogy of plants and animals, geology, inorganchemistry, force their devotees to view natur

from an altogether different standpoint. Whais lost by this new point of view is not only poetical phantasmagoria, but the instinctivtrue, and unique point of view, instead owhich we have shrewd and clever calculation





freely admitted to the universities and postions under the government, which has hithertbeen the case only with scholars from the pub

lic schools—of our present public schools, be noted![7] I cannot, however, refrain from adding the melancholy reflection: if it be true thasecondary and public schools are, on the wholworking so heartily in common towards th

same ends, and differ from each other only isuch a slight degree, that they may take equrank before the tribunal of the State, then wcompletely lack another kind of educationa

institutions: those for the development of cuture! To say the least, the secondary schoocannot be reproached with this; for they havup to the present propitiously and honourablfollowed up tendencies of a lower order, bu

one nevertheless highly necessary. In the publschools, however, there is very much less honesty and very much less ability too; for in themwe find an instinctive feeling of shame, the unconscious perception of the fact that the who










lonely situation of himself and his companion"Well! What are we about!" he ejaculated, "itdark. You know whom we were expectin

here; but he hasn't come. We have waited ivain; let us go."

I must now, ladies and gentlemen, convey tyou the impressions experienced by my frienand myself as we eagerly listened to this conversation, which we heard distinctly in ouhiding-place. I have already told you that athat place and at that hour we had intended thold a festival in commemoration of something: and this something had to do with noth

ing else than matters concerning educationtraining, of which we, in our own youthfuopinions, had garnered a plentiful harvest duing our past life. We were thus disposed to remember with gratitude the institution whic







of the wood. "Oh, it's you!" ejaculated the phlosopher, "our duellists! How you startled uWhat on earth drives you to jump out upon u

like this at such a time of the night?"

[101]"Joy, thankfulness, and reverence," saiwe, shaking the old man by the hand, whilthe dog barked as if he understood, "we can

let you go without telling you this. And if yoare to understand everything you must not gaway just yet; we want to ask you about so many things that lie heavily on our hearts. Stay yawhile; we know every foot of the way and caaccompany you afterwards. The gentleman yoexpect may yet turn up. Look over yonder othe Rhine: what is that we see so clearly floaing on the surface of the water as if surrounde

by the light of many torches? It is there that wmay look for your friend, I would even venturto say that it is he who is coming towards yowith all those lights."



And so much did we assail the surprised olman with our entreaties, promises, and fantatic delusions, that we persuaded the philoso

pher to walk to and fro with us on the littlplateau, "by learned lumber undisturbed," amy friend added.

"Shame on you!" said the philosopher, "if yo

really want to quote something, why choosFaust? However, I will give in to you, quotatioor no quotation, if only our young companionwill keep still and not run away as suddenly athey made their appearance, for they are likwill-o'-the-wisps; we are amazed when they arthere and again when they are not there."

My friend immediately recited—

Respect, I hope, will teach us how we maOur lighter disposition keep at bayOur course is only zig-zag as a rule.

[102]The philosopher was surprised, and stoo

still. "You astonish me, you will-o'-the-wisps



he said; "this is no quagmire we are on now. Owhat use is this ground to you? What does thproximity of a philosopher mean to you? Fo

around him the air is sharp and clear, thground dry and hard. You must find out a more fantastic region for your zig-zagging inclinations."

"I think," interrupted the philosopher's companion at this point, "the gentlemen have aready told us that they promised to meet somone here at this hour; but it seems to me thathey listened to our comedy of education like chorus, and truly 'idealistic spectators'—fothey did not disturb us; we thought we weralone with each other."

"Yes, that is true," said the philosopher, "thapraise must not be withheld from them, but seems to me that they deserve still higher prase——"



Here I seized the philosopher's hand and said"That man must be as obtuse as a reptile, withis stomach on the ground and his head burie

in mud, who can listen to such a discourse ayours without becoming earnest and thoughful, or even excited and indignant. Selaccusation and annoyance might perhaps causa few to get angry; but our impression was qu

te different: the only thing I do not know how exactly to describe it. This hour was swell-timed for us, and our minds were so weprepared, that we sat there like empty vessel

and now it seems as if we were filled to oveflowing with this new wisdom: for I no longeknow how to help myself, and if some one aked me what I am thinking of doing tomorrow, or [103]what I have made up my min

to do with myself from now on, I should noknow what to answer. For it is easy to see thawe have up to the present been living and educating ourselves in the wrong way—but wha



can we do to cross over the chasm between today and to-morrow?"

"Yes," acknowledged my friend, "I have a simlar feeling, and I ask the same question: bubesides that I feel as if I were frightened awafrom German culture by entertaining such higand ideal views of its task; yea, as if I were un

worthy to co-operate with it in carrying out iaims. I only see a resplendent file of the highenatures moving towards this goal; I can imagine over what abysses and through what temptations this procession travels. Who would darto be so bold as to join in it?"

At this point the philosopher's companioagain turned to him and said: "Don't be angr

with me when I tell you that I too have a somewhat similar feeling, which I have not mentioned to you before. When talking to you often felt drawn out of myself, as it were, aninspired with your ardour and hopes till I a

most forgot myself. Then a calmer momen



arrives; a piercing wind of reality brings mback to earth—and then I see the wide gulf between us, over which you yourself, as in

dream, draw me back again. Then what yocall 'culture' merely totters meaninglesslaround me or lies heavily on my breast: it like a shirt of mail that weighs me down, or sword that I cannot wield."

Our minds, as we thus argued with th[104]philosopher, were unanimous, and, mutually encouraging and stimulating one anothewe slowly walked with him backwards anforwards along the unencumbered space whichad earlier in the day served us as a shootinrange. And then, in the still night, under thpeaceful light of hundreds of stars, we all brok

out into a tirade which ran somewhat as folows:—

"You have told us so much about the geniuswe began, "about his lonely and wearisom

journey through the world, as if nature neve



exhibited anything but the most diametriccontraries: in one place the stupid, dull masseacting by instinct, and then, on a far higher an

more remote plane, the great contemplatinfew, destined for the production of immortworks. But now you call these the apexes of thintellectual pyramid: it would, however, seemthat between the broad, heavily burdened foun

dation up to the highest of the free and unencumbered peaks there must be countless intemediate degrees, and that here we must applthe saying natura non facit saltus. Where the

are we to look for the beginning of what yocall culture; where is the line of demarcation tbe drawn between the spheres which are rulefrom below upwards and those which are rulefrom above downwards? And if it be only i

connection with these exalted beings that truculture may be spoken of, how are institutionto be founded for the uncertain existence osuch natures, how can we devise educationestablishments which shall be of benefit only t



these select few? It rather seems to us that sucpersons [105]know how to find their own wayand that their full strength is shown in the

being able to walk without the educationcrutches necessary for other people, and thuundisturbed to make their way through thstorm and stress of this rough world just like phantom."

We kept on arguing in this fashion, speakinwithout any great ability and not putting outhoughts in any special form: but the philosopher's companion went even further, and saito him: "Just think of all these great geniuses owhom we are wont to be so proud, lookinupon them as tried and true leaders and guideof this real German spirit, whose names w

commemorate by statues and festivals, anwhose works we hold up with feelings of pridfor the admiration of foreign lands—how dithey obtain the education you demand fothem, to what degree do they show that the



have been nourished and matured by baskinin the sun of national education? And yet theare seen to be possible, they have nevertheles

become men whom we must honour: yea, theworks themselves justify the form of the deveopment of these noble spirits; they justify evea certain want of education for which we mumake allowance owing to their country and th

age in which they lived. How could Lessinand Winckelmann benefit by the German cuture of their time? Even less than, or at aevents just as little as Beethoven, Schille

Goethe, or every one of our great poets anartists. It may perhaps be a law of nature thaonly the later generations are destined to knowby what divine gifts an earlier generation wafavoured."

[106]At this point the old philosopher could nocontrol his anger, and shouted to his companion: "Oh, you innocent lamb of knowledge! Yogentle sucking doves, all of you! And woul



you give the name of arguments to those ditorted, clumsy, narrow-minded, ungainlycrippled things? Yes, I have just now been li

tening to the fruits of some of this present-daculture, and my ears are still ringing with thsound of historical 'self-understood' things, oover-wise and pitiless historical reasoningMark this, thou unprofaned Nature: thou ha

grown old, and for thousands of years this strry sky has spanned the space above thee—buthou hast never yet heard such conceited andat bottom, mischievous chatter as the talk of th

present day! So you are proud of your poeand artists, my good Teutons? You point tthem and brag about them to foreign countriedo you? And because it has given you no trouble to have them amongst you, you have fo

med the pleasant theory that you need not concern yourselves further with them? Isn't that smy inexperienced children: they come of theown free will, the stork brings them to youWho would dare to mention a midwife! Yo



deserve an earnest teaching, eh? You should bproud of the fact that all the noble and brillianmen we have mentioned were prematurel

suffocated, worn out, and crushed througyou, through your barbarism? You think without shame of Lessing, who, on account of youstupidity, perished in battle against your ludcrous gods and idols, the evils of your theatre

your learned men, and your theologians, without once daring to lift [107]himself to the heighof that immortal flight for which he wabrought into the world. And what are you

impressions when you think of Winckelmannwho, that he might rid his eyes of your grotesque fatuousness, went to beg help from thJesuits, and whose disgraceful religious convesion recoils upon you and will always remai

an ineffaceable blemish upon you? You caeven name Schiller without blushing! Just looat his picture! The fiery, sparkling eyes, lookinat you with disdain, those flushed, death-likcheeks: can you learn nothing from all that? I



him you had a beautiful and divine playthingand through it was destroyed. And if it habeen possible for you to take Goethe's friend

ship away from this melancholy, hasty lifhunted to premature death, then you woulhave crushed him even sooner than you didYou have not rendered assistance to a singone of our great geniuses—and now upon tha

fact you wish to build up the theory that nonof them shall ever be helped in future? For eacof them, however, up to this very moment, yohave always been the 'resistance of the stupi

world' that Goethe speaks of in his "Epilogue tthe Bell"; towards each of them you acted thpart of apathetic dullards or jealous narrowhearts or malignant egotists. In spite of yothey created their immortal works, against yo

they directed their attacks, and thanks to yothey died so prematurely, their tasks only haaccomplished, blunted and dulled and shatered in the battle. Who can tell to what thesheroic men were destined to attain if only tha



true German spirit had gathered them togethewithin the [108]protecting walls of a powerfuinstitution?—that spirit which, without the hel

of some such institution, drags out an isolateddebased, and degraded existence. All thosgreat men were utterly ruined; and it is only ainsane belief in the Hegelian 'reasonableness oall happenings' which would absolve you o

any responsibility in the matter. And not thosmen alone! Indictments are pouring fortagainst you from every intellectual provincwhether I look at the talents of our poets, ph

losophers, painters, or sculptors—and not onlin the case of gifts of the highest order—I evrywhere see immaturity, overstrained nerveor prematurely exhausted energies, abilitiewasted and nipped in the bud; I everywher

feel that 'resistance of the stupid world,' in oher words, your guiltiness. That is what I amtalking about when I speak of lacking educational establishments, and why I think thoswhich at present claim the name in such a pit





us again, since he had uttered the latter part ohis discourse standing near the tree-stumwhich had served us as a target. For a few min

utes not a word more was spoken. Slowly anthoughtfully we walked to and fro. We did noso much feel ashamed of having brought foward such foolish arguments as we felt a kinof restitution of our personality. After the hea

ted and, so far as we were concerned, very unflattering utterance of the philosopher, we semed to feel ourselves nearer to him—that weven stood in a personal relationship to him

For so wretched is man that he never feels himself brought into such close contact with stranger as when the latter shows some sign oweakness, some defect. That our philosophehad lost his temper and made use of abusiv

language helped to bridge over the gulf createbetween us by our timid respect for him: anfor the sake of the reader who feels his indignation rising at this suggestion let it be added thathis bridge often leads from distant hero



worship to personal love and pity. And, aftethe feeling that our personality had been rstored to us, this pity gradually becam

stronger and stronger. Why were we makinthis old man walk up and down with us between the rocks and trees at that time of thnight? And, since he had yielded to our entreaies, why could [110]we not have thought of

more modest and unassuming manner of having ourselves instructed, why should the threof us have contradicted him in such clumsterms?

For now we saw how thoughtless, unpreparedand baseless were all the objections we hamade, and how greatly the echo of the presenwas heard in them, the voice of which, in th

province of culture, the old man would fain nohave heard. Our objections, however, were nopurely intellectual ones: our reasons for protesting against the philosopher's statemenseemed to lie elsewhere. They arose perhap









"Now, take these two parties, so different fromeach other in every respect, and tell me whameaning an educational establishment woul

have for them. That enormous horde, crowdinonwards on the first path towards its goawould take the term to mean an institution bwhich each of its members would become dulqualified to take his place in the rank and fil

and would be purged of everything whicmight tend to make him strive after higher anmore remote aims. I don't deny, of course, thathey can find pompous words with which t

describe their aims: for example, they speak othe 'universal development of free personalitupon a firm social, national, and human basisor they announce as their goal: 'The foundinof the peaceful sovereignty of the people upo

reason, education, and justice.'

"An educational establishment for the otheand smaller company, however, would be something vastly different. They would employ



to prevent themselves from being separatefrom one another and overwhelmed by the firhuge crowd, to prevent their few select spiri

from losing sight of their splendid and nobltask through premature weariness, or frombeing turned aside from the true path, corupted, or subverted. These select spirits mucomplete their work: that is the raison d'être o

their common institution—a work, indeedwhich, as it were, must be free from subjectivtraces, and [113]must further rise above thtransient events of future times as the pure re

flection of the eternal and immutable essence othings. And all those who occupy places in thainstitution must co-operate in the endeavour tengender men of genius by this purificatiofrom subjectiveness and the creation of th

works of genius. Not a few, even of those whose talents may be of the second or third ordeare suited to such co-operation, and only wheserving in such an educational establishment athis do they feel that they are truly carrying ou







demand for culture, like the first protuberancof that wing spoken of by Plato in the Phaedruwhich, at every contact with the beautifu

bears the soul aloft into the upper regions, thhabitations of the gods."

"Ah," began the philosopher's companion"when you quote the divine Plato and th

world of ideas, I do not think you are angrwith me, however much my previous utterancmay have merited your disapproval and wrathAs soon as you speak of it, I feel that Platonwing rising within me; and it is only at intevals, when I act as the charioteer of my southat I have any difficulty with the resisting anunwilling horse that [115]Plato has also described to us, the 'crooked, lumbering anima

put together anyhow, with a short, thick neckflat-faced, and of a dark colour, with grey eyeand blood-red complexion; the mate of insolence and pride, shag-eared and deaf, hardlyielding to whip or spur.'[8] Just think how







long I have lived at a distance from you, anhow all those temptations you speak of havendeavoured to lure me away, not perhap

without some success, even though I mysemay not have observed it. I now see morclearly than ever the necessity for an institutiowhich will enable us to live and mix freely witthe few men of true culture, so that we ma

have them as our leaders and guiding starHow greatly I feel the danger of travellinalone! And when it occurred to me that I coulsave myself by flight from all contact with th

spirit of the time, I found that this flight itsewas a mere delusion. Continuously, with everbreath we take, some amount of that atmophere circulates through every vein and arteryand no solitude is lonesome or distant enoug

for us to be out of reach of its fogs and cloudWhether in the guise of hope, doubt, profit, ovirtue, the shades of that culture hover abouus; and we have been deceived by that jugglereven here in the presence of a true hermit o







[117]FIFTH LECTURE.ToC

(Del i vered on the 23rd of M arch 1872.)

Ladies and Gentlemen,—If you have lent sympathetic ear to what I have told you abouthe heated argument of our philosopher in thstillness of that memorable night, you mu

have felt as disappointed as we did when hannounced his peevish intention. You will remember that he had suddenly told us he wihed to go; for, having been left in the lurch bhis friend in the first place, and, in the second

having been bored rather than animated by thremarks addressed to him by his companioand ourselves when walking backwards anforwards on the hillside, he now apparentl

wanted to put an end to what appeared to him




















which are of daily occurrence; that the greateriddle, displayed in full view of all, is seen bthe fewest to be the greatest riddle, and tha

these problems are spread about in every diretion, under the very feet of the passers-by, fothe few [122]real philosophers to lift up carefully, thenceforth to shine as diamonds of widom. Perhaps, in the short time now left u

before the arrival of your friend, you will bgood enough to tell us something of your experiences of university life, so as to close thcircle of observations, to which we were invo

untarily urged, respecting our educational institutions. We may also be allowed to reminyou that you, at an earlier stage of your remarks, gave me the promise that you would dso. Starting with the public school, you claime

for it an extraordinary importance: all otheinstitutions must be judged by its standardaccording as its aim has been proposed; and, its aim happens to be wrong, all the others havto suffer. Such an importance cannot now b





pare students for the universities. This preparation, however, should tend to make us independent enough for the extraordinarily fre

position of a university student;[9] for it seemto me that a student, to a greater extent thaany other individual, has more to decide ansettle for himself. He must guide himself on wide, utterly unknown path for many years, s

the public school must do its best to render himindependent."

I continued the argument where my friend leoff. "It even seems to me," I said, "that everything for which you have justly blamed thpublic school is only a necessary means employed to imbue the youthful student witsome kind of independence, or at all even

with the belief that there is such a thing. Thteaching of German composition must be at thservice of this independence: the individumust enjoy his opinions and carry out his designs early, so that he may be able to trav








hand he must live and learn dependently at thpublic school."

The philosopher laughed, not altogether goodnaturedly, and said: "You have just given me fine example of that independence. And it this very independence that shocks me smuch, and makes any place in the neighbou

hood of present-day students so disagreeable tme. Yes, my good friends, you are perfect, yoare mature; nature has cast you and broken uthe moulds, and your teachers must surelgloat over you. What liberty, certitude, anindependence of judgment; what novelty anfreshness of insight! You sit in judgment—anthe cultures of all ages run away. The scientifsense is kindled, and rises out of you like a fla

me—let people be careful, lest you set themalight! If I go further into [125]the question anlook at your professors, I again find the samindependence in a greater and even morcharming degree: never was there a time so fu









himself; and the independence it was thoughdesirable to aim at in the [127]public schoonow presents itself with the highest possib

pride as 'academical self-training for cultureand struts about in its brilliant plumage.

"Happy times, when youths are clever and cutured enough to teach themselves how to walk

Unsurpassable public schools, which succeed iimplanting independence in the place of thdependence, discipline, subordination, anobedience implanted by former generationthat thought it their duty to drive away all thbumptiousness of independence! Do you clealy see, my good friends, why I, from the standpoint of culture, regard the present type of unversity as a mere appendage to the publ

school? The culture instilled by the publschool passes through the gates of the univesity as something ready and entire, and with iown particular claims: it demands, it givelaws, it sits in judgment. Do not, then, let you





antiquity as the incarnate categorical imperative of all culture?

"Man is so much encompassed about by thmost serious and difficult problems that, whethey are brought to his attention in the righway, he is impelled betimes towards a lastinkind of philosophical wonder, from which alo

ne, as a fruitful soil, a deep and noble culturcan grow forth. His own experiences lead himmost frequently to the consideration of thesproblems; and it is especially in the tempestuous period of youth that every personal evenshines with a double gleam, both as the exemplification of a triviality and, at the same timof an eternally surprising problem, deserving oexplanation. At this age, which, as it were, see

his experiences encircled with metaphysicrainbows, man is, in the highest degree, in neeof a guiding hand, because he has suddenland almost instinctively convinced himself o



the ambiguity of existence, and has lost the firmsupport of the beliefs he has hitherto held.

"This natural state of great need must of coursbe looked upon as the worst enemy of that beloved independence for which the cultureyouth of the present day should be trained. Athese sons of the present, who have raised th

banner of the 'self-understood,' are thereforstraining every nerve to crush down these feeings of youth, to cripple them, to mislead themor to stop their [129]growth altogether; and thfavourite means employed is to paralyse thanatural philosophic impulse by the so-calle"historical culture." A still recent system,[1which has won for itself a world-wide scandaous reputation, has discovered the formula fo

this self-destruction of philosophy; and nowwherever the historical view of things is foundwe can see such a naive recklessness in bringing the irrational to 'rationality' and 'reasonand making black look like white, that one






even inclined to parody Hegel's phrase and ask'Is all this irrationality real?' Ah, it is only thirrational that now seems to be 'real,' i.e. reall

doing something; and to bring this kind of reaity forward for the elucidation of history reckoned as true 'historical culture.' It is intthis that the philosophical impulse of our timhas pupated itself; and the peculiar philoso

phers of our universities seem to have conspired to fortify and confirm the young academicians in it.

"It has thus come to pass that, in place of a profound interpretation of the eternally recurrinproblems, a historical—yea, even philological—balancing and questioning has entered into theducational arena: what this or that philoso

pher has or has not thought; whether this othat essay or dialogue is to be ascribed to himor not; or even whether this particular readinof a classical text is to be preferred to that. It to neutral preoccupations with philosophy lik









artistic instincts, and is merely a barbarian believing himself to be free, you will not on thaccount turn away from him in disgust, a

though you will, of course, avoid coming inttoo close proximity with him. For, as he now ihe is not to blame: as you have perceived him his the dumb but terrible accuser of those whare to blame.

[132]"You should understand the secret language spoken by this guilty innocent, and theyou, too, would learn to understand the inwarstate of that independence which is paradeoutwardly with so much ostentation. Not onof these noble, well-qualified youths has remained a stranger to that restless, tiring, peplexing, and debilitating need of culture: du

ing his university term, when he is apparentlthe only free man in a crowd of servants anofficials, he atones for this huge illusion ofreedom by ever-growing inner doubts anconvictions. He feels that he can neither lea





looks into his own breast, analyses his facultieand finds he is only peering into hollow anchaotic vacuity. And then he once more fal

from the heights of his eagerly-desired selknowledge into an ironical scepticism. He dvests his struggles of their real importance, anfeels himself ready to undertake any class ouseful work, however degrading. He now seek

consolation in hasty and incessant action so ato hide himself from himself. And thus his heplessness and the want of a leader towards cuture drive him from one form of life into an

other: but doubt, elevation, worry, hope, despair—everything flings him hither and thitheas a proof that all the stars above him by whiche could have guided his ship have set.

"There you have the picture of this gloriouindependence of yours, of that academical freedom, reflected in the highest minds—thoswhich are truly in need of culture, comparewith whom that other crowd of indifferent na





may lead. He who surveys the greatest supporters and friends of that pseudo-culture othe present time, which I so greatly detest, wi

only too frequently find among them such degenerate and shipwrecked men of culture, drven by inward despair to violent enmitagainst culture, when, in a moment of desperation, there was no one at hand to show them

how to attain it. It is not the worst and moinsignificant people whom we afterwards finacting as journalists and writers for the press ithe metamorphosis of despair: the spirit of so

me well-known men of letters might even bdescribed, and justly, as degenerate studendom. How else, for example, can we reconcithat once well-known 'young Germany' with ipresent degenerate successors? Here we di

cover a need of culture which, so to speak, hagrown mutinous, and which finally breaks ouinto the passionate cry: I am culture! Therbefore the gates of the public schools and unversities, we can see the culture which has bee



driven like a fugitive away from these institutions. True, this culture is without the eruditioof those establishments, but assumes neverth

less the mien of a [135]sovereign; so that, foexample, Gutzkow the novelist might be pointed to as the best example of a modern publschool boy turned æsthete. Such a degeneratman of culture is a serious matter, and it is

horrifying spectacle for us to see that all ouscholarly and journalistic publicity bears thstigma of this degeneracy upon it. How else cawe do justice to our learned men, who pay un

tiring attention to, and even co-operate in thjournalistic corruption of the people, how elsthan by the acknowledgment that their learninmust fill a want of their own similar to thafilled by novel-writing in the case of others: i.

a flight from one's self, an ascetic extirpation otheir cultural impulses, a desperate attempt tannihilate their own individuality. From oudegenerate literary art, as also from that itch foscribbling of our learned men which has now



reached such alarming proportions, wells fortthe same sigh: Oh that we could forget ouselves! The attempt fails: memory, not yet su

focated by the mountains of printed paper under which it is buried, keeps on repeating fromtime to time: 'A degenerate man of culturBorn for culture and brought up to non-culturHelpless barbarian, slave of the day, chained t

the present moment, and thirsting for somthing—ever thirsting!'

"Oh, the miserable guilty innocents! For thelack something, a need that every one of themmust have felt: a real educational institutionwhich could give them goals, masters, methods, companions; and from the midst of whicthe invigorating and [136]uplifting breath o

the true German spirit would inspire themThus they perish in the wilderness; thus thedegenerate into enemies of that spirit which at bottom closely allied to their own; thus thepile fault upon fault higher than any forme



generation ever did, soiling the clean, desecraing the holy, canonising the false and spuriouIt is by them that you can judge the educationa

strength of our universities, asking yourselvein all seriousness, the question: What cause diyou promote through them? The Germapower of invention, the noble German desirfor knowledge, the qualifying of the Germa

for diligence and self-sacrifice—splendid anbeautiful things, which other nations envy youyea, the finest and most magnificent things ithe world, if only that true German spirit ove

spread them like a dark thundercloud, pregnant with the blessing of forthcoming rain. Buyou are afraid of this spirit, and it has thereforcome to pass that a cloud of another sort hathrown a heavy and oppressive atmospher

around your universities, in which your noblminded scholars breathe wearily and with dificulty.



"A tragic, earnest, and instructive attempt wamade in the present century to destroy thcloud I have last referred to, and also to tur

the people's looks in the direction of the higwelkin of the German spirit. In all the annals oour universities we cannot find any trace of second attempt, and he who would impresively demonstrate what is now necessary fo

us will never find a better [137]example. I refeto the old, primitive Burschenschaft.[11]

"When the war of liberation was over, thyoung student brought back home the unlooked-for and worthiest trophy of battle—thfreedom of his fatherland. Crowned with thlaurel he thought of something still nobler. Oreturning to the university, and finding that h

was breathing heavily, he became conscious othat oppressive and contaminated air whicoverhung the culture of the university. He suddenly saw, with horror-struck, wide-open eyethe non-German barbarism, hiding itself in th






guise of all kinds of scholasticism; he suddenldiscovered that his own leaderless comradewere abandoned to a repulsive kind of youthfu

intoxication. And he was exasperated. He roswith the same aspect of proud indignation aSchiller may have had when reciting the Robers to his companions: and if he had prefacehis drama with the picture of a lion, and th

motto, 'in tyrannos,' his follower himself wathat very lion preparing to spring; and ever'tyrant' began to tremble. Yes, if these indignanyouths were looked at superficially and timo

ously, they would seem to be little else thaSchiller's robbers: their talk sounded so wild tthe anxious listener that Rome and Sparta seemed mere nunneries compared with these newspirits. The consternation raised by these youn

men was indeed far more general than had evebeen [138]caused by those other 'robbers' icourt circles, of which a German prince, according to Goethe, is said to have expressed thopinion: 'If he had been God, and had foresee



the appearance of the Robbers, he would nohave created the world.'

"Whence came the incomprehensible intensitof this alarm? For those young men were thbravest, purest, and most talented of the banboth in dress and habits: they were distinguished by a magnanimous recklessness and

noble simplicity. A divine command bounthem together to seek harder and more piousuperiority: what could be feared from themTo what extent this fear was merely deceptivor simulated or really true is something thawill probably never be exactly known; but strong instinct spoke out of this fear and out oits disgraceful and senseless persecution. Thinstinct hated the Burschenschaft with an in

tense hatred for two reasons: first of all on acount of its organisation, as being the first atempt to construct a true educational institution, and, secondly, on account of the spirit othis institution, that earnest, manly, stern, an



daring German spirit; that spirit of the minerson, Luther, which has come down to us unbroken from the time of the Reformation.

"Think of the fate of the Burschenschaft whenask you, Did the German university then understand that spirit, as even the German princes in their hatred appear to have understoo

it? Did the alma mater boldly and resolutelthrow her protecting arms round her nobsons and say: 'You [139]must kill me first, before you touch my children?' I hear your answer—by it you may judge whether the Geman university is an educational institution onot.

"The student knew at that time at what depth

true educational institution must take roonamely, in an inward renovation and inspiration of the purest moral faculties. And thmust always be repeated to the student's crediHe may have learnt on the field of battle wha

he could learn least of all in the sphere of 'aca



demical freedom': that great leaders are necesary, and that all culture begins with obediencAnd in the midst of victory, with his though

turned to his liberated fatherland, he made thvow that he would remain German. GermanNow he learnt to understand his Tacitus; nowhe grasped the signification of Kant's categorcal imperative; now he was enraptured by We

ber's "Lyre and Sword" songs.[12] The gates ophilosophy, of art, yea, even of antiquity, opned unto him; and in one of the mo[140]memorable of bloody acts, the murder o

Kotzebue, he revenged—with penetrating insight and enthusiastic short-sightedness—hone and only Schiller, prematurely consumeby the opposition of the stupid world: Schillewho could have been his leader, master, an

organiser, and whose loss he now bewailewith such heartfelt resentment.

"For that was the doom of those promising students: they did not find the leaders they wan






ted. They gradually became uncertain, discontented, and at variance among themselves; unlucky indiscretions showed only too soon tha

the one indispensability of powerful minds walacking in the midst of them: and, while thmysterious murder gave evidence of astonishing strength, it gave no less evidence of thgrave danger arising from the want of a leade

They were leaderless—therefore they perished

"For I repeat it, my friends! All culture beginwith the very opposite of that which is now shighly esteemed as 'academical freedom': witobedience, with subordination, with disciplinwith subjection. And as leaders must have folowers so also must the followers have a leader—here a certain reciprocal predispositio

prevails in the hierarchy of spirits: yea, a kinof pre-established harmony. This eternal hiearchy, towards which all things naturally tendis always threatened by that pseudo-culturwhich now sits on the throne of the present.



endeavours either to bring the leaders down tthe level of its own servitude or else to cathem out altogether. It seduces the follower

when they are seeking their predestined leadeand overcomes [141]them by the fumes of inarcotics. When, however, in spite of all thileader and followers have at last met, woundeand sore, there is an impassioned feeling o

rapture, like the echo of an ever-sounding lyra feeling which I can let you divine only bmeans of a simile.

"Have you ever, at a musical rehearsal, lookeat the strange, shrivelled-up, good-naturespecies of men who usually form the Germaorchestra? What changes and fluctuations wsee in that capricious goddess 'form'! What no

ses and ears, what clumsy, danse macabre movements! Just imagine for a moment that yowere deaf, and had never dreamed of the exitence of sound or music, and that you werlooking upon the orchestra as a company o



actors, and trying to enjoy their performance aa drama and nothing more. Undisturbed by thidealising effect of the sound, you could neve

see enough of the stern, medieval, woodcutting movement of this comical spectacle, thharmonious parody on the homo sapiens.

"Now, on the other hand, assume that you

musical sense has returned, and that your earare opened. Look at the honest conductor at thhead of the orchestra performing his duties in dull, spiritless fashion: you no longer think othe comical aspect of the whole scene, you liten—but it seems to you that the spirit of tedousness spreads out from the honest conductoover all his companions. Now you see onltorpidity and flabbiness, you hear only the triv

ial, the rhythmically inaccurate, and the melodiously trite. You see [142]the orchestra only aan indifferent, ill-humoured, and even wearsome crowd of players.



"But set a genius—a real genius—in the midof this crowd; and you instantly perceive somthing almost incredible. It is as if this genius, i

his lightning transmigration, had entered intthese mechanical, lifeless bodies, and as if onlone demoniacal eye gleamed forth out of themall. Now look and listen—you can never listeenough! When you again observe the orchestr

now loftily storming, now fervently wailingwhen you notice the quick tightening of evermuscle and the rhythmical necessity of evergesture, then you too will feel what a pre

established harmony there is between leadeand followers, and how in the hierarchy of spiits everything impels us towards the establishment of a like organisation. You can divinfrom my simile what I would understand by

true educational institution, and why I am verfar from recognising one in the present type ouniversity."



[From a few MS. notes written down by Nietzche in the spring and autumn of 1872, and stipreserved in the Nietzsche Archives at Weima

it is evident that he at one time intended to ada sixth and seventh lecture to the five jugiven. These notes, although included in thlatest edition of Nietzsche's works, are utterllacking in interest and continuity, being merel

headings and sub-headings of sections in thproposed lectures. They do not, indeed, occupmore than two printed pages, and werdeemed too fragmentary for translation in th

edition.]

FOOTNOTES:

[9] The reader may be reminded that a Germauniversity student is subject to very few restritions, and that much greater liberty is allowehim than is permitted to English student






Nietzsche did not approve of this extraordinarfreedom, which, in his opinion, led to intellectual lawlessness.—Tr.

[10] Hegel's.—Tr.

[11] A German students' association, of liberprinciples, founded for patriotic purposes a

Jena in 1813.

[12] Weber set one or two of Körner's "Lyrand Sword" songs to music. The reader wiremember that these lectures were deliv

ered when Nietzsche was only in htwenty-eighth year. Like Goethe, he afterwards freed himself from all patriottrammels and prejudices, and aimed at

general European culture. Luther, SchilleKant, Körner, and Weber did not continuto be the objects of his veneration for longindeed, they were afterwards violently a

tacked by him, and the superficial studen












who speaks of inconsistency may be reminded of Nietzsche's phrase in stanza 1of the epilogue to Beyond Good and Evi

"Nur wer sich wandelt, bleibt mit mir vewandt"; i.e. only the changing ones havanything in common with me Tr

Documents

On the Future of Our Educational Institutions