Reading Nietzsche through the Ancients: An Analysis of Becoming, Perspectivism, and the Principle of Non-Contradiction 9781934078433, 9781934078419

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Matthew Meyer Reading Nietzsche through the Ancients

Monographien und Texte zur Nietzsche-Forschung

Begründet von Mazzino Montinari Wolfgang Müller-Lauter Heinz Wenzel

Herausgegeben von Günter Abel, Berlin Werner Stegmaier, Greifswald

Band 66

Matthew Meyer

Reading Nietzsche through the Ancients

An Analysis of Becoming, Perspectivism, and the Principle of Non-Contradiction

ISBN 978-1-934078-41-9 e-ISBN 978-1-934078-43-3 ISSN 1862-1260 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data A CIP catalog record for this book has been applied for at the Library of Congress. Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available in the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2014 Walter de Gruyter, Inc., Boston/Berlin Typesetting: PTP-Berlin Protago-TEX-Production GmbH, Berlin Printing and binding: Hubert & Co. GmbH & Co. KG, Göttingen ♾ Printed on acid-free paper Printed in Germany www.degruyter.com

To Sebastian: γένοι’ οἷος ἐσσὶ μαθών

Preface and Acknowledgements This work is the product of what has become years of study of Nietzsche’s philosophy and his texts. These reflections were initially guided by a number of professors in a variety of seminars at Harvard University, and they continued, first, during my time as a Frederick Sheldon Fellow (from Harvard University) and then as a graduate student and lecturer at the University of Vienna. My work has since taken me to Boston University, both as a graduate student and then as a lecturer, and now to the University of Scranton as a member of the philosophy department. If memory serves me correctly, I came to Nietzsche’s work interested in studying two questions: First, I wanted to explore the foundations of so-called “postmodern” thought – a hot topic in the 90’s – and I was convinced that Nietzsche was the source of these ideas; second, I was interested in Nietzsche’s relativism and how his relativism may or may not be consistent with what seemed to be a dogmatic rejection and condemnation of the Judeo-Christian-Platonic tradition. Although I was searching for quick solutions, I soon came to realize that if I was going to answer these and other questions, I needed to get a better sense of the scope, trajectory, and aim of Nietzsche’s overall project and, moreover, how his various works, published and unpublished, might fit together, if at all. In other words, I soon learned that if I was going to understand Nietzsche and ultimately answer the questions that I brought to his texts, I needed to approach his work through the concerns that animated his thought, not my own, and doing this meant going back to his studies of antiquity, reading the sources of his philosophy, knowing his intellectual context, learning German and even ancient Greek, and so on. In short, it meant spending the years that it has taken to write this book. There are many people who have contributed to the production of this work and my development as a philosopher, scholar, and teacher, and I cannot hope to thank everyone here. There are, however, some people whose influence and support have been crucial for making this project a reality. The first is Michael Degnan who introduced me to philosophy at the University of St. Thomas. I will never forget the joy of learning modus ponens and modus tollens and reading both Plato and Aristotle in my first encounter with philosophy. Had I not been required to take philosophy as an undergraduate and had I not had the unforgettable experiences in those first philosophy courses, this book would have never been written. Worthy of mention are also the professors at Harvard, in particular Alison Simmons, who supported my application for the Frederick Sheldon Fellowship that sent me to Vienna for what became more than a year of study. During my studies at the University of Vienna, I met a number of people who helped me in innumerable ways. I would especially like to thank Barbara Salaquarda for her assistance upon arriving in Vienna, Johann Figl and Hans-Gerald Hödl for their academic advice and support during my studies, and Martin Liebscher, Alfred Dunshirn, Kurt Appel, Jakob Dellinger, and Peter Klien for their friendship and conversation about philosophy in general and Nietzsche in particular. I would also like to thank Daniel Conway for

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encouraging me to finish my graduate studies in the United States and for supporting me as I applied to doctoral programs. At Boston University, there are a number of people who played a key role in my education. Special thanks go out to Daniel Dahlstrom for agreeing to advise my project and for his continued support after I graduated from Boston University. Thanks to Stephanie Nelson, Rainer Friedrich, and Stephen Scully for helping me through my studies of ancient Greek. And thanks to David Roochnik, Gisela Striker, and Bernard Reginster for serving as members of my dissertation committee. I was also able to present the various ideas expressed in this work at annual conferences and workshops, and I would like to thank the hosts of and the audiences at the Nietzsche Werkstatt in Schulpforta, the conferences of the Friedrich Nietzsche Society, the APA meetings of the North American Nietzsche Society, the Eastern Division of the American Society for Aesthetics, and the Princeton Ancient Philosophy Graduate Conference for these wonderful opportunities. A special thanks also goes out to Helmut Heit and Anthony Jensen for inviting me to participate in the Berlin conference on Nietzsche and antiquity. Finally, thanks to my editors at de Gruyter, Michiel Klein-Swormink, Christoph Schirmer, and Axel Pichler, for their assistance in moving this manuscript to publication and to the readers of my manuscript, in particular Werner Stegmaier, for ensuring that my work addresses an international readership. I would also like to thank my colleagues at The University of Scranton for providing a welcoming and supportive environment since my arrival. There are too many to mention here. However, I would like to thank Daniel Haggerty, Crina Gschwandtner, and Clark Wolf for reading my work and giving helpful feedback and advice on the chapters that follow. Moreover, I am grateful to the administration at The University of Scranton for awarding me the Faculty Development Grant so that I could pursue this project over the summer months. Finally, I would like to thank my family, especially my wife Renata, for their support and understanding through the many years of my studies and the many hours I spent laboring on this project. Without them, this work would not have come to fruition. Scranton, PA, 8 August 2013

Matthew Meyer

Abbreviations Primary sources from Nietzsche and Schopenhauer are cited in the main text by abbreviation according to the standard conventions listed below. For the sake of consistency, I refer to the titles of Nietzsche’s and Schopenhauer’s works and their abbreviations in English. Classical texts are also cited in the main text by standard abbreviations and corresponding page and line numbers. For any German text that has not been translated, I refer to the original title. Otherwise, I refer to the translated title.

Works by Nietzsche Nietzsche’s works are typically cited by section number and, in the cases of EH, GM, and TI, an additional reference to the chapter title or essay number (see below). References to Z include the part number and chapter title (often abbreviated), e.g., (Z I Reading). Prefaces of works are referenced by a “Preface” after the abbreviated title. In cases where there are no section numbers, page numbers are used instead, indicated by the “p.” preceding the page number. All passages from WP are cited by section number and the corresponding note from Nietzsche’s Nachlass in KSA. In cases where a Nachlass note is not in WP, only KSA is cited and the translation is, unless otherwise noted, my own. In citing KSA, I begin with a reference to NL and then provide the volume number, followed by the manuscript number, and then the fragment number in brackets, e.g., (NL, KSA 7, 5[103]). When volume 14 of KSA is cited, only page numbers are referenced (indicated by the “p.”). I cite Nietzsche’s letters according to volume and letter number as they appear in KGB, e.g., (KGB III/1, Bf. 213). In some cases, I abbreviate longer titles of works when they appear in the main text. A AOM BGE BT CW D DS EH GM GS HH HL KGB KGW KSA NCW NL

The Antichrist Assorted Opinions and Maxims Beyond Good and Evil The Birth of Tragedy out of the Spirit of Music [BT Attempt] The Case of Wagner Daybreak David Strauss, the Writer and the Confessor Ecce Homo [EH Wise, EH Clever, EH Books, EH Destiny] On the Genealogy of Morals (Cited by essay number followed by section number) The Gay Science Human, All Too Human On the Uses and Disadvantages of History for Life Nietzsches Briefwechsel: Kritische Gesamtausgabe Nietzsche Werke: Kritische Gesamtausgabe Sämtliche Werke: Kritische Studienausgabe Nietzsche contra Wagner Drafts, Fragments, and Sketches from the Nachlass

x   

   Abbreviations

PPP PT PTAG SE TI

The Pre-Platonic Philosophers On the Pathos of Truth Philosophy in the Tragic Age of the Greeks Schopenhauer as Educator Twilight of the Idols [TI Arrows, TI Socrates, TI Reason, TI Fable, TI Morality, TI Errors, TI Improving, TI Germans, TI Skirmishes, TI Ancients, TI Hammer] On Truth and Lie in an Extra-Moral Sense Richard Wagner in Bayreuth The Will to Power We Philologists The Wanderer and His Shadow Thus Spoke Zarathustra

TL WB WP WPH WS Z

Works by Schopenhauer Schopenhauer’s works are typically cited by title abbreviation and section number. I also indicate the volume number with a Roman numeral when citing WWR. FR WWR

On the Fourfold Root of the Principle of Sufficient Reason The World as Will and Representation

Classical Texts Texts by Aristotle, Aristophanes, Plato, and Thucydides are cited by the following abbreviations with the standard page and line numbering for Plato (Stephanus) and Aristotle (Bekker). I cite Heraclitus and Parmenides by the fragment number in DK. I cite Aristophanes by line number and Thucydides by chapter and section number. Apo. Bd. Crat. DA De DK Hist. Met. Phd. Phy. Prot. Rep. Symp. Tht.

Aristotle, Posterior Analytics Aristophanes, Birds Plato, Cratylus Aristotle, De Anima Int. Aristotle, De Interpretatione Diels-Kranz, Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War Aristotle, Metaphysics Plato, Phaedo Aristotle, Physics Plato, Protagoras Plato, Republic Plato, Symposium Plato, Theaetetus

Contents Preface and Acknowledgements | vii Abbreviations | ix Introduction | 1 Reading Nietzsche’s Philosophy | 1 Reading Nietzsche’s Published and Unpublished Writings | 12 Reading Nietzsche’s Project through the Ancient Greeks | 24 Chapter One Becoming, Being, and the Problem of Opposites in Philosophy in the Tragic Age of the Greeks | 34 1.1 Introduction | 34 1.2 Tragic Philosophy in The Birth of Tragedy | 36 1.3 A Turn to Philosophy in the Tragic Age of the Greeks | 39 1.4 Nietzsche’s Doctrine of Heraclitean Becoming in the Secondary Literature | 44 1.4.1 Christoph Cox on Heraclitean Becoming | 45 1.4.2 John Richardson on Heraclitean Becoming | 50 1.5 Heraclitean Becoming in Philosophy in the Tragic Age of the Greeks | 54 1.6 The Response of Nietzsche’s Parmenides to Nietzsche’s Heraclitus | 63 1.7 A Rebirth of Antiquity? | 67 Chapter Two Aristotle’s Defense of the Principle of Non-Contradiction in Metaphysics IV | 75 2.1 Introduction | 75 2.2 Nietzsche’s Critique of Logic | 78 2.3 An Overview of Aristotle’s Defense of the Principle of NonContradiction | 83 2.4 Three Formulations of the Principle of Non-Contradiction in Metaphysics IV | 84 2.5 Aristotle’s Elenctic Defense | 88 2.6 The Devastating Consequences of Denying PNC-Ontological | 94 2.7 Empiricism, Naturalism, and the Denial of PNC-Ontological | 102 2.8 Aristotle’s Critique of the Heraclitean-Cratylean Theory of Change | 104 2.9 Aristotle’s Critique of Protagoras on Perception | 108 2.10 Some Concluding Remarks | 114

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Chapter Three Naturalism, Becoming, and the Unity of Opposites in Human, All Too Human | 116 3.1 Introduction | 116 3.2 Maudemarie Clark on the Falsification Thesis | 119 3.3 Natural Science, Heraclitean Ontology, and the Falsification Thesis | 123 3.4 Natural Science and Heraclitean Ontology in The Pre-Platonic Philosophers | 128 3.5 A Turn to Human, All Too Human | 130 3.6 Natural Science and Heraclitean Ontology in Human, All Too Human 1–2 | 135 3.7 Heraclitean Ontology and the Falsification Thesis in Human, All Too Human | 140 3.8 The Tragic Philosophy of Human, All Too Human | 147 3.9 Human, All Too Human and the Development of the Free Spirit | 150 Chapter Four Heraclitean Becoming and Protagorean Perspectivism in Plato’s Theaetetus | 153 4.1 Introduction | 153 4.2 Justifying the Turn to Plato’s Theaetetus | 156 4.3 Knowledge is Perception and the Four Theses | 158 4.4 Knowledge is Perception | 161 4.5 From Knowledge is Perception to Protagoras’ Homo Mensura | 162 4.6 From Homo Mensura to the Secret Doctrines of Heraclitus | 164 4.7 A Preliminary Account of Perception and a Puzzle | 168 4.8 Heraclitean Ontology and a Secret Theory of Perception | 170 4.9 The Final Stage of the Secret Doctrine | 175 4.10 Some Preliminary Objections to Protagoras’ Homo Mensura | 178 4.11 Protagoras’ Homo Mensura and the Problem of Self-Refutation | 181 4.12 The Incompatibility of Heraclitean Ontology and Knowledge is Perception | 189 4.13 The Refutation of Knowledge is Perception | 192 4.14 Some Concluding Remarks | 195 Chapter Five Heraclitean Becoming, Protagorean Perspectivism, and the Will to Power in Beyond Good and Evil | 198 5.1 Introduction | 198 5.2 Nietzsche’s Perspectivism in the Secondary Literature | 202 5.3 Perspectivism in Gustav Teichmüller’s Die wirkliche und die scheinbare Welt | 210

Contents   

5.4 5.5 5.6 5.7 5.8 5.9

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Nietzsche’s Perspectivism in The Gay Science and On the Genealogy of Morals | 214 Some Preliminary Remarks on Beyond Good and Evil | 220 Heraclitean Ontology and the Falsification Thesis in Beyond Good and Evil | 222 Heraclitean Ontology and Protagorean Perspectivism in Beyond Good and Evil | 232 Heraclitean Ontology and the Will to Power in Beyond Good and Evil | 244 Reading the Will to Power through the Ancient Greeks | 260

Epilogue Five Prefaces to Five Unwritten Books on Nietzsche’s Published Works | 265 Introduction | 265 Preface I: Thus Spoke Zarathustra as the Rebirth of Tragedy | 266 Preface II: The Birth of Tragedy and Its Shadow | 268 Preface III: The Works of the Free Spirit and the Music-Playing Socrates | 269 Preface IV: The Dionysian Comedy of Nietzsche’s 1888 Works | 271 Preface V: The Revaluation of Values and Dionysus versus the Crucified | 273 Concluding Remarks | 276 Appendix The Periodization of Nietzsche’s Works | 277 Bibliography | 279 Index | 297

Introduction Reading Nietzsche’s Philosophy In recent years, certain battle lines have been drawn as to how one should interpret Nietzsche’s philosophy. One of the central questions that has come to the fore is whether Nietzsche is a naturalist whose philosophy is continuous in some way with the natural sciences or a literary-minded postmodernist who seeks to undermine the authority of natural science by reducing it to just one interpretive construct or narrative among others. Although some, like Christoph Cox, have sought to reconcile these two strands in Nietzsche’s thinking,¹ others, such as Brian Leiter, have held them to be mutually exclusive.² In particular, Leiter has portrayed the debate between the naturalist and the postmodern Nietzsche as a debate between those, like Freud, who see Nietzsche as discovering certain deep and hidden facts about human nature and those, like Foucault, who deny that there are any non-interpretive facts about human nature waiting to be discovered. In the Anglo-American context, Leiter identifies the likes of Arthur Danto, Alexander Nehamas, and Richard Rorty as those who have defended the postmodern reading of Nietzsche.³ In contrast, Leiter sees his own commentary on Nietzsche’s On the Genealogy of Morals as contributing to a growing list of interpreters such as Richard Schacht and Maudemarie Clark who have granted primacy to the naturalist strand in Nietzsche’s thinking.⁴ In what follows, I argue that Nietzsche belongs to a version of the naturalist tradition that Leiter defends. The kind of naturalism I attribute to Nietzsche can be best understood by what it rejects. On the one hand, I follow a number of commentators in presenting a naturalist Nietzsche who rejects a transcendent, non-natural world of gods, forms, and souls, and who seeks to understand human life in terms of various natural drives, instincts, and affects associated with the body.⁵ On the other hand, I also argue that Nietzsche qua naturalist rejects what Leiter has called the Rortyan idea that “science is just one ‘perspective’ on the world, no more justified or true

1 Cox (1999). 2 Leiter (2002, pp. 1ff.). 3 Danto (1965), Nehamas (1985), and Rorty (1989). In German scholarship, Dellinger (2012, p.  149) aligns his views with Müller-Lauter (1999a) and Simon (1999) in rejecting the idea that, for Nietzsche, the natural sciences can make objectively valid claims. Although there is no mention of Leiter’s position in his work, Borsche (2012, p. 466) also rejects the idea that Nietzsche sees in Wissenschaft (which includes the natural sciences) a new vehicle to a final truth. 4 Schacht (1983) and Clark (1990). For an updated and expanded list of commentators, see Leiter (2013). 5 See Janaway (2007, p. 34) for the claim that most commentators would now agree that Nietzsche is a naturalist in this sense. However, this claim may be more controversial outside Anglo-American scholarship. See Leiter (2013) for a list of some commentators who would be surprised by this claim.

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   Introduction

than any other perspective one might adopt.”⁶ According to the naturalist reading I offer, Nietzsche thinks that science can provide a true and approximate description of reality (HH 29 and GS 112),⁷ and this is why – even though he rejects the idea that truth has an absolute value (GS 344), critiques the will to truth (BGE 1) and the related ideal of objectivity (BGE 207), speaks of “the problem of science” (BT Attempt 2), and associates science with the ascetic ideal (GM III 24) – he nevertheless appeals to the results of the natural sciences to justify his claims about the nature of reality (HH 19 and BGE 12). I also develop my reading of Nietzsche by connecting his larger philosophical project to the naturalism and empiricism characteristic of pre-Socratic natural philosophers or physiologoi.⁸ Specifically, I argue that Nietzsche’s naturalism and empiricism lead him to adopt the following Heraclitean and Protagorean views that Plato and Aristotle critically analyze in the Theaetetus and Metaphysics IV, respectively: (1) a Heraclitean unity of opposites doctrine that is thought to violate the principle of non-contradiction, (2) a Heraclitean doctrine of becoming which makes change an essential feature of nature, and (3) a Protagorean perspectivism in which objects of knowledge are held to be projections of and therefore relative to a subject that also exists only in relation to the objects it perceives and knows. Although these views might seem unrelated, I argue that the unity of opposites doctrine entails a relational ontology in which everything exists and is what it is only in relation to something else and that this relational ontology is not only a common element of Nietzsche’s perspectivism, his doctrine of becoming, and his rejection of the principle of noncontradiction, it is also the position Plato uses in the Theaetetus to bind the views of Heraclitus and Protagoras together. In terms of the contemporary debate, linking Nietzsche’s philosophical project to these Heraclitean and Protagorean doctrines is significant because they either resemble or entail a number of claims that postmodern commentators have attributed to Nietzsche. In particular, I argue that Nietzsche’s relational ontology entails a commitment to the following views that have some resemblance to the postmodern reading: (1) There are no intrinsic facts, only relational facts or interpretations; (2) the world, in-itself, is radically indeterminate; (3) there is no truth, in the sense of a true world of things-in-themselves; (4) knowledge, in the traditional sense of epistêmê, is 6 Leiter (2002, p. 21). Similarly, I disagree with Danto’s (1965, p. 92) claim that Nietzsche could not “tolerate the boast that science, in repudiating common sense, has discovered the ‘true’ world.” 7 Nevertheless, I do argue, pace Leiter, that Nietzsche understands ultimate explanations to be valueladen interpretations, rather than based on certain facts discovered by the natural sciences. Although my understanding of Nietzsche’s attempt to explain various phenomena through the will to power resembles the speculative aspect of the methodological naturalism that Leiter (2002, pp. 4f. and 2013) defends, I resist associating such speculations with the methods and results of the natural sciences because Nietzsche’s speculations are based on introspection and so they necessarily contain anthropomorphic elements foreign to science and scientific objectivity. 8 I also follow Leiter (2002, pp. 39ff.) in this respect.

Reading Nietzsche’s Philosophy   

   3

impossible; (5) to avoid nihilism, philosophy should be transformed from a process of discovery into one of artistic creation. Given these points, it might seem that I am simply following Cox in trying to reconcile the naturalist and postmodern strands in Nietzsche’s thinking. However, I emphasize the naturalist side of Nietzsche’s philosophy throughout this study because I want to contrast my reading with a central component of the postmodern interpretation that I reject. This component has been put forth by Nehamas,⁹ and a version of it has been embraced by Cox and can be found in the work of Steven Hales and Rex Welshon as well as Walter Patt.¹⁰ It states that Nietzsche’s perspectivism prevents him from presenting any of his views dogmatically, which Nehamas understands as presenting views that “should be accepted by everyone on account of their rational, objective, and unconditional authority.”¹¹ I reject this claim because the seemingly postmodern positions found in Nietzsche’s work are rooted in his denial of things-in-themselves, and his rejection of things-in-themselves is, in turn, rooted in a belief that Nietzsche thinks everyone should accept on account of its scientific, objective, and unconditional authority, namely, that everything exists and is what it is only in relation to something else. On my reading, Nietzsche does not therefore reject all facts, all determinacy, all truth, all knowledge, and the philosophical project altogether. Instead, he only rejects facts about things-in-themselves, determinacy with regard to things-in-themselves, truth as a property of things-in-themselves, knowledge of and that is derived from things-in-themselves, and the philosophical quest to discover and live according to things-in-themselves. So when Nietzsche claims to reject truth (WP 616; NL, KSA 12, 2[108]), he is not rejecting all truth, but truth insofar as it is understood as a property of the world. Since he believes that a relational ontology is true and a relational ontology entails the rejection of things-in-themselves, he holds that there is no true world in the sense of a world of non-relational things-in-themselves.¹² Similarly, he rejects knowledge, in the traditional sense of epistêmê, precisely because he claims to know, in the sense of having a justified true belief, that the world is constituted by relations (WP 517; NL, KSA 12, 9[89]). This is because he implicitly follows Plato and Schopenhauer in holding that genuine knowledge or epistêmê is either of things-in-themselves or of facts that can be explained by things-in-themselves and their intrinsic properties.¹³ Since he claims to know that a relational ontology is the case and therefore that 9 Nehamas (1985). 10 Cox (1999, pp. 3 and 51), Patt (1997, p. 137), and Hales and Welshon (2000, pp. 17ff.). 11 Nehamas (1985, p. 4). 12 Although Nietzsche denies the existence of a “true world” in the sense of a metaphysical world of things-in-themselves, he nevertheless refers to becoming as the “ultimate truth” (NL, KSA 9, 11[162]) and the “only reality” (WP 12; NL, KSA 13, 11[99]). 13 Schopenhauer attributes the following to Plato: “The things of this world, perceived by our senses, have no true being at all; they are always becoming, but they never are. They have only relative being; hence their whole existence can just as well be called non-being. Consequently, they are likewise

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   Introduction

there are no things-in-themselves, Nietzsche can know or have a justified true belief that there is no knowledge in the traditional sense of epistêmê. In trying to understand Nietzsche’s relationship to the philosophical project, this distinction can again be employed to see why Rorty is wrong to claim that Nietzsche is urging us to “drop the whole idea of ‘knowing the truth’.”¹⁴ Simply stated, a central part of Nietzsche’s project consists in seeking out true beliefs and uncovering false ones. One true belief he claims to have found is that everything exists and is what it is only in relation to something else, and the false belief he seeks to purge from both his thinking and our own is that there are things that exist and are what they are in virtue of themselves. At the same time, one can follow Rorty in holding that Nietzsche’s denial of things-in-themselves does lead him to move beyond, in his post-Zarathustra publications, the traditional philosophical quest to discover the truth in the form of things-in-themselves and the related attempt to live according to the truth. Because Nietzsche knows that there are nothing but relations, the quest to find the true nature of a thing by isolating it from all its relations would result in the dissolution of the thing. Since such a project is a recipe for nihilism or the dissolution of the world and even the self into nothingness, the post-Zarathustra Nietzsche seeks to replace the traditional philosophical project of discovering and then living according to the true world with a philosophy of the future, the task of which is to interpret the world in a way that makes life and even (perspectival) “knowledge” possible (BGE  211 and WP 552; NL, KSA 12, 9[91]). So although I side with Leiter in ascribing to Nietzsche a certain form of naturalism, I nevertheless part ways with Leiter and Clark by connecting Nietzsche’s naturalism to a relational ontology that the natural sciences are said to justify. In the language of contemporary philosophical debates, the ontology I attribute to Nietzsche bears a deep family resemblance to the ontic structural realism defended by James Ladyman, who argues that our best scientific theories support a relational ontology that opposes the idea, commonly accepted by contemporary metaphysicians, that relational structures must supervene on a world of individuals endowed with intrinsic properties.¹⁵ In short, my reading emphasizes the way in which the ontology Nietzsche inherits from the natural sciences cuts sharply against both metaphysical and commonsense understandings of the world and so the way in which the natural sciences reveal the falsity of most of our metaphysical and commonsense beliefs.

not objects of real knowledge (epistêmê), for there can be such a knowledge only of what exists in itself and for itself, and always in the same way” (WWR I 31). In chapter four, I discuss Plato’s view of knowledge in the context of my analysis of the Theaetetus and Plato’s refutation of the claim that knowledge is perception. 14 Rorty (1989, p. 27). 15 Ladyman and Ross (2007, pp. 148ff.).

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   5

At the same time, I try to block the inference, made by the likes of Günter Abel and Claus Zittel, that a scientifically justified,¹⁶ relational ontology¹⁷ necessitates the abandonment of objective truth,¹⁸ leads to a rejection of truth as correspondence,¹⁹ entails that there are multiple truths,²⁰ and has a necessarily circular and selfreferential character.²¹ On my reading, Nietzsche thinks that the relational structure of reality is independent of our scientific theories and commonsense beliefs, and so he believes that this relational ontology is an objective fact about which we can be right or wrong. As noted above, Nietzsche appeals to this understanding of reality to declare that most of our beliefs are false because they fail to correspond to it. This, of course, does not reject truth as correspondence, but rather presupposes it. So even though Nietzsche does turn to assessing judgments according to their life-promoting capacity in Beyond Good and Evil (BGE 4) and occasionally calls these life-promoting errors “truths” in the Nachlass (WP  493; NL, KSA  11, 34[253]), he never completely abandons a correspondence theory of truth precisely because these “truths” are, in fact, errors.²² Furthermore, Nietzsche does speak of many life-promoting “truths” and many perspectival “worlds,” but he does so because he believes in a single, objective truth about the world, namely, that things exist and are what they are only in relation to something else. Finally, although Nietzsche does acknowledge the selfreferential and so circular character of his doctrine of the will to power (BGE 22), the will to power is an interpretation of a world that is essentially one of relationships

16 Abel (1998, pp. 85ff.) links Nietzsche’s ontology to developments in the natural sciences. 17 Zittel (2000a, pp.  77ff.) details Nietzsche’s commitment to Relationswelten or relational worlds. However, I resist his idea that Nietzsche’s relational ontology changes the way we should interpret his texts. 18 Zittel (2000b) makes this move. After citing passages to show that Nietzsche thinks that the world is one of relationships, he argues that because the world is one of relationships, there can be no objective truth. Although there is no one way the things of the world are independently of their relationships, Zittel must allow that there is one objective truth that explains why this is the case, namely, that the world is essentially one of relationships (NL, KSA 13, 14[184]). A similar pattern of argumentation is found in Abel (1998, pp. 143ff.), in which Nietzsche’s relational ontology is said to underwrite his rejection of objective truth. 19 Abel (1998, p. 325 and pp. 375ff.). Grimm (1977, pp. 43ff.) also holds that Nietzsche rejects the correspondence theory of truth, and Stegmaier (1985) speaks of Nietzsche’s new understanding of truth. 20 Abel (1989, p. 331). 21 Abel (1998, pp. 162ff.). 22 There is evidence in the Nachlass that Nietzsche was trying to conceive of truth in terms of an increase in the feeling of power (see WP 534 and compare with WP 532; NL, KSA 11, 40[15] and WP 533; NL, KSA 12, 9[91]). This, however, conflicts with what Nietzsche says in BGE 4, in which untruth is said to be a condition of life. Similarly, “On Truth and Lie” should not be read as containing a rejection of the correspondence theory of truth, as Reuter (2009, p. 7) claims. Nietzsche’s point in the essay is not to redefine truth as illusions (TL 1). Instead, he argues that what we assume to be truths are really illusions (and so not truths) precisely because they fail to correspond to reality.

6   

   Introduction

(NL, KSA 13, 14[184]), and the claim that the world is essentially one of relationships is not itself an interpretation.²³ It is for these and other reasons that I take Nietzsche’s relational ontology to be the cornerstone of his philosophical project, and in this work, I offer an extended defense of this claim. In so doing, I am following scholars such as Abel, Nehamas, Peter Poellner, Wolfgang Müller-Lauter, and Mattia Riccardi, who have all emphasized Nietzsche’s relational ontology.²⁴ However, I diverge from commentators such as Nehamas not only because I think Nietzsche holds that everyone should accept this relational ontology as true on account of its objective authority, but also because I locate this relational ontology at the beginning of what I take to be Nietzsche’s two most philosophically significant published works, namely, Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil.²⁵ Specifically, I argue that the first aphorism of Human, All Too Human (HH 1) and the second aphorism of Beyond Good and Evil (BGE 2), which both raise the question of how something can come from its opposite, are subtle expressions of Nietzsche’s commitment to a Heraclitean unity of opposites doctrine, and since I argue that the unity of opposites entails a relational ontology, HH 1 and BGE 2 should be read as expressing Nietzsche’s commitment to a relational ontology.²⁶ If this is right, Nietzsche’s relational ontology is not only theoretically foundational for his philosophical project, in the sense that it forms the basis for a number of his philosophical positions, including his views on becoming, perspectivism, and the principle of non-contradiction, but also textually foundational, in the sense that the doctrine, appearing in HH 1 and BGE 2, forms the basis for a number of the claims that Nietzsche puts forth in the subsequent aphorisms of these texts. Nevertheless, one might question whether Nietzsche is giving expression to this Heraclitean ontology in HH 1 and BGE 2. Although I will say more as this work unfolds, I want to note here that Nietzsche’s rejection of opposites in these two passages certainly seems to have a family resemblance with the unity of opposites doctrine that scholars attribute to Heraclitus.²⁷ Moreover, Nietzsche begins HH  1 with the claim that the philosophical problems of today have taken on the same form as “two-thousand years ago” (HH 1), a fact which indicates that Nietzsche is trying to

23 In section 5.8, I distinguish between the relational ontology of force that Nietzsche inherits from the natural sciences and his interpretation of these forces as wills to power. I do not believe that Abel (1998) makes such a distinction, and this might explain why he thinks that all of Nietzsche’s claims about the world have a circular and self-referential character, whereas I do not. 24 Abel (1998), Nehamas (1985, especially ch. 3), Poellner (1995, pp. 109ff. and 279ff.), Müller-Lauter (1999a), and Riccardi (2009). 25 See Glatzeder (2003, p. 115) for a defense of this claim with reference to Human, All Too Human and Clark and Dudrick (2012, p. 2) for a defense of this claim with reference to Beyond Good and Evil. 26 Müller-Lauter (1999a) is the interpreter most attuned to the problem of opposites in Nietzsche’s thinking and refers to both HH 1 and BGE 2 in his analysis (p. 11). 27 See Graham (2006, pp. 122ff.) for a recent discussion of Heraclitus’ unity of opposites doctrine, although Graham’s understanding of the view does diverge from that of Nietzsche.

Reading Nietzsche’s Philosophy   

   7

link his own project to debates in ancient philosophy. Furthermore, Nietzsche’s 1888 reworking of the passage explicitly links what he calls the historical solution to the problem of opposites to a “philosophy of becoming” and the metaphysical solution to the problem of opposites to a philosophy of being (KSA 14, p. 119). Although Heraclitus is not explicitly named here, we know from Nietzsche’s analysis of pre-Socratic philosophy in Philosophy in the Tragic Age that he contrasts Heraclitus’ doctrines of becoming and the unity of opposites with a doctrine of being that emerges from Parmenides’ strict separation of opposites (PTAG 9–10). Although such a reading of these two aphorisms is not commonplace in comprehensive interpretations of Nietzsche’s philosophy, it is by no means original. This is because both Peter Heller and Britta Glatzeder have argued in their commentaries on Human, All Too Human that Philosophy in the Tragic Age provides the key to unlocking the meaning of the problem of opposites in HH 1.²⁸ Because Nietzsche’s interpretation of Heraclitus’ philosophy also shows how becoming and the unity of opposites relate, I devote the first chapter of this work to a detailed exposition of the contents of Philosophy in the Tragic Age. On the one hand, Philosophy in the Tragic Age shows that change or becoming is an essential feature of nature precisely because the kinds of relations that hold at the fundamental level of reality are dynamic relations. On the other hand, Philosophy in the Tragic Age provides a framework that maps neatly onto the problem of opposites raised in HH  1 and the two competing solutions to the problem, namely, the historical and the metaphysical, that Nietzsche identifies in the aphorism. Whereas Nietzsche sees in Anaximander a figure that introduces the problem of opposites and becoming into ancient Greek philosophy, Nietzsche presents Heraclitus and Parmenides as two competing solutions to the problem. In terms of HH 1, Nietzsche’s Heraclitus presents a philosophy of becoming that can be equated with the historical philosophy that runs throughout Human, All Too Human, whereas Parmenides presents a philosophy of being that can be linked to the metaphysical philosophy rejected in HH 1. In turning to Philosophy in the Tragic Age, I also emphasize the fact that Nietzsche’s acceptance of these Heraclitean doctrines goes hand in hand with his empiricist commitments and his corresponding rejection of rationalism. Whereas Heraclitus is portrayed as a thinker who develops his ontology by way of acute observation of the sensible world, Nietzsche portrays Parmenides as rejecting Heraclitus’ philosophy not because it misconstrues the empirical world, but because such a construal of the empirical world violates Parmenides’ version of the principle of noncontradiction (PNC). In other words, Nietzsche’s Parmenides grants that Heraclitus is right to describe the empirical world in terms of a relational ontology, but because this relational ontology is said to violate PNC, Nietzsche’s Parmenides concludes that the empirical world must be an illusion. Because Nietzsche’s Parmenides assumes

28 Heller (1972) and Glatzeder (2000).

8   

   Introduction

that there is an isomorphism between how we think and the way the world is, the world, in its true form, cannot be contradictory. Because the senses reveal a world that is contradictory, one must reject the information that the senses provide and turn to reason alone to understand the true nature of the world. In so doing, Nietzsche’s Parmenides discovers a metaphysical world of being, something that corresponds to the logical principle of identity, A=A. One might expect Nietzsche to defend his Heraclitus from Parmenides’ attacks by simply showing how Heraclitus does not, in fact, construe the sensible world in a way that violates PNC. Instead, what Nietzsche does is reject Parmenides’ assumption that there is an isomorphism between thinking and being by challenging the idea that the world must conform to PNC. Although Nietzsche’s flaunting of PNC will worry many, it is important to distinguish between a logical version of PNC that governs statements and their truth values, where a proposition and its negation cannot be true at the same time, and an ontological version that governs things and their properties, where something cannot both be (F) and not be (F) at the same time and in the same respect. For Nietzsche, the unity of opposites, which entails that everything exists and is what it is only in relation to something else, does not violate the logical version of the principle because it does not also state or entail the negation of either the view that opposites are united or the view that everything exists and is what it is only in relation to something else. However, Nietzsche does think that the unity of opposites cuts against the fundamental structures of both language and thought, and therefore it could be construed as violating the ontological version of PNC. This is because the doctrine invites us to accept that the world is one of relations without preexisting relata, predicates without subjects, deeds without doers, etc. This, according to Nietzsche, is a world that we cannot think. Although Parmenides does not provide a defense of the isomorphism between thinking and being, Nietzsche also rejects, both in Philosophy in the Tragic Age and in his late Nachlass fragments (PTAG  5 and WP  516; NL, KSA  12, 9[97]), Aristotle’s formulation of PNC on similar grounds, and what is important about Aristotle’s formulation of PNC is that he offers an extended defense of the principle in Metaphysics IV. Moreover, because Aristotle defends, first and foremost, an ontological version of PNC, Metaphysics IV can be read as a defense of the Parmenidean presupposition that there is an isomorphism between the way we think and the way the world is, and it is for this reason that I devote chapter two of this work to an examination of Aristotle’s argument. In turning to Metaphysics IV, I highlight a number of other points immediately relevant to understanding the significance and content of Nietzsche’s project. First, Aristotle does not and cannot offer a positive proof of PNC. Instead, he provides what he calls an elenctic refutation of the denial of PNC, one that is designed to show that his interlocutor must accept the principle insofar as he accepts significant speech. In terms of Nietzsche’s own project, this claim is important because it gives us reason to think that Nietzsche’s denial of PNC goes hand in hand with his belief that language

Reading Nietzsche’s Philosophy   

   9

has historically seduced thinkers into adopting false beliefs about the world. Aristotle’s defense is also interesting because he dedicates a significant portion of Metaphysics IV to highlighting the terrible or tragic consequences of denying PNC. Indeed, the denial of Aristotle’s ontological formulation of PNC not only forces the interlocutor to agree with Protagoras that the world is radically indefinite, but also to embrace a skepticism that brings an end to the philosophical project as Aristotle understands it. As noted above, these are precisely the positions that postmodern readers have claimed to find in Nietzsche’s work and, in my mind, play a central role in shaping what I will call Nietzsche’s tragic philosophy. Finally, Aristotle devotes the remainder of his defense to diagnosing the reasons why pre-Socratic thinkers were led to the denial of PNC. Specifically, he attributes the pre-Socratic denial of PNC to a general mental outlook that can be understood in terms of their commitment to a certain sort of naturalism and empiricism, and Aristotle, like Plato, uses the fact that naturalism and empiricism culminate in the views of Heraclitus and Protagoras to reject the entire mental outlook and endorse a turn to some form of metaphysical speculation. In chapter three, I return to Nietzsche’s works to provide a close commentary of the first chapter of Human, All Too Human with the insights gained in the first two chapters. On the one hand, I show how Nietzsche expresses his commitment to a Heraclitean ontology of dynamic relations in the language of the contemporary natural sciences. On the other hand, I show how Nietzsche identifies certain unwanted or tragic consequences that result from his Heraclitean commitments as the first chapter of Human, All Too Human unfolds, consequences that are similar to those identified by Aristotle in his defense of PNC. First, Nietzsche’s commitment to an ontology of dynamic relations underwrites what is known in Nietzsche scholarship as the falsification thesis or what I define as the view that the structures of language and logic seduce us into adopting false beliefs about reality. Second, his ontology of dynamic relations results in a sort of skepticism, where we know enough about the world to know that our minds cannot adequately grasp reality. Finally, Nietzsche’s ontology of dynamic relations underwrites what I will call a tragic tension between truth and life. What I mean by this is that Nietzsche develops the view, already expressed in works such as The Birth of Tragedy and History for Life, that we must falsify the “true but deadly” (HL 9) world of Heraclitean becoming in order to function and flourish. It is for these reasons that Nietzsche thinks the scientific discovery of a Heraclitean worldview is a source of despair for the thinker who has dedicated his life to unveiling the naked truth (HH 33). As noted above, Beyond Good and Evil also begins with Nietzsche raising the problem of opposites (BGE 2), and although I go into more detail in the next section about how I situate both Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil within Nietzsche’s larger corpus, I will state here that the key difference between the two works can be explained in terms of the aforementioned tension between truth and life. Whereas Nietzsche presents himself as an Enlightenment thinker dedicated to the search for truth at all costs in Human, All Too Human, he reverses this relationship

10   

   Introduction

between life and truth in Beyond Good and Evil. Specifically, Nietzsche now holds that life is more valuable than truth and therefore he assesses judgments not according to their truth or falsity, but rather according to the degree to which they enhance and promote life (BGE  4). Nietzsche’s turn to life in Beyond Good and Evil is important because it is with this move that he introduces his doctrine of perspectivism, “the basic condition of all life” (BGE Preface). The emergence of perspectivism in Beyond Good and Evil is an important moment for my interpretation because the debate as to whether Nietzsche is a committed naturalist or one of the forefathers of so-called postmodern thinking turns very much on how one understands his perspectivism, and it is for this reason that I devote the fourth and fifth chapters of this work to dealing with the various problems associated with this view. In particular, my goal is to show that Nietzsche is clearly in the naturalist camp precisely because his perspectivism emerges from his attempt to carve out a life-affirming response to the deadly doctrine of becoming he finds expressed in the natural sciences of his day. In other words, just as he turns to life-promoting horizons in History for Life as a response to the deadly truth of Heraclitean becoming (HL 1 and 9), Nietzsche develops his doctrine of perspectivism in Beyond Good and Evil as a response to his continued commitment to a Heraclitean ontology that he inherits from the natural sciences of his day. In chapter four, I develop a model for understanding how Nietzsche’s perspectivism might relate to his Heraclitean commitments by turning to the HeracliteanProtagorean position that Plato articulates and critically analyzes in the Theaetetus. Although turning to the Theaetetus might seem unwarranted in this context, there are four reasons that justify such a move. The first is that it complements my analysis of Aristotle’s defense of PNC. This is because scholars have noted the way in which Aristotle borrows a number of the arguments he employs against Heraclitus and Protagoras in Metaphysics IV from Plato’s Theaetetus.²⁹ Second, commentators have noted the important role that Protagoras’ homo mensura doctrine plays in Nietzsche’s thinking,³⁰ and therefore my turn to the Theaetetus allows for a more detailed explication of this relationship. Third, Gustav Teichmüller’s work Die wirkliche und die scheinbare Welt is the source for Nietzsche’s use of the term “perspectivism,”³¹ and in his work, Teichmüller argues that if one were to deny the distinction between the real and apparent world, which Nietzsche does, one would be forced to agree with Heraclitus and Protagoras that man, with his senses, is indeed the measure of all things.³² The final reason comes from the fact that Plato has Socrates argue in the Theaetetus

29 See Lee (2005) for a work that treats Aristotle’s Metaphysics IV together with Plato’s Theaetetus. 30 In his discussion of the concept of truth, Simon Blackburn (2005, p. 72) identifies Nietzsche as a modern descendent of Protagoras. Also see Mann (2003). For further discussion of commentators who associate Nietzsche’s philosophy with the Protagorean view, see the third section of this introduction. 31 Nohl (1913). 32 Teichmüller (1882, p. 184).

Reading Nietzsche’s Philosophy   

   11

that Protagoras’ doctrine is somehow self-refuting (Tht. 170a–171c), and the problem of self-refutation has been a central topic of scholarly debate in recent years regarding the status of Nietzsche’s perspectivism.³³ In dealing with the problem of self-refutation in the Theaetetus, an important result for my understanding of Nietzsche’s perspectivism will emerge: Plato does not succeed in showing that the doctrine is self-refuting, but rather he shows that the Protagorean must either relativize the truth of homo mensura such that it is only true for those who espouse it or he must acknowledge that there is at least one thing of which man is not the measure, namely, the measure doctrine itself. This is an important result because it corresponds to the two possible solutions to what John Richardson has called the paradox of perspectivism or what I have called the problem of self-refutation. On the one hand, there is the perspectivist solution, which states that Nietzsche avoids the paradox of perspectivism by entertaining hypotheses or presenting views as true only “for him.” On the other hand, there is the two-level solution, which states that perspectivism is not universal in scope and therefore does not apply back to his central views on ethics, metaphysics, and even perspectivism itself.³⁴ The paradox of perspectivism and the related problem of self-refutation are the primary motivations for turning to the Theaetetus in this context.³⁵ This is because I argue throughout this work for a version of the two-level solution to the paradox of perspectivism, and I hold that the Theaetetus provides such a two-level solution precisely because it offers an account of how Protagoras’ doctrine is rooted in a nonperspectival, Heraclitean ontology that parallels the one I find in both Philosophy in the Tragic Age and Human, All Too Human. On the one hand, this Heraclitean picture reduces all of nature to indeterminate powers that exist only insofar as they are affecting and so standing in relation to other powers. On the other hand, the primary principle that governs this ontology is the view that everything exists and is what it is only in relation to something else. Indeed, this principle is important because it not only eliminates the distinction between appearance and reality, but also because it binds the Heraclitean and Protagorean positions together. It is with this Heraclitean-Protagorean theory in hand that I then turn, in chapter five, to the role that perspectivism plays in Nietzsche’s post-Zarathustra writings to show how it develops from his continued commitment to an ontology of dynamic relations. I begin by turning to Teichmüller’s exposition of the view to get a better sense of Nietzsche’s perspectivism. On the one hand, Teichmüller sometimes equates perspectivism with a relational ontology and therefore the key principle of the HeracliteanProtagorean position. On the other hand, he often articulates perspectivism in terms of a knowing subject projecting certain categories onto what he calls a multiplicity of sensations. In turning to Nietzsche’s works, I argue that he combines both under33 Danto (1965, p. 80) was one of the first to raise this issue. See section 5.2 for further discussion. 34 Richardson (1996, pp. 10f.). 35 Richardson (1996, p. 11) notes the relevance of the Theaetetus to this discussion.

12   

   Introduction

standings of perspectivism with his Heraclitean ontology. Not only does his Protagoreanism emerge with his injection of “value-estimations” into the dynamic relations that hold at the most fundamental level of reality, thereby allowing him to speak of the interpretive character of existence (GS  374; NL, KSA  12, 1[115]), he also follows Teichmüller in holding that conscious, linguistic creatures like ourselves organize the chaos of sensations into “life-worlds” or perspectives by projecting certain conceptual categories such as unity and thinghood onto brute sensations. In so doing, the “world” becomes not only a place that we can inhabit, but, as a reflection of our own cognitive apparatus, also “know.” With this background in mind, I then devote much of the chapter to an analysis of the opening sections of Beyond Good and Evil, arguing that Nietzsche’s interest in problems of life and value, coupled with his continued commitment to a Heraclitean ontology that makes it impossible to live according to nature, motivates his turn to perspectivism. Here I show that despite the introduction of perspectivism, his criticisms of science, and his presentation of the will to power as an interpretation and not text, Nietzsche is nevertheless committed to an ontology of dynamic relations that is justified by the natural sciences. I do this by showing that Nietzsche’s turn to falsifying perspectives is motivated by his belief that his ontology of dynamic relations is true, that his criticisms of modern natural science are directed at mechanistic science only, and that although the will to power is an interpretive projection of human psychology that determines what an otherwise indeterminate nature essentially is, it is nevertheless distinct from the relational ontology that Nietzsche inherits from the natural sciences of his day. Thus, the Nietzsche of Beyond Good and Evil continues to believe that science can offer us an accurate description of the world, but unlike Human, All Too Human, Nietzsche is now interested in detailing the conditions under which we can live and flourish given such a picture of the world, and these conditions include the falsification of nature for the purposes of life and even perspectival “knowledge.”

Reading Nietzsche’s Published and Unpublished Writings³⁶ In the first part of this introduction, I endeavored to situate my approach to Nietzsche’s philosophy within contemporary scholarship. In so doing, I touched upon the fact that Nietzsche expresses his Heraclitean commitments at the beginning of both Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil and have suggested that these doctrines should therefore be understood as playing a foundational role in shaping the contents of each of these texts. In the second part of this introduction, I want to say more about this textual claim by situating my project within a larger interpretive

36 For a list of Nietzsche’s works and how I interpret them, see the appendix.

Reading Nietzsche’s Published and Unpublished Writings   

   13

framework of Nietzsche’s published texts that I have sketched in other places³⁷ and will further discuss in the epilogue to this work. Here, I attempt to offer an explanation of the transition that takes place from Human, All Too Human to Beyond Good and Evil with respect to the relative importance that Nietzsche places on life and truth in each and also indicate how the philosophy articulated in Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil might be related to what I think is Nietzsche’s Dionysian poetry in works such as Thus Spoke Zarathustra and Ecce Homo. The framework I have in mind goes something like this. From the publication of his first work to his collapse into madness, Nietzsche remains committed to the rebirth of what might be called a tragic worldview and the corresponding poetry associated with the Greek god Dionysus. However, the trajectory of this project undergoes two significant transformations from the publication of The Birth of Tragedy in 1872 to the publication of Human, All Too Human in 1878. The first transformation occurs when Nietzsche replaces the metaphysical framework that he uses to give expression to this tragic worldview in The Birth of Tragedy with a naturalized, anti-metaphysical ontology of dynamic relations that he first articulates in Philosophy in the Tragic Age via his interpretation of Heraclitus and then makes his own in Human, All Too Human. The second transformation occurs when Nietzsche breaks with Wagner in 1876. Prior to this break, Nietzsche had hoped that Wagner would realize this cultural project with his operas at the inaugural Bayreuther-Festspiele in 1876. Nietzsche attended the first festival, but quickly left, disappointed with what he had witnessed. On my reading, Nietzsche did not then abandon his cultural project, but rather resolved to take it over himself. In so doing, his pre-1877 works effectively became blueprints or promissory notes for the works that would unfold from the publication of Human, All Too Human to his final efforts in Ecce Homo and his Dionysian Dithyrambs. One example of this can be found in the relationship between The Birth of Tragedy and Zarathustra. Although Nietzsche initially published The Birth of Tragedy with the intention of giving expression to his hopes for a rebirth of tragedy in the form of Wagnerian opera, the work can now be read as a document that provides important clues for understanding the development and structure of his own tragedy in Zarathustra. Having separated Nietzsche’s post-1877 works from his pre-1877 works, his post1877 works can be further divided according to the publication of Zarathustra. In Ecce Homo, Nietzsche characterizes the period prior to and including Zarathustra as his yes-saying project, whereas the works following Zarathustra should be understood as his no-doing project (EH Books BGE 1). My reading follows this division, but articulates it in the following way. The first period of his post-1877 works begins with Human, All Too Human, includes all of the works that fall under the rubric of the “free spirit” (Assorted Maxims and Opinions, The Wanderer and His Shadow, Daybreak, and The Gay Science), and culminates in the tragedy and satyr play of Zarathustra, the first

37 I have sketched this framework in a series of articles. See Meyer (2002), (2004), (2006), and (2012).

14   

   Introduction

three books of which constitute Nietzsche’s tragic trilogy and the fourth book functions as a satyr play.³⁸ The second period begins with Beyond Good and Evil, includes the Genealogy as an expansion on the themes presented at the end of Beyond Good and Evil (KSA 14, p. 377), and culminates in both his Dionysian Dithyrambs and what I take to be the Dionysian comedy of his 1888 works, such that Ecce Homo functions as the centerpiece or parabasis of this comedy.³⁹ So understood, one can find in Nietzsche’s post-1877 oeuvre works that correspond to the four poetic genres associated with the Greek god Dionysus, namely, tragedy, comedy, satyr play, and dithyramb. If this framework is correct, then locating Nietzsche’s relational ontology at the beginning of both Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil has increased significance. This is because the claim put forth here is not just that this ontology appears at the beginning and shapes the contents of what are perhaps the two most philosophical texts in Nietzsche’s corpus. Instead, it is the further claim that these views stand at the beginning of two texts that each function as the first work in a series of publications that culminates, in both instances, in Nietzsche’s activity as a Dionysian poet. So understood, one begins to see not only the textual significance of the opening aphorisms of Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil, but also that there might be some theoretical link between the Heraclitean philosophy Nietzsche adopts in Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil and the Dionysian poetry he creates in Zarathustra and Ecce Homo. Instead of delving into the theoretical link between Nietzsche’s philosophy and his poetry at this juncture, I want to say something about how my reading of Nietzsche’s published works differs from the approaches to his corpus that have been predominant in recent years. The first approach was put forth by Martin Heidegger and has been followed, at least in practice, by interpreters such as MüllerLauter, Johann Figl, Holger Schmid, Abel, Danto, Schacht, Poellner, Richardson, and Hales and Welshon.⁴⁰ It states that Nietzsche’s genuine philosophy is to be found in his unpublished fragments and notes or Nachlass, some of which were used by Nietzsche’s sister and his literary executor, Heinrich Köselitz, for generating a book

38 Loeb (2010, pp. 92f.) has given the most explicit statement of this reading: “Nietzsche provides clues that his design of the entire Zarathustra was modeled from the start on a particular kind of Aeschylean tragedy; and also that his design of Part IV was modeled on the satyr play at the end of the tetralogy that parodied the thematically related material in the preceding trilogy.” I have also argued that Zarathustra should be read as a tragedy, see Meyer (2002). For others who read Zarathustra as a tragedy, see Gooding-Williams (2001, pp. 50ff.), Higgins (1988, pp. 136ff.), and Reginster (2006, p. 52). See Loeb (2010, pp. 91f., fn. 13) for references to those who have suggested that Zarathustra IV be read as a satyr play. 39 Meyer (2012). 40 Abel (1998), Danto (1965), Figl (1982), Schmid (1984), Hales and Welshon (2000), Müller-Lauter (1999a), Poellner (1995), Richardson (1996), and Schacht (1983).

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   15

that Nietzsche never wrote, namely, The Will to Power.⁴¹ Although Heidegger offers little justification for his claim, the obscure, esoteric, aphoristic, and Heraclitean style of a number of Nietzsche’s published works do encourage a turn to the Nachlass fragments. This is because in the Nachlass Nietzsche not only reveals in a rather straightforward manner what he thinks, but he occasionally explains why he thinks the way he does.⁴² Nevertheless, this fact alone does not justify the relative neglect of the published works that Heidegger’s reading encourages, and it is for this and other reasons that the scholarly reaction to Heidegger’s approach has been, as Bernard Reginster notes, “strongly negative and justified on a variety of grounds.”⁴³ In particular, Clark and Leiter have followed Bernd Magnus in dividing the published works from Nietzsche’s Nachlass, giving greater, if not exclusive, weight to the former.⁴⁴ Whereas Clark seems to reject the Nachlass as legitimate evidence as to whether Nietzsche held a view at a given time, Leiter goes so far as to claim that Nietzsche “wanted his notebooks destroyed after his death.”⁴⁵ The problem with Leiter’s claim is that it depends on and even seems to exaggerate a story for which there is no firsthand evidence.⁴⁶ Both Hollingdale and Magnus have suggested that Nietzsche wanted his landlord to destroy some of the materials for what was supposed to be The Will to Power. Nevertheless, Magnus acknowledges that he cannot fully substantiate this claim, since the only thing we know for certain is that Nietzsche wanted to have an unpublished variant of the preface to Twilight of the Idols burned.⁴⁷ This, however, is hardly evidence for claiming that Nietzsche wanted his notebooks destroyed, which seems to be Leiter’s position.

41 Heidegger (1991a, p. 9) writes: “What Nietzsche himself published during his creative life was always foreground. That is also true of his first treatise, The Birth of Tragedy from the Spirit of Music (1872). His philosophy proper was left behind as posthumous, unpublished work.” 42 This, I take it, is a central part of Müller-Lauter’s (1999a, pp.  124f.) defense of Heidegger’s approach. 43 Reginster (2006, p. 16). See Stegmaier (2009) for a recent condemnation of Heidegger’s prioritization of the Nachlass. 44 Magnus (1988b, p. 222) divides scholars into “lumpers” or those who indiscriminately lump together Nietzsche’s claims in the published works with his remarks in his Nachlass and “splitters” or those who distinguish between the published works and the unpublished materials. In contrast to Leiter and Clark, Magnus argues that splitters are more likely to see Nietzsche as the fountainhead of postmodern philosophy. 45 Leiter (2002, p. xvii). Cohen (2010, p. 25) places a similarly exaggerated claim at the beginning of the first chapter of his book: “Nietzsche seems to have desired that notebook material he did not utilize in his published works be burned.” 46 Leiter bases his claim on Hollingdale (1999, p. 250). 47 See Magnus (1988b, p. 234, fn. 18). For a critical discussion of the story, see Williams (2001, p. 65), who concludes that, “this one dubious example seems insufficient grounds to reject all the controversial Nachlass notes.”

16   

   Introduction

The problem with Clark’s reading, on the other hand, is that it is counterintuitive. If one is simply trying to determine whether Nietzsche was thinking something at some time, the Nachlass can, in a number of instances, provide sufficient evidence for making such a determination. Clark denies this point on the grounds that the Nachlass leaves us without any context for interpreting these sketches and fragments,⁴⁸ and although context might be necessary for interpreting a note such as “I forgot my umbrella” (NL, KSA 9, 12[62]),⁴⁹ it is difficult to see why a larger interpretive context is needed in all cases. For example, there seems to be little need for additional context to see an 1888 note as evidence that Nietzsche continued to believe, even after the publication of the Genealogy, that logic and language seduce us into adopting false beliefs about reality (WP 584; NL, KSA 13, 14[153]). In the end, it seems that what is really behind the positions of Clark and Leiter on these matters is not an independent consideration of the relationship between the Nachlass and the published works, but an attempt to interpret away any views deemed philosophically weak or even silly by contemporary standards.⁵⁰ As I see it, this is achieved by a divide-and-conquer strategy: first separate the published works from the Nachlass, then argue that the Nachlass cannot be used as a legitimate source of evidence for Nietzsche’s views, and finally interpret away any evidence in the published works for a philosophically suspect view by highlighting how infrequently such a view occurs, how the presentation of such a view is hypothetical and ambiguous, and how Nietzsche offers no legitimate arguments to justify the position in question.⁵¹ By employing this strategy, one can argue, for instance, that it is wrong to ascribe to Nietzsche a cosmological doctrine of the will to power, first, because the presentation of the view in BGE 36 is guarded, hypothetical, and even conflicts with what Nietzsche says elsewhere and, second, because the clear statement of the view in WP 1067 (NL, KSA 11, 38[12]) cannot be counted as evidence on the grounds that Nietzsche never published it and, according to Leiter, wanted it “discarded.”⁵²

48 Clark (1990, p. 25). 49 See Derrida (1979, p. 123) for a lengthy discussion of the fragment. 50 This is the language Leiter (2002, p. xvii) uses. 51 Such a strategy finds parallels to Müller-Lauter’s (1999a, pp. 125–130) characterization of Schlechta’s approach to the Nachlass and the related status of the will to power doctrine. For a critique of Müller-Lauter’s overemphasis on the Nachlass material in light of recent developments with the critical edition of Nietzsche’s works (KGW), see Endres and Pichler (2013). 52 Leiter (2002, p.  139) appeals to Montinari (1991, pp.  103f.) as evidence that Nietzsche wanted WP 1067 discarded. However, Montinari does not claim that Nietzsche wanted WP 1067 “discarded,” in the sense of wanting it to be gotten rid of, destroyed, or burned. Instead, Montinari claims that Nietzsche did not see the need to incorporate the passage into his sketches for the planned book, The Will to Power, because he had already expressed the views of WP 1067 in BGE 36. So rather than rejecting the passage as legitimate evidence for Nietzsche’s views, Montinari claims that WP 1067 has philosophical value and should therefore be published as part of Nietzsche’s Nachlass. For further discussion of this issue, see Endres and Pichler (2013).

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In contrast to the approaches of Heidegger, on the one hand, and Clark and Leiter, on the other hand, I hold that the best way of understanding the relationship between the published and unpublished works is what Reginster has dubbed the “priority principle,”⁵³ which I understand as the view that Nietzsche’s positions in the published works have priority over those in the Nachlass, both in terms of our attention and in cases of potential conflict, and that the primary but not exclusive value of the Nachlass consists in helping the interpreter explain and expand upon the views expressed in the published works. In my own efforts, I follow the priority principle to defend central components of my interpretation. Not only do I turn to Nietzsche’s unpublished essay on pre-Socratic philosophy to decipher the meaning of the obscure and yet significant “problem of opposites” that Nietzsche places at the beginning of Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil, I use fragments from the Nachlass to establish theoretical connections between views such as perspectivism and the will to power that appear in the opening sections of Beyond Good and Evil. Although there is good reason to think that most commentators accept the priority principle in theory, any clear distinction between the published and unpublished writings often gets blurred in practice. This, I think, is a consequence of another view that is prevalent in Nietzsche scholarship about the status of his published works. Specifically, it is the one put forth by Danto at the beginning of his influential book, Nietzsche as Philosopher: Nietzsche’s books give the appearance of having been assembled rather than composed. They are made up, in the main, of short, pointed aphorisms, and of essays seldom more than a few pages long; each volume is more like a treasury of the author’s selections than like a book in its own right. Any given aphorism or essay might as easily have been placed in one volume as in another without much affecting the unity or structure of either. And the books themselves, except for their chronological ordering, do not exhibit any special structure as a corpus.⁵⁴

Danto’s approach to the published works undermines any formal distinction between the published works and the Nachlass because it effectively transforms the published works into collections of arbitrarily assembled notes or fragments.⁵⁵ Furthermore, Danto couples his claim concerning the lack of organization in Nietzsche’s published works with the idea that the task of the commentator is to piece together Nietzsche’s system for him by indiscriminately quoting from the seeming hodgepodge of ideas 53 Reginster (2006, p. 16). Interestingly, Leiter (2002, p. xvii) also seems to endorse a version of this principle. Although Stegmaier does not use the term, he articulates and endorses a version of the priority principle: “While notes that Nietzsche did not intend for publication can offer important assistance, they should not themselves become the basis of such an interpretation” (2009, p. 5). 54 Danto (1965, p. 19). Danto (2005, p. xvi) has since regretted the excess of this view, stressing the fact that he failed to notice that Nietzsche’s texts could be understood as literature. However, my point here is not to emphasize the literary quality of Nietzsche’s works, but to stress their philosophical coherence. 55 Cohen (2010, p. 15) makes a similar point.

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   Introduction

found in both his published and unpublished materials. In this way, Danto agrees with what one might call a hypothetical postmodern reader who finds in Nietzsche’s published works a series of fragmented reflections. However, Danto disagrees with this hypothetical postmodern reader in rejecting the inference that Nietzsche intended his works to be fragmented or even contradictory so as to reflect a fragmented and contradictory world. Instead, Danto holds that the lack of systematicity in Nietzsche’s published works is due to his “singular lack of architectonic talent.”⁵⁶ Therefore, Danto believes that his task, as a matter of interpretive charity, is to help Nietzsche by systematizing his work for him. Thus, Danto devotes each chapter of his work to discussing Nietzsche’s views on a particular topic by bringing together evidence from a wide range of writings to form what look to be relatively coherent positions. Although few have explicitly committed themselves to Danto’s approach, it is implicit in the work of Schacht, Richardson, and Hales and Welshon.⁵⁷ As Werner Stegmaier has argued, the problem with this approach is that it adopts the practice of what Nietzsche calls his worst readers: “The worst readers are those who behave like plundering troops: they take away a few things they can use, dirty and confound the remainder, and revile the whole” (AOM 137).⁵⁸ In contrast, Stegmaier advocates an approach that requires reading Nietzsche’s aphorisms “slowly and thoroughly within the contexts in which he placed them and, further, that one always be attuned, in this reading, to new surprises.”⁵⁹ Although some might temper Stegmaier’s claims that the meanings of aphorisms are “in flux” and so they “encompass ‘infinite interpretations’,”⁶⁰ there is no doubt that the aphorism allows for an openness in interpretation in a way that, say, Descartes’ Meditations does not. As Paul van Tongeren notes, the deliberately unfinished nature of Nietzsche’s aphorisms requires the reader “to complete, fill out, continue, connect, apply, speculate, and so forth,”⁶¹ and so readers will inevitably complete and connect these aphorisms in different ways. However, this should not undermine the idea that by reading these aphorisms in their respective contexts one can detect in an aphoristic work like Beyond Good and Evil what Nietzsche calls “the long logic of a most certain philosophical sensibility” (KGB III/5, Bf. 974) and so discover certain recurring themes that Nietzsche unpacks and develops as the aphorisms of a given work unfold.⁶²

56 Danto (1965, p. 22). 57 Schacht (1983), Richardson (1996), and Hales and Welshon (2000). 58 Stegmaier (2009, p. 5). 59 Stegmaier (2009, p. 5). 60 Stegmaier (2009, p. 14). However, Nietzsche does remark in the Nachlass that the same text can have countless interpretations (NL, KSA 11, 1[120]). See Pichler (2010, p. 39) for a reading of Nietzsche that builds on this remark. 61 Van Tongeren (2000, p. 65). 62 See Brusotti (1997) for an exemplary study that implicitly highlights the fact that one can trace a series of recurring themes in a work such as Daybreak, where the aphorisms can often seem disparate and unrelated.

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Another threat to Danto’s way of reading Nietzsche that Stegmaier also notes⁶³ is the contradictions that one finds once this method is adopted.⁶⁴ Contradictions are a problem for this approach because they make it impossible to attribute to Nietzsche a coherent position on a topic where a contradiction is found. This is a problem for such commentators because one can readily find Nietzsche contradicting himself on a wide range of issues in works written within a relatively short interval of time. For instance, Nietzsche claims in Human, All Too Human that the scientific man is the further evolution of the artistic (HH  221), but then he claims in The Gay Science, a work published only four years later, that the study of physics is a necessary means to becoming an artistic creator (GS 335). Similarly, in The Wanderer, Nietzsche presents the death of God with shoulder-shrugging indifference (WS 84), whereas in The Gay Science, published only two years later, Nietzsche has a madman announce the earthshaking consequences of this great event (GS 125). Of course, such worries can be resolved by arguing that Nietzsche simply changed his mind or, more specifically, that his views developed over time. Thus, in dealing with the previous example concerning the relationship between science and art, one might say that although Nietzsche thought in 1878 that art was in some way less important than science, he eventually came to see, by 1882, that it was in some way superior to science, and conclude from this that the latter claim was his final, considered position. The idea here is that Nietzsche matures, and although commentators do not always adopt this view in order to deal with the problem of contradictions, many have approached his oeuvre in this way. Before I explain my way of dealing with the contradictions noted above, I want to say something about why, in contrast to Schacht, Karl Löwith, Poellner, Richardson, and Clark, I do not believe that Nietzsche’s thinking undergoes any significant development.⁶⁵ I take seriously Nietzsche’s 1888 claim that the seeds for his later writings can be found in The Birth of Tragedy (TI Ancients 5) and therefore that the general framework for his philosophy remains consistent from his first work to his last.⁶⁶ This is because I hold that Nietzsche remains committed, from the beginning of his career to the end, to what I have called a tragic philosophy and the rebirth of the Dionysian arts that are supposed to affirm life in response to the tragic insights that such a philosophy reveals. Although Nietzsche begins his career by expressing his tragic 63 Stegmaier (2009, p. 11). 64 Jaspers (1997, p.  10) writes: “Self-contradiction is the fundamental ingredient in Nietzsche’s thought. For nearly every single one of Nietzsche’s judgments, one can also find an opposite. He gives the impression of having two opinions about everything. Consequently it is possible to quote Nietzsche at will in support of anything one happens to have in mind.” 65 Löwith (1997), Schacht (1983), Poellner (1995), Clark (1990), and Richardson (1996). 66 The clearest expression of this idea can be found in Nietzsche’s 1885 letter to Overbeck, where he writes that the main problems of his later writings can all be found, however obscured and darkened, in The Birth of Tragedy (KGB III/3, Bf. 612). See Heftrich (1989) and Came (2004) for defenses of the continuity thesis.

20   

   Introduction

philosophy through the myth of Silenus and the metaphysical principles he borrows from Schopenhauer in The Birth of Tragedy, he eventually reformulates his tragic philosophy in terms of Heraclitean principles that he first articulates in Philosophy in the Tragic Age and then places at the beginning of Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil. Indeed, one of the potential problems that my account faces is explaining just why Nietzsche feels the need to repeat himself so much, given that I claim to find the principles of his tragic philosophy in works such as The Birth of Tragedy, Philosophy in the Tragic Age, Human, All Too Human, The Gay Science, Beyond Good and Evil, and Twilight of the Idols.⁶⁷ Fortunately, the answer to this question dovetails with my solution to resolving at least some of the contradictions found in Nietzsche’s published works, and it is an answer that I will unpack by contrasting my account with the developmental approach favored by someone like Clark. Whereas Löwith, Schacht, Poellner, Richardson, and Gianni Vattimo have held that Nietzsche matures either with the publication of The Gay Science (1882) or just thereafter,⁶⁸ Clark takes the view that Nietzsche does not mature until the publication of the Genealogy in 1887. To support her reading, Clark turns to the section “How the True World Became a Fable” from Twilight of the Idols to argue that the final three stages of the developmental story that Nietzsche tells there can be mapped on to his published works and his early unpublished essay, “On Truth and Lie” (1873). For Clark, Nietzsche’s development has to do with his initial belief in, but subsequent rejection of, a thing-in-itself and the related distinction between the real and apparent world. On her view, Nietzsche begins his career at the fourth stage because he initially believes in an unattainable thing-in-itself. This stage corresponds to Nietzsche’s thinking in “On Truth and Lie” and Human, All Too Human. The fifth stage, where the so-called true world is abolished, corresponds to Nietzsche’s work in The Gay Science and Beyond Good and Evil. Finally, the sixth stage is to be found in Nietzsche’s works starting with the publication of the Genealogy in 1887. This is where Nietzsche recognizes that with the abolition of the so-called true world, what was once the apparent world now becomes the true world. For Clark, this means that Nietzsche, in his final works, accepts the view that the empirical world is now the real world.⁶⁹ Although I agree with Clark that the final three stages can be mapped on to Nietzsche’s published works, I depart from her reading on two important points. The first has to do with how these stages should be mapped on to Nietzsche’s published works. Specifically, I hold that these stages are to be found exclusively in the works of the free spirit, i.e., the works from Human, All Too Human (1878) to The Gay Science

67 Gerhardt (1996, p.  295) argues that continual becoming may be the one (and only) insight that remains constant from The Birth of Tragedy to Twilight of the Idols. 68 Löwith (1997), Schacht (1983), Poellner (1995), Clark (1990), Richardson (1996), and Vattimo (2002). 69 Clark (1990, pp. 109ff.).

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(1882). Whereas Human, All Too Human and its two appendices, Assorted Opinions and Maxims and The Wanderer, can be placed at stage four, Nietzsche’s work in Daybreak and the first three books of The Gay Science can be placed at stage five. The fourth book of The Gay Science, which was written separately from the first three books of The Gay Science and concluded the 1882 edition (KGB III/1, Bf. 190), should be seen as either belonging to the final stage or as marking the transition from the fifth to the sixth stage. Zarathustra, then, is a work that clearly belongs to the sixth stage. The reason for preferring this reading to the one offered by Clark is that it better corresponds to Nietzsche’s subtle references to the published works in his description of these stages. Although there is no direct reference to Human, All Too Human in stage four, Nietzsche’s talk of “gray morning,” “the yawn of reason,” and the “cockcrow of positivism” (TI Fable) certainly suggests the mood and tenor of the work. In stage five, Nietzsche talks of “bright day,” “breakfast,” and the “return of bon sens and cheerfulness” (TI Fable). Whereas the first two descriptions clearly refer to Daybreak, the latter suggests The Gay Science. In the final stage, “INCIPIT ZARATHUSTRA” (TI Fable) is a clear reference to the final aphorism of the 1882 edition of The Gay Science, which bears the title “incipit tragoedia” and introduces the character Zarathustra (GS 342). Now it might seem as if I am simply favoring Löwith’s reading over Clark’s, such that Nietzsche is said to mature with the publication of Zarathustra rather than with the publication of the Genealogy in 1887. Although this is true in a way, I disagree with any straightforward developmental reading of Nietzsche’s oeuvre. Specifically, it is my position, which I have outlined elsewhere,⁷⁰ that the works of the free spirit are a peculiar part of Nietzsche’s oeuvre in that he consciously adopts the values and methods of Enlightenment science to show in these writings how this project undermines itself and leads to the rebirth of art. In particular, Nietzsche commits himself in Human, All Too Human to what I will call the morality of truth and science, one that places an absolute value on truth and enjoins the thinker to avoid the scientific sin of anthropomorphism in the quest to know the world in itself, only to show in works such as Daybreak and The Gay Science that a true or scientifically grounded understanding of nature offers no support for the morality of truth and science.⁷¹ On my reading, the “death of God” in The Gay Science marks Nietzsche’s self-overcoming of the morality of truth and science through the scientific quest for truth (GS 125 and 344) and therefore marks the transition from the “gray” science of Human, All Too Human, where the pursuit of truth is understood as a duty and demands the suppression of one’s subjectivity in the quest for truth, to the “gay” science of Nietzsche’s later works, where the pursuit of truth is now understood as an experiment in which life and subjectivity can be seen as means to perspectival “knowledge” (GS 324). 70 Meyer (2004) and (2006). 71 In other words, Nietzsche consciously constructs the works of the free spirit to enact, in the words of Zittel (1995), a Selbstaufhebung or a self-overcoming of the morality of truth and science, the very process that is described in GM III 27.

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   Introduction

Nietzsche’s thinking therefore does not actually develop during this time, but instead his works are designed to narrate a process in which a free spirit, initially presented as being committed to the values and methods of Enlightenment science, comes to see the possibility and even necessity of a rebirth of art. This understanding of the works of the free spirit helps explain both the contradictions found in Nietzsche’s published works during this time and the differences between Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil. So understood, Nietzsche does not change his mind about how, for example, one should respond to the death of God from the time he wrote The Wanderer to the time he wrote The Gay Science. Instead, these works give distinct expressions as to how the free spirit responds to the death of God at each particular stage in its development. This reading also makes better sense of Nietzsche’s sudden reversals on the relationship between art and science from The Birth of Tragedy to The Gay Science. On my view, Nietzsche’s subordination of art to science in Human, All Too Human is not a rejection of the ideas of The Birth of Tragedy, but rather one part of a larger project designed to bring the ideas of The Birth of Tragedy to fruition. One reason for thinking this is that Nietzsche tells us, on the backside of the cover to the 1882 edition of The Gay Science, that Human, All Too Human is just one moment in a series of texts “whose common goal is to erect a new image and ideal of the free spirit” (GS, p. 30).⁷² The idea here is that once one reads Human, All Too Human as one part of a larger project which Nietzsche calls the free spirit that extends from 1878 to the 1882 edition of The Gay Science and sees in GS 342 a link between The Gay Science and Zarathustra, one can see how Human, All Too Human stands at the beginning of a series of reflections that culminates in the rebirth of tragedy in Zarathustra and therefore one can see that Human, All Too Human does not mark a rejection of the project of The Birth of Tragedy, but rather a continuation of it. Since The Birth of Tragedy not only speaks of a rebirth of tragedy, but also, and perhaps more importantly, a music-playing Socrates who relentlessly pursues the truth at all costs only to discover a genuine need for poetry (BT 15), one can argue that these works constitute the fulfillment of Nietzsche’s initial plans, such that Human, All Too Human initiates the Socratic part of the project and Zarathustra represents the work in which Nietzsche makes his own music. Finally, it is with this framework in place that the differences between Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil come to light. Whereas he adopts the methods and values of the Enlightenment project in dedicating his life to the pursuit of truth in Human, All Too Human, Nietzsche subordinates the value of truth to the value of life in Beyond Good and Evil. As noted above, one of Nietzsche’s aims in the works of the free spirit is to tell the story of how he has used science to overcome what I have called the morality of truth and science and therewith liberate art so that it can be used in the larger project of affirming life. Although there are deep affinities between The Gay 72 Also, Nietzsche had thought about publishing each of the works of the free spirit in a single, twovolume collection (NL, KSA 10, 1[14]).

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Science and Beyond Good and Evil, I argue that whereas the purpose of the first four books of The Gay Science is to depict the final stages of the process of becoming a free spirit, Nietzsche writes Beyond Good and Evil from the standpoint of a fully-formed free spirit. That is, he writes Beyond Good and Evil as one who has liberated himself from the morality of truth and science and therefore one who is ready to transition from a science that seeks to discover a maximally de-anthropomorphized world in Human, All Too Human to a philosophy of the future that ultimately seeks to construct a world for the purposes of life and even “perspectival” knowledge. Although this explains the difference between Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil and provides some insight as to why Nietzsche would repeat his commitment to the Heraclitean principles sketched above in BGE 2, I still have yet to say something about the status of the works that follow Beyond Good and Evil and their relationship to Nietzsche’s philosophy of the future. This is a point that I have argued elsewhere and about which I will have more to say in the epilogue.⁷³ However, I do want to say here that I think Nietzsche’s philosophy of the future is equivalent to a Dionysian comedy in which he consciously creates both himself and his world and that his Dionysian comedy can be found in the published works that he wrote in 1888. The primary justification for holding this view is that a typical Dionysian festival includes four genres, namely, tragedy, satyr play, comedy, and dithyramb, and assuming that Zarathustra should be read as a tragedy, found in the first three parts, and a satyr play, found in the fourth, and given that Nietzsche concluded his career by compiling his Dionysian Dithyrambs, there is reason to suspect that he also took on the role of the comic poet at some point in his career to complete his festival of Dionysian poetry. Although such a reading might sound strange to some, I think that if one is familiar with the formal features of what is known as Old Comedy, one will recognize the way in which Nietzsche enacts a comic agon with his philosophical, artistic, and religious rivals in works such as Twilight of the Idols, The Case of Wagner, and The Antichrist, and further that the self-making of Ecce Homo closely resembles the comic self-making found in the parabases of Aristophanes’ earliest plays. Admittedly, the purpose of this introduction is not to defend my interpretation of Nietzsche’s published works, but rather to describe it so that I can situate the present study within its confines. On the one hand, the reason for sketching this framework here is that it helps make sense of the transitions that take place from Human, All Too Human to Beyond Good and Evil. On the other hand, it is with this framework in mind that my efforts in what follows can be understood as an attempt to defend one significant aspect of a larger project. By showing how Nietzsche places the fundamental principles of his tragic worldview at the beginning of both Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil and how a number of the passages that follow in each of

73 Meyer (2012).

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   Introduction

these texts are consequences of his initial commitment to an ontology of dynamic relations, one can begin to see, pace Danto, that Nietzsche’s post-1877 publications have an internal structure and coherence and that his philosophical efforts in works like Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil might be dedicated to establishing a tragic worldview that makes the Dionysian poetry of works like Zarathustra and Ecce Homo both possible and desirable.

Reading Nietzsche’s Project through the Ancient Greeks It is with this reading of Nietzsche’s published works in mind that I come to the final aspect of his thought that will be covered in this work, namely, his interest in and relationship to ancient Greek philosophy and poetry. Although there are a number of advantages to reading Nietzsche’s project through the ancient Greeks, one of the central motivations for doing so is that it will further my case that his philosophical speculations and his poetic activity are two parts of a single, overarching project. In short, once Nietzsche’s philosophy is understood as a revival of Heraclitean and Protagorean positions in particular and a tragic worldview more generally, then there are good reasons for thinking that this tragic philosophy of ancient Greece might have some intimate connection with Nietzsche’s own poetry, which has everything to do with Dionysus. There are, of course, additional reasons for turning to the ancient Greeks in this context. The most straightforward one is that Nietzsche’s reading of ancient Greek philosophy was one of two main sources for his philosophical literacy. The other source was his reading of post- and neo-Kantian thinkers such as Arthur Schopenhauer, F. A. Lange, Afrikan Spir, and Gustav Teichmüller, each of whom was well acquainted with the problems and theories of ancient philosophy. Moreover, reading Nietzsche through the ancients can help make sense of some of his more idiosyncratic ideas. Although pointing to possible connections between, say, Nietzsche’s doctrine of the will to power and the concept of eros at work in Hesiod’s Theogony or Aristophanes’ Birds does nothing to prove the truth of such a view, it does make it more difficult to simply dismiss an idea as unworthy of consideration given its central role in the poetry of the ancient Greeks. Finally, by turning to a study of antiquity, one can gain a more precise sense of which aspects of Greek culture, poetry, and philosophy Nietzsche admires and which he rejects. This is important because Nietzsche effectively divides ancient Greek civilization into two antagonistic periods or cultures, and he sees in one the flourishing of humanity and in the other a step toward degeneration and decay. Whereas Nietzsche understands the “tragic age” of sixth- and earlyfifth century Greece to be the pinnacle of human achievement, the main representatives of which include Heraclitus, Empedocles, Aeschylus, Aristophanes, Protagoras, and Thucydides, he sees in the figures of Parmenides, Socrates, Euripides, Plato, and Aristotle representatives of a completely different culture that is hostile to the first,

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and one can understand Nietzsche’s own project as a systematic attempt to undo the effect that the latter group has had on Western civilization with the hope that this will pave the way for a revival of the kind of philosophy and poetry prevalent in preSocratic Greece. Rooting Nietzsche’s “mature” thought in his early studies of antiquity is by no means new. Indeed, my claim that Nietzsche’s philosophy can be understood as a revival of certain Heraclitean and Protagorean doctrines has a long history, and if there is any novelty to my efforts here, it is the extent to which I pursue these claims by tracing Nietzsche’s rejection of the metaphysical tradition back to Plato’s Theaetetus and Aristotle’s Metaphysics and the way in which I use these ancient texts to resolve some of the philosophical difficulties that Nietzsche’s positions have generated. In German scholarship, Max Wiesenthal lectured on the Heraclitean and Protagorean elements in Nietzsche’s thought as early as 1903.⁷⁴ This was followed by a more in-depth study of Nietzsche’s relationship to the ancient Greeks by Nietzsche’s cousin, Richard Oehler.⁷⁵ Oehler not only gives a detailed account of Nietzsche’s understanding of pre-Socratic philosophy in general, but also highlights Nietzsche’s early interest in Heraclitus and traces this through his later works. Following Oehler, Wilhelm Nestle published an article in 1912 identifying a number of points of contact between the pre-Socratics and Nietzsche’s philosophy: (1) He identifies an epistemology in Nietzsche that follows Protagoras’ homo mensura dictum; (2) he thinks that the doctrine of becoming and the eternal recurrence have precedents in the thought of Heraclitus; (3) he reads the will to power as a form of pleonexia; and a bit more controversially, (4) he thinks that the Übermensch, as a lawgiver, points back to what Nestle calls the immoralism of the Sophists.⁷⁶ More recently, Uvo Hölscher has detailed the way in which much of Nietzsche’s later philosophy, including his aphoristic style, can be traced back to his early interest in Heraclitus’ philosophy and therefore can be understood as his attempt to reclaim the foundation of ancient philosophy (WP 419; NL, KSA 11, 41[4]).⁷⁷ Finally, Georges Goedert has argued that Nietzsche’s mature philosophical program is rooted in his understanding of Heraclitus, and he explores, in a separate essay, the extent to which Nietzsche’s philosophy can be compared with Protagoras’ homo mensura doctrine.⁷⁸ In more comprehensive studies of Nietzsche’s thought in the German-speaking world, the importance of Heraclitus for understanding Nietzsche’s project has not gone unnoticed. In his 1936 work, Karl Jaspers writes:

74 Wiesenthal (1991). 75 Oehler (1904). 76 Nestle (1946). 77 Hölscher (1979). 78 Goedert (1994 and 2004). Stegmaier (2012, p.  285) and Figal (2000, p.  5) also place Nietzsche’s perspectivism within the tradition of Protagoras.

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   Introduction

From beginning to end Heraclitus, as the philosopher of becoming, is the philosopher to Nietzsche. Never does he write anything derogatory of him. Even in his first account of the philosophy of Heraclitus, he presents, in effect, his own conception of becoming and, therewith, of the strife of opposites that underlies the constant movement as well as his thoughts about necessity, justice, and the innocence of becoming.⁷⁹

In his lectures on Nietzsche from 1936–40, Heidegger not only attributes to Nietzsche the Heraclitean view that all being is a becoming,⁸⁰ he also discusses Nietzsche’s views on the principle of non-contradiction and attempts to associate, although critically, Nietzsche’s views with Protagoras’ homo mensura dictum.⁸¹ Eugen Fink also places Heraclitus at the center of his interpretation of Nietzsche’s thought: The primordial origin of Nietzsche’s philosophy remains Heraclitus. After 2500 years a repetition of Heraclitus occurs accompanied by the tremendous assertion to wipe out and oppose the extended reflection of an entire tradition formed in the meantime and to show humanity a new yet ancient path.⁸²

For Fink, one of the most important features of Heraclitus’ thought for Nietzsche is play, expressed in Heraclitus’ fragment DK 52B,⁸³ and Günter Wohlfart has interpreted much of Nietzsche’s work, in particular central passages from Zarathustra, through a scrupulous reading of this Heraclitean fragment.⁸⁴ Focused studies of Nietzsche’s relationship to the Greeks have become more frequent in both German and Anglo-American scholarship. After a long period of neglect and even hostility, classicists have become increasingly interested in critically exploring Nietzsche’s early work as a philologist and his approach to antiquity. In addition to recent studies of The Birth of Tragedy by trained philologists,⁸⁵ four collections of essays have appeared in the last three decades on Nietzsche and the Greeks.⁸⁶ Nietzsche’s understanding of ancient Greek philosophy has also received continued attention in German scholarship. Since Oehler’s early work,⁸⁷ there have been two notable studies by Tilman Borsche and Paulo D’Iorio that critically assess Nietzsche’s

79 Jaspers (1997, p. 350). For a similar assessment, see Löwith (1997, pp. 115ff.). 80 Heidegger (1991a, p. 7). 81 Heidegger (1991d, pp. 91ff.). 82 Fink (2003, p. 7). 83 Fink (2003, p. 30, p. 39, and p. 172). 84 Wohlfart (1991). 85 Silk and Stern (1981), Von Reibnitz (1992), and Porter (2000a and 2000b). 86 Borsche, et.  al. (1994), Riedel (1999), Bishop (2004), Heit and Jensen (2014). Cancik (1995) and Benne (2005) have also authored monographs on Nietzsche and classical philology. 87 There has also been much discussion about Nietzsche’s relationship to Plato and Socrates. Some of the earliest studies are Hildebrandt (1922) and Sandvoss (1966). One of the most extensive is Schmidt (1969).

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approach to the pre-Socratics,⁸⁸ and Conway and Rehn have edited a collection of essays on the topic.⁸⁹ Finally, Enrico Müller has recently published the influential Die Griechen im Denken Nietzsches, a work that combines an analysis of both the philological and philosophical aspects of Nietzsche’s relationship to antiquity.⁹⁰ In Anglo-American scholarship, one of the first attempts to link significant elements of Nietzsche’s project to the ancient Greeks can be found in A. J. Knight’s Some Aspects of the Life and Work of Nietzsche, and particularly of his Connection with Greek Literature and Thought. Knight not only emphasizes Nietzsche’s belief in the cultural supremacy of sixth- and fifth century Greek civilization,⁹¹ but also claims that Dionysus and the ideas associated with him are “the central point from which all Nietzsche’s ultimate ideas radiate.”⁹² Since Knight, the Dionysian aspects of Nietzsche’s project have been highlighted and developed by Rose Pfeffer, Claudia Crawford, and Peter Murray.⁹³ Murray’s study also highlights the presence of Heraclitean themes in Nietzsche’s work, and he is not alone in this respect, as articles by Arthur Rudolph, Jackson Hershbell and Stephen Nimis, Arthur Przybyslawski, D. N. Lambrellis, and Anthony Jensen have all noted and discussed the various aspects of Heraclitus’ thought that permeate Nietzsche’s writings.⁹⁴ Most notably, Hershbell and Nimis have followed Oehler in identifying a number of points of contact between Nietzsche and Heraclitus, highlighting the fact that both philosophers were naturalists who described the world in terms of a dynamic unity of opposites. Finally, Victorino Tejera and Dale Wilkerson have both provided general accounts of Nietzsche’s relationship to the ancient Greeks.⁹⁵ In more general studies of Nietzsche’s thought in the Anglo-American context, Walter Kaufmann’s influential work, Nietzsche: Philosopher, Psychologist, Antichrist, is littered with references and allusions to Greek philosophy and culture. However, in contrast to the likes of Jaspers and Knight, the ancient figure that Kaufmann places at the center of his interpretation is neither Heraclitus nor Dionysus, but rather 88 Borsche (1985) and D’Iorio (1994). 89 Conway and Rehn (1992). Also see Lindken and Rehn’s (2006) extensive bibliography of work on Nietzsche and the ancients. 90 Müller (2005). Whereas Müller’s study ranges from ancient history and politics to philosophy and sophistry, my own focuses exclusively on the Heraclitean and Protagorean elements in Nietzsche’s philosophy and the way they stand in tension with the metaphysical tradition developed by Parmenides, Plato, and Aristotle. In highlighting the extent to which these elements of ancient philosophy are present in Nietzsche’s later work (even to a greater extent than Müller recognizes), my efforts here support Müller’s main thesis that doing philosophy, for Nietzsche, means either thinking with or against the Greeks (2005, p. 6). 91 Knight (1933, p. 57). 92 Knight (1933, p. 62). 93 Pfeffer (1972), Crawford (1994), and Murray (1999). 94 Rudolph (1965), Hershbell and Nimis (1979), Przybyslawski (2002), Lambrellis (2005), and Jensen (2010). 95 Tejera (1983) and Wilkerson (2005).

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Socrates.⁹⁶ According to Kaufmann, Socrates is the embodiment of Nietzsche’s ideal: “The passionate man who can control his passions.”⁹⁷ Such a reading, however, has been criticized as part of Kaufmann’s larger attempt to make Nietzsche more palatable to an American audience that was, at the time, worried about his potential association with National Socialism. One such critic is Werner Dannhauser, who sets out to highlight the significant differences between Nietzsche and Socrates.⁹⁸ Since Dannhauser’s book, Nietzsche’s relationship to Socrates has continued to generate interest, most notably in the work of Nehamas, who provides an extended reflection on the issue in his Art of Living.⁹⁹ For one reason or another, a number of interpreters of Nietzsche’s philosophy in Anglo-American scholarship have followed, consciously or not, Kaufmann’s relative downplaying of the importance of Heraclitus for understanding Nietzsche’s larger project. The two most notable exceptions to this trend are Richardson and Cox,¹⁰⁰ and I provide an extended discussion of their respective analyses of Nietzsche’s appropriation of Heraclitean becoming in the first chapter of this work. In contrast, most general studies of Nietzsche’s philosophy have little, if anything, to say explicitly about his Heracliteanism. Usually, this neglect does not come at a high cost, as the Heraclitean features of Nietzsche’s “mature” thinking, such as his rejection of being in favor of becoming and a corresponding relational ontology, receive adequate treatment in discussions of the will to power. For instance, Danto, Rüdiger Grimm, Schacht, Abel, Nehamas, Poellner, Müller-Lauter, and Hales and Welshon all make brief references to Nietzsche’s reading of Heraclitus and then move on to accounts of Nietzsche’s ontology that are roughly akin to the one I develop by way of an interpretation of Philosophy in the Tragic Age.¹⁰¹ Nevertheless, this relative lack of attention to Nietzsche’s Heracliteanism has generated interpretations by the likes of John Wilcox, Clark, and Jessica Berry that are, to varying degrees, at odds with my own. I include Wilcox in this list not because he completely ignores Heraclitus, but because his overly brief treatment of Nietzsche’s presentation of Heraclitus in Philosophy in the Tragic Age causes him to misunderstand a key point about Nietzsche’s ontology,¹⁰² and this misunderstanding has, in

96 Kaufmann (1974, p. 391). 97 Kaufmann (1974, p. 399). 98 Dannhauser (1974). 99 Nehamas (1998). Also see Woodruff (2002). 100 Richardson (1996) and Cox (1999). Schrift (1990) and Green (2002) are also worthy of note in this respect. 101 Danto (1965), Grimm (1977), Schacht (1983), Abel (1998), Nehamas (1985), Poellner (1995), MüllerLauter (1999a, ch. 8), and Hales and Welshon (2000). 102 That Wilcox (1974, p. 104) misunderstands Philosophy in the Tragic Age is evidenced by the fact that he claims that Nietzsche is still committed to a thing-in-itself in the work. Although Nietzsche does mention the thing-in-itself in his discussion of Anaximander’s philosophy (PTAG 4), it is clear that Nietzsche interprets Heraclitus’ philosophy as rejecting such a notion.

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turn, generated further misunderstandings of Nietzsche’s project. On the one hand, Wilcox rightly identifies two strands of skepticism in Nietzsche. The first form of skepticism denies knowledge because of a thing-in-itself that is, for a variety of reasons, unknowable.¹⁰³ The second form of skepticism, which Wilcox associates with Heraclitus, is rooted in what Wilcox understands to be Nietzsche’s claim that concepts falsify the flux of sensations.¹⁰⁴ The problem with Wilcox’s reading is that although there are passages in which Nietzsche speaks of concepts falsifying the flux of sensations, it is also the case that Nietzsche thinks that concepts falsify a mind-independent world that is best described in terms of dynamic relations. Wilcox’s work sets the stage for Clark’s misreading of Nietzsche’s project because she argues that Nietzsche eventually overcomes both sorts of skepticism. She does this, first, by rightly arguing that Nietzsche eventually overcomes the first form of skepticism when he rejects the thing-in-itself, which I argue occurs as early as Philosophy in the Tragic Age. In dealing with the second type of skepticism, Clark follows Wilcox in thinking that the Heraclitean form of skepticism present in Nietzsche’s work is simply the claim that concepts falsify the flux of sensations. To disassociate Nietzsche from the second form of skepticism, Clark argues that it is a form of idealism because it equates reality with the flux of sensations, and since Nietzsche rejects idealism in BGE 15, he cannot be committed to this form of skepticism.¹⁰⁵ The problem with Clark’s reading is that Nietzsche also thinks that concepts falsify a mind-independent reality that is best described in terms of dynamic relations. Because it is a realist ontology that forms the basis for Nietzsche’s skepticism, it cannot be dismissed by an appeal to Nietzsche’s rejection of idealism. Because I argue that Nietzsche remains committed to this form of skepticism throughout his career, my own work might seem to resonate more closely with Berry’s Nietzsche and the Ancient Skeptical Tradition, where she argues that Pyrrhonian skepticism provides a model for understanding Nietzsche’s project.¹⁰⁶ However, the brand of skepticism that Berry attributes to Nietzsche is an uneasy combination of the first sort of skepticism that Wilcox discusses and a skepticism that “undermines the attempt to secure justification” for all metaphysical theses.¹⁰⁷ In line with the latter point, Berry rejects the idea that Nietzsche’s perspectivism and thus his skepti-

103 Wilcox (1974, pp. 88ff.). 104 Wilcox (1974, p. 133). 105 Clark (1990, p. 120). 106 Berry (2010, p. 5). 107 Berry (2010, p. 111). Also see Conway and Ward (1992) for another attempt to read Nietzsche as a Pyrrhonian skeptic. In contrast to Berry, Conway and Ward argue that Nietzsche is a skeptic because his critique of dogmatism is so scathing that it becomes self-refuting. Although this might be seen as an objection to Nietzsche’s skepticism, Conway and Ward argue that it is one of its virtues, as selfrefutation is just a further feature of his attack on dogmatism. Although such a proposal escapes some of the problems found in Berry’s account, I argue that Nietzsche’s perspectivism not only is not selfrefuting, but that it rests on a positive ontology that can be associated with Heraclitus.

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cism are rooted in any sort of ontology whatsoever.¹⁰⁸ At the same time, the Pyrhonnian skepticism she attributes to Nietzsche holds that we should suspend judgment because we cannot justify which belief properly corresponds to how “things are in themselves.”¹⁰⁹ Talk of things-in-themselves is, of course, an ontological commitment, and this conflicts with her claim that Nietzsche’s skepticism eschews any sort of ontology whatsoever. Furthermore, rooting Nietzsche’s skepticism in an ontology that includes things-in-themselves and a related appearance-reality distinction is itself problematic.¹¹⁰ Although such an ontology is present in “On Truth and Lie,” Nietzsche eventually abandons this ontology, explicitly objecting, in one Nachlass note, to “philosophical skepticism” on the grounds that it illegitimately assumes a distinction between appearance and reality (NL, KSA 12, 6[23]). Finally, it is hard to believe that Nietzsche advocates the skeptic’s suspension of judgment. In matters of ontology, HH 1 and BGE 2 commit him to the view that opposites are in some sense united, rather than strictly separated. In matters of value, he is certainly willing to condemn Christianity as the greatest conceivable corruption (A 62). Another curious feature of Berry’s argument is that it shifts Nietzsche’s interest in antiquity away from the pre-Socratic philosophy and poetry of the sixth- and fifth-centuries to a Hellenistic philosophy that Nietzsche rarely discusses and would likely criticize as a degenerative form of Socratic optimism (BT 15).¹¹¹ Although one can certainly find skeptical themes in Nietzsche and even point to his awareness of and interest in Pyrrhonian skepticism, these skeptical elements can be traced back to the Heraclitean-Protagorean position that I attribute to Nietzsche. Indeed, Mi-Kyoung Lee’s Epistemology after Protagoras has shaped much of what I have to say about the Heraclitean-Protagorean position, and her own work on Plato’s Theaetetus and Aristotle’s Metaphysics IV originated in an investigation of the historical origins of ancient skepticism.¹¹² In contrast to Berry, Leiter follows the scholarly tradition I have sketched above by emphasizing the importance of both pre-Socratic philosophers and sophists for Nietzsche’s thinking and by singling out Heraclitus and Protagoras as the two primary representatives of each movement.¹¹³ In so doing, Leiter also highlights the naturalism and empiricism common to both movements, and, in his treatment of the

108 Berry (2010, pp. 110ff.). 109 Berry (2010, p. 120). 110 Bett (2000, pp. 70ff.) makes this point in his analysis of Nietzsche’s ambivalent relationship to ancient skepticism. 111 Henrichs (1986, p. 385) states this point clearly: “Nietzsche was generally more interested in the ‘pre-Platonic’ philosophers (as he called them in 1872) and in Aeschylean tragedy than in most other aspects of Greek thought and culture. The figure of Socrates represented for him the great divide between the high-spirited thinkers and poets of Greece’s most vigorous centuries and the sterile Alexandrianism of the epigones.” 112 Lee (2005, p. vii.) 113 Leiter (2002, pp. 39ff. and 106ff.).

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Sophists, he argues that they were not actually truth relativists, but ontological relationalists who emphasize that some or all properties are instantiated only in relation to something else.¹¹⁴ Although Leiter is right to suggest that Nietzsche is an ontological relationalist rather than a truth relativist, there are two shortcomings of his account. The first is a minor one, and it is that Leiter either does not recognize the extent of Nietzsche’s relationalism or he does not appreciate the consequences of it. This is because once relationalism is understood as the view that all properties and all things have relational existence, rather than the view that just some properties or things have relational existence, relationalism entails the rejection of independently existing things that have certain essential or intrinsic properties. This is a potential problem for Leiter, first, because his account of perspectivism attributes to Nietzsche the view that there are independently existing objects that are viewed or known from a particular perspective¹¹⁵ and, second, because he understands Nietzsche’s naturalism in such a way that it presupposes essences or intrinsic features of objects that play an explanatory role in Nietzsche’s naturalistic accounts of a wide variety of phenomena.¹¹⁶ The second shortcoming of Leiter’s account is more significant, and it points back to some of the issues discussed at the beginning of this introduction. Specifically, what a careful study of Nietzsche’s understanding of the pre-Socratics reveals is the way in which Nietzsche’s naturalism can be reconciled with his aestheticism. According to Leiter, the naturalist and the aestheticist readings of Nietzsche are just as irreconcilable as the naturalist and postmodern readings discussed above, and therefore he pits his naturalist reading against the aestheticist reading offered by Nehamas.¹¹⁷ For Leiter, the aestheticist reading attributes two key claims to Nietzsche, which can be loosely stated as follows: (1) The world is essentially indeterminate and (2) the world has certain literary or aesthetic features.¹¹⁸ In both cases, one can turn to Nietzsche’s interpretation of Heraclitus to make sense of his commitment to these views and to see how these views can be associated with his naturalism. This is because Nietzsche appeals to the natural sciences in works such as The Pre-Platonic Philosophers and Human, All Too Human to justify his belief in the Heraclitean picture of the world, and the Heraclitean picture of the world that Nietzsche justifies through the natural sciences is one in which all determinacy is relational determinacy, which is to say that the world, in itself, is essentially indeterminate. In other words, the ontological 114 Leiter (2002, p. 46). 115 Leiter (2002, pp. 271ff.). 116 Leiter (2002, pp. 25f.) cites textual evidence in which Nietzsche talks of “essences,” but this talk of an essential nature almost always points to the will to power. On my reading, the will to power is an interpretive projection that endows the world with an essence and therefore is not a discovery of the natural sciences and so not a part of Nietzsche’s naturalistic program. For more on this point, see section 5.8. 117 Leiter (1992). 118 Leiter (1992, p. 277).

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relationalism that Leiter attributes to the Sophists, when applied to all properties and things, is equivalent to a central pillar of the aestheticist reading that Leiter rejects. Furthermore, Nietzsche’s portrayal of Heraclitus’ philosophy in Philosophy in the Tragic Age shows that the true opposition for Nietzsche is not between naturalism and aestheticism, but between an aesthetic worldview and a moral interpretation of existence and the world.¹¹⁹ This is because the key literary or aesthetic feature that Nietzsche attributes to the Heraclitean worldview is, as Fink rightly emphasizes, play, such that “only play, play as artists and children engage in it, exhibits coming-to-be and passing away, structuring and destroying, without any moral additive, in forever equal innocence” (PTAG 7). If this is correct, then what a study of the ancient Greeks shows is that the divide between a Nietzsche who relentlessly pursues the truth by means of the natural sciences and an artistic Nietzsche who sees the world in playful and aesthetic terms is a false one. Indeed, one only needs to think of the music-playing Socrates from The Birth of Tragedy to see how Nietzsche might be committed to a project of reconciling, rather than dividing, these two human activities (BT 15). Moreover, once one sees in Heraclitus’ philosophy a kind of thinking that Nietzsche places at the center of the “tragic age” of ancient Greece, one can begin to see how Nietzsche is trying to relate this view of the world to the kinds of poetry associated with Dionysus. So what reading Nietzsche through the ancients provides is the general notion that empiricism and naturalism lead to the view that the world is constituted by relations that have no determinate character in and of themselves, and, according to Nietzsche, this worldview is somehow conducive to the flourishing of the poetry that once dominated the cultural landscape of ancient Greece. Although some might claim that this is a misguided understanding of both antiquity and the conditions necessary for the flourishing of poetry, one can find in Plato’s Theaetetus a similar attempt to link this empirically justified relational ontology to the tragic, comic, and epic poetry of ancient Greece. In a passage that brings these themes together, Plato writes of the Heraclitean-Protagorean position he has Socrates critically examine in the work: And as regards this point of view, let us take it as a fact that all the wise men of the past, with the exception of Parmenides, stand together. Let us take it that we find on this side Protagoras and Heraclitus and Empedocles; and also the masters of the two kinds of poetry, Epicharmus in comedy and Homer in tragedy. For when Homer talked about ‘Ocean, begetter of gods, and Tethys their mother’, he made all things the offspring of flux and motion. (Tht. 152d–e)

Although some commentators, at a loss as to what they should make of this passage, have taken Plato’s claim here to be a joke,¹²⁰ the link between the Heraclitean-Protagorean position and the poetry of ancient Greece provides a framework for under119 Came (2004) highlights the opposition between the moral and aesthetic interpretations of existence. 120 Chappell (2005, p. 66).

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standing the relationship between philosophy and the poetry found in Nietzsche’s own works. In other words, even if Plato has radically mischaracterized antiquity in his attempt to associate certain pre-Socratic thinkers with a so-called army of poets led by Homer, it is nevertheless the case that Nietzsche shares the general framework that Plato articulates here. Specifically, what the passage suggests is that the ancient quarrel between philosophy and poetry is, in Plato’s view, a clash between two competing worldviews, and this clash turns on whether there are things that exist in and for themselves or whether the world is constituted by dynamic relations. So construed, the question as to whether the philosopher or the poet should be crowned champion in this quarrel ultimately turns on a philosophical issue, and Nietzsche’s attempt to overthrow the philosophical tradition’s commitment to things-in-themselves can be understood as his attempt to establish a tragic worldview and thus the theoretical framework for poetry’s victory in this ancient quarrel. It is to Nietzsche’s attempt to re-establish the Heraclitean-Protagorean position that Plato and Aristotle articulate and critically analyze in the Theaetetus and Metaphysics IV that I now turn.

Chapter One Becoming, Being, and the Problem of Opposites in Philosophy in the Tragic Age of the Greeks I have a right to understand myself as the first tragic philosopher – that is, the most extreme opposite and antipode of a pessimistic philosopher. Before me this transposition of the Dionysian into a philosophical pathos did not exist: tragic wisdom was lacking; I have looked in vain for signs of it even among the great Greeks in philosophy, those of the two centuries before Socrates. I retained some doubt in the case of Heraclitus, in whose proximity I feel altogether warmer and better than anywhere else. The affirmation of passing away and destroying, which is the decisive feature of a Dionysian philosophy; saying Yes to opposition and war; becoming, along with a radical repudiation of the very concept of being – all this is clearly more closely related to me than anything else thought to date. The doctrine of the “eternal recurrence,” that is, of the unconditional and infinitely repeated circular course of all things  – this doctrine of Zarathustra might in the end have been taught already by Heraclitus.  – Nietzsche, 1888 (EH Books BT 3)

1.1 Introduction One of the central aims of this work is to show that Nietzsche’s ontology of dynamic relations functions as the cornerstone for his philosophical project on both a theoretical and a textual level from Philosophy in the Tragic Age (1873) to his post-Zarathustra works. On a theoretical level, it is argued that this doctrine forms the basis for Nietzsche’s rejection of self-identical things, the falsification thesis, a certain sort of skepticism, the tragic tension between life and truth, and ultimately his perspectivism. On a textual level, it is argued that this doctrine is foundational because it appears at the beginning of Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil, and the philosophical positions that Nietzsche develops in each of these works can be largely derived from his initial commitment to this view. There are, however, two significant challenges facing my interpretation. The first is that it is not altogether clear that Nietzsche intends to commit himself to this view at the beginning of Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil. In both texts, one is confronted with a question as to how opposites can come from opposites, and in Human, All Too Human, this question is followed by talk of everything having become (HH 2). What such comments indicate is that there is at least prima facie evidence for thinking that Nietzsche is giving expression to the Heraclitean doctrines of the unity of opposites and becoming in these aphorisms. This, however, leaves one wondering what these two doctrines have to do with each other and how they, in turn, might relate to what I have called Nietzsche’s ontology of dynamic relations. Even more worrisome is the lack of clarity about what each of these doctrines means. Does the unity of opposites mean that certain subjects instantiate opposite

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properties at the same time and in the same respect? Or does it mean that opposites tend to transform themselves into each other such that hot always comes from cold and cold always comes from hot? Similarly, is the doctrine of becoming the view that all things come to be and pass away, i.e., there are no eternal substances? Or is it the view that all things are changing at all times in some respect or even in all respects? Is it the view that there are no things that persist through time because everything perishes with a change in its properties and these properties are changing all the time? Or is it the view that there are no things but only relational forces, motions, or processes? The problem with Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil is that Nietzsche’s obscure style in these texts does not readily allow for the development of nuanced responses to such questions. Consequently, one is forced to generate a theoretical framework from Nietzsche’s unpublished texts and fragments in order to decipher the meaning of the claims he puts forth in his published works. Because of this, what I will do in this first chapter is turn to Nietzsche’s early essays and lectures on pre-Socratic philosophy in order to generate the necessary background for interpreting the opening aphorisms of both Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil. Although I briefly touch upon The Birth of Tragedy and Nietzsche’s lectures from The Pre-Platonic Philosophers, the main focus of this chapter is his exposition of the debate between Heraclitus and Parmenides in Philosophy in the Tragic Age. In turning to Philosophy in the Tragic Age, I focus on two points in particular. First, I endeavor to establish a theoretical link between Heraclitus’ doctrine of the unity of opposites and his doctrine of becoming. Whereas becoming will be defined as the view that change is an essential feature of reality, I argue that the unity of opposites thesis is the view that reality is constituted by opposite qualities or opposed forces that are necessarily united to each other. So construed, the unity of opposites entails that everything exists and is what it is only in relation to something else. The latter doctrine is related to the former because the kinds of relations that hold between the fundamental “stuffs” of the Heraclitean world are what I call dynamic relations. This is because these “stuffs” are such that they can only exist insofar as they are continuously affecting something they are not, and therefore they are in a constant state of change or becoming. Second, I focus on spelling out the philosophical implications of Nietzsche’s acceptance of these two doctrines. In particular, I emphasize that these two views entail the rejection of self-identical things that have some of the properties they do in virtue of themselves. Because these positions do away with such entities (things-in-themselves), the unity of opposites and becoming describe the world in a way that is at odds not only with the subject-predicate structure of language, but also with the basic laws of thought. To highlight the tension between this relational ontology, on the one hand, and the structures of thought and language, on the other hand, and to show how this tension relates to the traditional debate between rationalism and empiricism, I turn to Nietzsche’s portrayal of Parmenides and the strategy that Nietzsche’s Parmenides

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uses to reject the ontology of Nietzsche’s Heraclitus.¹²¹ Specifically, Nietzsche contends that Parmenides agrees with Heraclitus that the sensible world is something that violates the structures of language and thought. That is, Parmenides thinks that empirical observation provides evidence for a relational ontology; however, Parmenides breaks with Heraclitean philosophy by concluding from the fact that the sensible world conflicts with the structures of language and thought that the senses must therefore be a source of deception. The fact that the unity of opposites goes hand in hand with the view that the structures of language and thought are said to compel us to think and speak in ways that falsify nature is one reason why Nietzsche thinks that there is something tragic about Heraclitus’ philosophy, and in this chapter, I want to sketch the way in which Nietzsche tries to characterize the philosophy he finds in Heraclitus as an expression of a tragic worldview and therefore related to his hopes for a rebirth of tragic art. For this reason, I begin my analysis by briefly looking at Nietzsche’s understanding of the tragic worldview that appears in his first work, The Birth of Tragedy. After discussing the way in which the Heraclitean doctrines of Philosophy in the Tragic Age smooth the transition from the metaphysical version of tragic philosophy in The Birth of Tragedy to the anti-metaphysical version of tragic philosophy in Human, All Too Human, I set the stage for my reading of Nietzsche’s Heraclitus by analyzing two substantive discussions of Heraclitean becoming in the secondary literature. The chapter continues with an extended examination of Nietzsche’s presentation of Heraclitus’ philosophy in Philosophy in the Tragic Age and Nietzsche’s exposition of Parmenides’ critique of Heraclitus’ philosophy. I conclude with a brief response to scholars who have criticized the idea that Nietzsche is seeking to revive central features of ancient Greek philosophy and poetry in his mature works.

1.2 Tragic Philosophy in The Birth of Tragedy Nietzsche did not begin his career as a philosopher, but as a classical philologist, and The Birth of Tragedy was supposed to be his first significant contribution to the field of classical philology. Instead, Nietzsche produced what he called in a letter to his mentor Friedrich Ritschl “a kind of manifesto” (KGB II/1, Bf. 194) that was supposed to mark the beginning of a new epoch and to announce the aim of all his future strivings (KGB II/1, Bf. 181). In the original preface to the work, Nietzsche also gives expression to his lofty expectations for the text, where he suggests that The Birth of Tragedy should be understood as the second turning point – Socrates was the first (BT 15) – in so-called world-history (BT Attempt). Nietzsche sees his work as a turning point in 121 When I speak of the ideas of Heraclitus and Parmenides in what follows, I will be speaking of Nietzsche’s Heraclitus and Nietzsche’s Parmenides. At times, I will make this explicit, but when I do not, it should be assumed that I am still speaking of Nietzsche’s interpretation of these two figures.

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world history because it announces the death of the Socratic optimism inherent in the modern Enlightenment project and sketches his hopes for a rebirth of tragic philosophy and art. Although Nietzsche would later criticize his youthful exuberance in a preface that he added to the 1886 edition of the work, there are nevertheless reasons for thinking that he remained committed to this project throughout his career. This is evidenced not only by the fact that Zarathustra seems to be Nietzsche’s own attempt at a rebirth of tragedy (EH Books Z 6), but also by the fact that he decided to republish The Birth of Tragedy in 1878 (originally revised in 1874) and again in 1886. Although The Birth of Tragedy begins with the much-discussed distinction between Apollo and Dionysus to explain the genesis of tragedy, the work as a whole turns on the distinction between tragic wisdom (pessimistic philosophy) and optimistic philosophy. Whereas tragic wisdom highlights the deep tension between life and truth by depicting the human being as a suffering creature thrown into a natural world hostile to his deepest needs (BT 3), optimistic philosophy construes nature in such a way that it supports the human quest for eudaimonia or the good life. In the opening chapters of The Birth of Tragedy, Nietzsche argues that the Greeks developed their art as a life-affirming response to the tragic wisdom of Silenus. In sections ten through fifteen, Nietzsche contends that Socratic optimism brought an end to both tragic wisdom and the corresponding form of tragic art. In the final sections, Nietzsche argues that Kant and Schopenhauer have revived tragic wisdom now in the form of philosophical concepts and therefore have paved the way for the possibility of a corresponding rebirth of tragic art in the form of Wagnerian opera (BT 19). To understand the way in which Socratic optimism killed tragic art, it is necessary to grasp the connection between tragic philosophy and tragic art. Specifically, Nietzsche contends that it was the Greeks’ awareness of the ineluctability of suffering that drove them to produce their art (BT 3). That is, they recognized the horrors of existence, and this recognition raised Hamlet’s question: “To be or not to be” (BT 7)? Whereas Silenus counseled life-denial, i.e., that it was best not to be or even not to be born, as a response to these insights into the human condition, Nietzsche contends that the Greeks turned to art as a means of affirming life in spite of such wisdom.¹²² Whereas Apollonian art makes life worth living by shrouding the suffering of existence with beautiful images, Dionysian art is able to transform suffering itself into an aesthetic phenomenon worthy of affirmation. In particular, Nietzsche believes that the pleasure we take in musical dissonance exhibits the way in which humans are capable of taking pleasure in pain, conflict, and war (BT 24). In tragedy, this Dionysian capacity of humans to take pleasure in the disharmonic elements of existence is found in the joy we experience in the destruction of the individual hero, and it is 122 Thus, it is important to distinguish between factual pessimism, i.e., the view that life is suffering, and evaluative pessimism, i.e., the view that life is therefore not worth living. Schopenhauer and Silenus are both factual and evaluative pessimists. Nietzsche, in contrast, accepts factual pessimism, but rejects evaluative pessimism. For a similar distinction, see Soll (1988, pp. 113f.) and Came (2004).

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through his destruction, as a representative of individuality as such, that the chorus and audience alike are joyously re-united with each other and nature herself (BT 16). According to Nietzsche, tragedy was the highest form of art because it united the life-affirming power of Apollonian art in the beautiful appearance of the hero on the tragic stage with the life-affirming power of Dionysian art embodied in the song and dance of the chorus. In sections ten through fifteen, Nietzsche argues that Socratic optimism rejected the tragic worldview of the Greeks and eliminated the corresponding need for tragic art to affirm, justify, and redeem the ineluctable suffering of human existence. This is because Nietzsche’s Socrates saw in science and philosophy the means by which one could correct the eternal wound of existence through the powers of reason (BT 13). Having construed nature as something ordered for the good of human beings, there was no longer any need for a life-affirming art that either covered over (Apollonian) or directly affirmed (Dionysian) the ugly and disharmonic elements of existence. What was now needed was philosophy, and it was by leading the philosophical life that one could eliminate the disharmonic elements of existence and attain eudaimonia. According to Nietzsche, Socratic optimism led to the development of not only a new form of existence, but also a new understanding of nature, and this resulted in the death of an understanding of nature and a corresponding way of life that Nietzsche calls tragic.¹²³ In the final sections of the work, Nietzsche contends that there is the possibility for a rebirth of tragic art in the form of Wagnerian opera because there has been a corresponding rebirth of tragic philosophy through the work of Kant and Schopenhauer (BT 19). Nietzsche’s claim here is that the Socratic quest for truth has actually led to the destruction of Socratic optimism and the corresponding rediscovery of the tragic worldview. Whereas Nietzsche sees in Kant’s philosophy a skepticism that denies the possibility of the kind of knowledge that would correct the suffering of existence, he sees in Schopenhauer’s philosophy positive proof of the ineluctability of human suffering (BT 18). It is for these reasons that Kant and Schopenhauer have rediscovered Dionysian wisdom now comprised in concepts (BT 19). That is, it is through philosophy that we are again confronted with the question of whether to be or not to be (BT 7), and while the young Nietzsche embraces the question, he nevertheless breaks with Schopenhauer’s life-denying ethics by turning to what he thinks is the life-affirming art of Richard Wagner. The importance of Kant and Schopenhauer for Nietzsche is also present in his attempt to articulate the principles of the Dionysian and Apollonian in terms of the Kantian distinction between the thing-in-itself and the world of appearances. Indeed, the metaphysical principles of Nietzsche’s first work seem to mirror those of his selfappointed mentor, Schopenhauer. Nevertheless, there is one crucial difference that 123 See Vlastos (1991) for an account of the influence that Socrates’ “eudaemonist axiom” had on post-Socratic philosophy.

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separates these two thinkers. Whereas Schopenhauer confines human misery to the phenomenal world, Nietzsche claims that contradiction and suffering constitute the essence of the unified will (NL, KSA 7, 7[117]).¹²⁴ Strangely enough, Nietzsche’s Ur-Eine is a contradictory entity at war with itself (BT 5). As a result, when the veil of Maya is ripped away, one does not experience the contemplative calm characteristic of Buddhist enlightenment, but rather the roaring power of desire that finds its expression in the festivities of the Dionysian cult. In conceiving of the Ur-Eine as contradictory, Nietzsche has implicitly construed the metaphysical entity that lies beyond the realm of appearances as a unity of opposing elements, where the tension or suffering of the Ur-Eine functions as the motor that generates the world of appearances. This slight modification of Schopenhauer’s will is important not only because it shows that Nietzsche is committed to a form of the unity of opposites at the earliest stages of his career, but also because it makes for a relatively smooth transition to the Heraclitean philosophy of Philosophy in the Tragic Age. Quite simply, what Nietzsche will do in Philosophy in the Tragic Age is reject the metaphysical dualism of The Birth of Tragedy and the corresponding notion of an Ur-Eine that is a unity of opposed elements standing behind the world of appearances by construing the natural world that reveals itself to the senses in terms of everquarreling opposite qualities or forces. For Nietzsche and Nietzsche’s Heraclitus, this will mean that there is only one world, and this is the world of becoming.

1.3 A Turn to Philosophy in the Tragic Age of the Greeks Following the publication of The Birth of Tragedy in January of 1872, Nietzsche began working on a number of shorter essays in the summer of that same year. In December, he gave “five prefaces to five unwritten books” to Cosima Wagner as a Christmas gift, each preface dealing with topics found in The Birth of Tragedy. One of these texts was “On the Pathos of Truth.” Nietzsche continued to work on two further essays, Philosophy in the Tragic Age and “On Truth and Lie,” which were supposed to be part of a book that would function as a “companion piece” to The Birth of Tragedy (KGB II/3, Bf. 298).¹²⁵ The essays and the book were neither completed nor published in Nietzsche’s lifetime. Although both essays focus primarily on philosophical topics, aesthetic themes run throughout each. For instance, Nietzsche’s analysis in “On Truth and Lie” does not seek to drive us into skeptical despair about the impossibility of knowledge, but rather to liberate the artistic drive toward metaphor and myth formation from conceptual ossification. Thus, Nietzsche opposes the “intuitive man” of metaphor to 124 See Decher (1984). More recently, see Han-Pile (2006, p. 379). 125 NL, KSA 7, 23[24] also provides evidence for this. See Breazeale (1979, pp. xviiiff.) for more on this point.

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the “rational man” of concepts and exalts the former as the artistic man par excellence (TL 2). In Philosophy in the Tragic Age, this same distinction between intuitive and conceptual thinking can be found in Nietzsche’s analysis of Heraclitus, where Nietzsche not only casts Heraclitus as an intuitive philosopher in contrast to a conceptual thinker like Aristotle (PTAG 5), he also claims that Heraclitus understands the world primarily as an aesthetic phenomenon (PTAG 7). Thus, there is a common theme that runs through both “On Truth and Lie” and Philosophy in the Tragic Age: Nietzsche is turning to philosophy and philosophical investigations in order to show how philosophy allows for or even generates a need for poetry and art. In both cases, his strategy involves a sort of skepticism, but the sort of skepticism Nietzsche outlines in “On Truth and Lie” and even “On the Pathos of Truth” is different from and incompatible with the sort of skepticism found in Nietzsche’s exposition of Heraclitus’ philosophy in Philosophy in the Tragic Age. In both “On Truth and Lie” and “On the Pathos of Truth,” Nietzsche denies the possibility of knowledge on the grounds that the way we perceive the world and the way we conceptualize our basic sensations distort an inaccessible reality in the form of a thing-in-itself. In the language of “On the Pathos of Truth,” Nietzsche announces the truth that we are “eternally condemned to untruth” because we are locked within our own consciousness and nature has thrown away the key (PT, p. 65). In contrast, Nietzsche unpacks an understanding of Heraclitus’ philosophy that renders the world unthinkable and, in a strict sense I explain below, unknowable. The difference is small, but crucial. The reason is that the skepticism of “On the Pathos of Truth” and “On Truth and Lie” depends on an appearance-reality distinction and a related belief in a thing-in-itself that Nietzsche comes to reject. Alternatively, the skepticism of Philosophy in the Tragic Age results from Heraclitus’ rejection of the thing-in-itself and the related appearance-reality distinction, one which reduces the world to relations that cannot be fully grasped by rational thought. Although the philosophies found in The Birth of Tragedy, “On Truth and Lie,” “On the Pathos of Truth,” and Philosophy in the Tragic Age all support a turn to art, the details of each account nevertheless conflict in significant ways. The question, therefore, is which one of these frameworks, if any, is best for understanding Nietzsche’s later project. While most would agree that Nietzsche quickly leaves behind the metaphysics of The Birth of Tragedy, readers such as Danto and Clark have tried to understand much of Nietzsche’s philosophy and his philosophical development through the framework offered by “On Truth and Lie.”¹²⁶ I think this is mistaken. Although “On Truth and Lie” has generated much interest in its own right for its claim that truth is “a moveable host of metaphors, metonymies, and anthropomorphisms” (TL 1), there is 126 Clark (1990) uses the framework of “On Truth and Lie” to show that Nietzsche ultimately abandons the falsification thesis. Danto (1965, pp. 38f.) claims that the answer Nietzsche gave to the question of truth in this essay “was one that he never saw fit to modify in any essential respect.” Also see Borsche (2012, p. 467) and Stegmaier (1985, p. 71) for similar estimations of “On Truth and Lie.”

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little independent evidence for thinking that this text should provide the framework for approaching Nietzsche’s later works.¹²⁷ In contrast, there is evidence for turning to Philosophy in the Tragic Age to decipher Nietzsche’s later positions on truth. Such evidence can be found in the section “‘Reason’ in Philosophy” from Twilight of the Idols, where Nietzsche articulates some key elements of his own philosophy through the lens of pre-Socratic philosophy. Moreover, if Philosophy in the Tragic Age does provide, as Heller and Glatzeder have argued,¹²⁸ the framework for interpreting the question of opposites at the beginning of Human, All Too Human, then it can hardly be doubted that, in cases of conflict between Philosophy in the Tragic Age and a text like “On Truth and Lie,” Philosophy in the Tragic Age should be given priority. Not only does Philosophy in the Tragic Age provide a framework for approaching works like Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil, it also smoothes over some of the transitions that take place from The Birth of Tragedy to Human, All Too Human. Although Nietzsche will publically reject the artist’s metaphysics of The Birth of Tragedy in Human, All Too Human, Philosophy in the Tragic Age reveals the way in which Nietzsche’s anti-metaphysical position goes hand in hand with his attempt to redefine the tragic philosophy of The Birth of Tragedy in terms of Heraclitus’ ontology of dynamic relations, and the appearance of Heraclitean doctrines at the beginning of Human, All Too Human suggests that Nietzsche intended Human, All Too Human to be an exercise in tragic philosophy and therefore a continuation of the project of The Birth of Tragedy, despite Nietzsche’s rejection of Schopenhauer’s metaphysics and his corresponding embrace of naturalism in Human, All Too Human. Reading Philosophy in the Tragic Age within the context of the tragic philosophy of The Birth of Tragedy is also important because it provides support for a view that I stress throughout this study. Simply stated, Nietzsche thinks that Heraclitus’ relational ontology is true, while the denial of such an ontology is false. This is an important point because I use it later to contend that Nietzsche’s perspectivism does not reduce such an ontology to a view that is merely true for Nietzsche. Reading Philosophy in the Tragic Age as an extension or reformulation of the tragic philosophy of The Birth of Tragedy supports this position because Nietzsche is implicitly committed to the view in The Birth of Tragedy that there are correct and incorrect ways of construing reality. Specifically, Nietzsche holds that the optimistic worldview that Socrates 127 There are two possible exceptions here. The first is the 1886 preface to Assorted Opinions and Maxims (AOM Preface 1). The second, which Hödl (1997, p. 38) cites, is NL, KSA 11, 26[372]. In both instances, Nietzsche speaks of a “moral skepticism” (AOM Preface 1) and “moral things” (NL, KSA 11, 26[372]). Nietzsche’s analysis of the morality of truth, however, is not at issue here, and I hold that the mature Nietzsche is committed to the view found in “On Truth and Lie” that we must overcome the morality of truth if we are to live (see GS 344 and BGE 4). Instead, the issue is whether Nietzsche remains committed to the view that knowledge is impossible because we have no access to things-inthemselves, and I agree with Clark that Nietzsche eventually rejects things-in-themselves and so this form of skepticism. 128 Heller (1972) and Glatzeder (2000).

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introduced into Greek culture is false, whereas factual pessimism, articulated in the myth of Silenus and then rediscovered by Kant and Schopenhauer, is true. Indeed, Nietzsche contends that Socratic optimism is self-destructive precisely because the quest for truth that it inspires ultimately reveals optimism for what it is, namely, a groundless myth (BT 15). In Philosophy in the Tragic Age, the opposition to tragic philosophy is not so much Socratic optimism, but rather rationalist and dualist metaphysics, and much like his rejection of Socratic optimism in favor of tragic philosophy in The Birth of Tragedy, Nietzsche praises Heraclitus for offering the philosophy of the tragic age of Greece, while rejecting Parmenides’ doctrine of being as “a moment unGreek as no other in the two centuries of the Tragic Age” (PTAG 9). One of the problems with reading Philosophy in the Tragic Age in this dogmatic fashion is that there is textual evidence suggesting that Nietzsche is interested in Heraclitus’ personality, not the truth of his doctrines. For instance, after claiming in “On the Pathos of Truth” that “since the world forever requires truth, it requires Heraclitus forever” (PT, p. 64), Nietzsche declares that Heraclitus’ truth is now “a vanished dream which has been erased from mankind’s countenance by other dreams!” (PT, p. 65). Similarly, in Philosophy in the Tragic Age, Nietzsche introduces his subject by acknowledging that, “philosophical systems are wholly true for their founders only. For all subsequent philosophers they usually represent one great mistake, for lesser minds a sum of errors and truths” (PTAG Preface). Moreover, Nietzsche then tells us in the second preface to Philosophy in the Tragic Age that he is more interested in the personalities of pre-Socratic thinkers than in their philosophical doctrines per se. The reason is that even if a philosophical system has been refuted, the personality that created the system is nevertheless of enduring interest (PTAG Second Preface). Here, it is worth noting that Nietzsche does not say that every philosophical point he discusses in Philosophy in the Tragic Age has been refuted. Instead, he says that these philosophers continue to be of interest even if their philosophies have been refuted. Thus, it could be the case that whereas Nietzsche is primarily interested in the personalities of Anaximander and Anaxagoras even though their ideas have been refuted, he finds in Heraclitus a philosopher who both exhibits an exemplary personality and presents a few ideas that remain worthy of consideration on epistemic grounds.¹²⁹ Moreover, the problem with reading Philosophy in the Tragic Age wholly in terms of the personalities of these pre-Socratic thinkers is that Nietzsche begins to assess the relative merits of each system as the essay unfolds,¹³⁰ most notably praising Heraclitus’ teachings and condemning Parmenides’ metaphysical turn. Although it could be that Nietzsche’s respective praise and condemnation is merely an expression of his personal preference for Heraclitus and his distaste for Parmenides, it is 129 Müller (2005, p.  140) points out that Nietzsche situates himself within the agon he constructs between Heraclitus and Parmenides, siding with Heraclitus. 130 Hölscher (1979, p. 164) makes a similar point. He also notes the way in which Nietzsche tends to identify with his portrait of Heraclitus.

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more likely that Nietzsche’s assessment of these philosophers is rooted in the way in which their philosophies do or do not capture something about the world.¹³¹ A further reason for holding that Nietzsche thinks that Heraclitus’ ontology says something about the world and not just about Heraclitus’ personality is that Nietzsche begins to develop support for the Heraclitean position by appealing to other philosophers and scientists. In Philosophy in the Tragic Age, Nietzsche appeals to Schopenhauer in his exposition of Heraclitus to emphasize the point that “everything which exists has but a relative existence, that each thing exists through and for another like it, which is to say through and for an equally relative one” (PTAG 5). Here, Nietzsche tells us that “this is a truth of the greatest immediate self-evidence for everyone,” and that whoever accepts it must “move on to the Heraclitean conclusion and say that the whole of reality [Wirklichkeit] lies simply in its acts [Wirken] and that for it exists no other sort of being” (PTAG 5). If Nietzsche thought that this point was simply an expression of Heraclitus’ personality, there would be no reason to highlight the agreement with Schopenhauer’s philosophy and to call it a truth that is self-evident to everyone. In other texts, Nietzsche not only turns to contemporary philosophers to support the Heraclitean position, he also appeals to the natural sciences. Indeed, I will show how Nietzsche attempts to articulate the doctrine of becoming in the language of the natural sciences in my analysis of Human, All Too Human in chapter three. Moreover, Human, All Too Human is not Nietzsche’s first attempt to link Heraclitean becoming to the natural sciences. This is because Nietzsche’s other significant discussion of Heraclitus’ philosophy can be found in The Pre-Platonic Philosophers, and it includes extended references to the scientific investigations of Karl Ernst von Bär (PPP, p. 60) and Hermann von Helmholtz (PPP, p. 62). What all this suggests is that Nietzsche’s efforts in Philosophy in the Tragic Age are not to be understood exclusively as investigations into the personalities of these philosophers. Instead, what Nietzsche is doing is slowly building evidence to show that modern philosophers and scientists are gradually moving away from the Democritean atomism of early modern science and moving toward a Heraclitean understanding of the world, one that ultimately forms the basis for Nietzsche’s break with the Western metaphysical tradition in favor of his own tragic worldview. In this sense, Nietzsche’s quest to find support in modern philosophy and science for the doctrines of the philosopher of the tragic age of Greece can be understood as an extension of his belief, originally articulated in The Birth of Tragedy, that the Socratic quest for truth, when

131 I do think, however, that the primary difference between Nietzsche’s respective portrayals of Anaximander and Heraclitus turns on the issue of personality insofar as the latter affirms the world he describes in his philosophy, while the former is said to condemn it. The idea here is that whether one affirms or denies life is primarily a matter of psychological health, a theme found in the opening pages of the essay.

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taken to its logical conclusion, will result in the rebirth of a tragic worldview and the corresponding art forms associated with Dionysus.

1.4 Nietzsche’s Doctrine of Heraclitean Becoming in the Secondary Literature As my previous comments have attempted to make clear, a central motivation in turning to Philosophy in the Tragic Age for Nietzsche’s account of Heraclitus’ philosophy is that crucial features of it play a central role in Nietzsche’s later philosophy. As I have detailed in part three of the introduction, many scholars before me have noted this feature of Nietzsche’s philosophy. Some, such as Oehler, Hölscher, and Hershbell and Nimis,¹³² have pointed to the deep parallels between Nietzsche’s early exposition of Heraclitus’ philosophy and Nietzsche’s later ontology of the will to power. Others, such as Abel, Volker Gerhardt, Poellner, and Schacht,¹³³ have briefly noted Nietzsche’s affinity for Heraclitus and the parallels to Nietzsche’s later ontology, but have then proceeded to discuss, with great depth and sophistication, Nietzsche’s doctrine of the will to power independently of a careful analysis of either Heraclitus’ own philosophy or Nietzsche’s exposition of it in Philosophy in the Tragic Age. Finally, some in the Anglo-American context, such as Wilcox, Clark, and Berry,¹³⁴ have either downplayed or ignored the significance of Heraclitus for Nietzsche’s mature ontological and epistemological views. Perhaps the two commentators who have given the subtlest explications of Nietzsche’s understanding of Heraclitean becoming and the philosophical problems associated with it are Cox and Richardson, both of whom devote separate chapters to the topic of becoming in their works. Because it is important to develop a precise understanding of becoming and the other doctrines that relate to it, I want to turn to the work of both Cox and Richardson in preparation for my reading of Philosophy in the Tragic Age. In so doing, I hope to employ their interpretive insights into how one should and should not interpret becoming so as to improve my own construal of the doctrine. On the one hand, Cox’s exposition requires that I avoid the potential pitfall of making becoming into an unknowable noumenal realm that resembles Kant’s thing-in-itself. On the other hand, I appropriate portions of Richardson’s analysis to show why we cannot interpret becoming in terms of a subject-predicate ontology. At the same time, I differentiate my understanding of becoming from theirs by coupling

132 Oehler (1904), Hölscher (1979), and Hershbell and Nimis (1979). 133 Abel (1998), Gerhardt (1985), Poellner (1995), and Schacht (1983). Figl (1982) does not mention Heraclitus at all, but his understanding of Nietzsche’s plural ontology of becoming exhibits numerous parallels to the ontology I find in Nietzsche’s exposition of Heraclitus. 134 Wilcox (1974), Clark (1990), and Berry (2010).

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the view with the unity of opposites thesis and arguing that these two doctrines come together to form Nietzsche’s ontology of dynamic relations.

1.4.1 Christoph Cox on Heraclitean Becoming The interpretation of becoming that I advocate resembles, but is not equivalent to, what Cox has called “becoming as noumena.” According to Cox, becoming as noumena is the position that has been presented by neo-Kantian readers of Nietzsche such as Danto, Stephen Houlgate, and Julian Young.¹³⁵ For these thinkers, becoming as noumena is roughly equated to “a fluid, impermanent, and undifferentiated Urwelt to which the categories of knowledge (identity, substance, causality, etc.) do not apply.”¹³⁶ According to this reading, Nietzsche’s skepticism derives from his belief in this chaotic Urwelt. Since the aforementioned categories do not apply to the world in itself, there is no hope of ever coming to know such a world. Instead, all we can hope for is knowledge of a world that we construct. The reason why this position can be called neo-Kantian is that it implicitly treats “becoming” or the chaotic Urwelt as roughly equivalent to the thing-in-itself. That is, the chaotic Urwelt is supposed to be, on this account, the unknown and unknowable cause of our representations. We can never know this world because we immediately impose some kind of order on the otherwise unformed Urwelt in the act of perception. As a result, Nietzsche, like Kant, is a dualist. That is, Nietzsche believes that there is the world as it is, in itself, i.e., the chaotic Urwelt, and the world as it appears to us, i.e., the constructed world of selfidentical objects that conform to the categories of the understanding. Although I develop a view not too different from becoming as noumena, Cox is right to highlight some of the difficulties with the position, three of which I discuss here. The first is that this cannot be a proper interpretation of becoming because it commits Nietzsche to two incompatible claims. That is, Nietzsche both claims that becoming or the chaotic Urwelt is unknowable and, at the same time, he seems to know enough about it to know that it is unknowable. Second, such a reading fails to offer a coherent account of perception. Specifically, it suffers from the same problem that plagues some readings of Kant’s philosophy, namely, the problem of affection. The third and perhaps most potent objection to this reading of becoming is that it seems to commit Nietzsche to the very kind of dualism he so adamantly rejects. Although Cox raises some important issues, there are rejoinders to each of the problems highlighted above. The first objection does not directly undermine the

135 Danto (1965, p. 80 and pp. 95–97), Houlgate (1993, p. 133 and p. 135), and Young (1992, p. 3, p. 41, pp. 96–97, and pp. 160–161). For a complete list, see Cox (1999, p. 171). Here it should be noted that while becoming is mentioned by each of these interpreters, they do not provide a detailed account of how and why Nietzsche came to adopt the view. 136 Cox (1999, p. 170).

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interpretation in question, but reveals a potential inconsistency in Nietzsche’s own thinking. That is, the objection does not deny the fact that Nietzsche both claims that becoming is unknowable and, at the same time, claims to know that the world is becoming, but rather points out that these two claims seem to conflict. Thus, one could argue that even though these two claims conflict, it is nevertheless a proper interpretation of Nietzsche’s texts. Indeed, we know from The Pre-Platonic Philosophers that Nietzsche finds this very position at the end of Plato’s Cratylus, where it is argued that “given eternal flux, no continuity in knowing, and therefore no knowledge is possible” (PPP, p. 84), and Nietzsche does not express any worries about the potential inconsistency of the position, even if it is, in the end, inconsistent. Perhaps the reason why Nietzsche does not express any worries about this potential inconsistency is because it is an apparent inconsistency. Here, one could say that the inconsistency between claiming to know that the world is becoming, on the one hand, and denying that we can have knowledge of the fundamental “stuffs” of the world, on the other hand, is rooted in an equivocal use of the verb “to know.” That is, when Nietzsche denies that we can have knowledge if the world is becoming, he is using the term “knowledge” in a restricted sense, perhaps tied to ancient notions of epistêmê or scientia, such that a necessary condition of knowledge is being able to give an account of what something is, in-itself.¹³⁷ Indeed, Nietzsche appeals to a restricted sense of knowledge in one of the Nachlass fragments that Cox quotes in his work: “A world in a state of becoming could not, in a strict sense, be ‘comprehended’ or ‘known’” (WP 520; NL, KSA 11, 36[23]). As I argue in the next section, one reason why becoming cannot be known in this strict sense is that the view does away with things that exist and are what they are in themselves. Since knowledge in the sense of epistêmê requires an understanding of things-in-themselves, the denial of thingsin-themselves underwrites Nietzsche’s claim that knowledge in the sense of epistêmê is impossible. At the same time, we can know, in the sense of having a justified true belief, that the world is best described in terms of dynamic relations that cannot be fully captured by language and thought. The second objection that Cox raises is a bit more forceful. Again, the problem that he attributes to the neo-Kantian reading of Nietzsche’s doctrine of becoming is the problem of affection. On a certain reading of Kant’s philosophy, the problem of affection emerges because Kant seems, on the one hand, to hold that sensibility is causally affected by the world of things-in-themselves and, on the other hand, to hold the view that causality is only valid for the world of appearances. Although the neoKantian reading states that Nietzsche differs from Kant insofar as Nietzsche’s worldin-itself is an undifferentiated flux as opposed to a world of individuated things-inthemselves, this difference nevertheless fails to eliminate the problem of affection. Rather than individuated things-in-themselves affecting sensibility, it is now the flux

137 See Schopenhauer (WWR I 31).

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of forces that is supposed to generate the content of intuitions upon which the categories of the understanding are then imposed. Here again, one can argue that Cox’s point does more to highlight the philosophical weakness of Nietzsche’s supposed position than to call into question the accuracy of the reading itself. However, Cox does point to a passage in which Nietzsche criticizes Kant for having failed to limit his conception of causality to the phenomenal world (WP 553; NL, KSA 12, 5[4]). What this suggests is that Nietzsche was at least aware of the problem of affection, and it is one reason to believe that he would have tried to avoid a similar problem in developing his own philosophy. Admittedly, Cox’s objection raises one of the thorniest problems for developing a coherent reading of Nietzsche’s views on issues of ontology, perception, and epistemology, and I will not be able to give a full account of the issue until I delve into the relationship between Nietzsche’s Heraclitean ontology and his perspectivism in chapters four and five. Here, I will say that the problem is that of showing how the qualitative world of first-person experience relates to the scientific world of dynamic relations. To begin, Cox is right to claim that for Nietzsche there are neither perceiving subjects nor objects that are perceived insofar as they are understood as basic unified entities that exist independently of each other and persist through time. Instead, the most basic elements of the commonsense world are sensations or affects (pathê),¹³⁸ and it is from these affects that subjects and objects are constructed as regulative fictions (NL, KSA 11, 35[35]). That is, just as an object is a bundle of sensations, where these sensations are now construed as the properties of a property-bearing object, the subject is just a bundle of affects, where these affects are preserved through memory and united together to form a subject that is nothing more than a regulative fiction.¹³⁹ Although such an ontology eliminates the problem of affection because there is nothing in the external world that causes these affects or sensations, it does create a set of new problems. Not only does this view seem to commit Nietzsche to some form of untenable idealism, it also raises the question as to how these affects might relate to his scientifically grounded ontology of force. In my mind, the key can be found in F. A. Lange’s The History of Materialism, a work that significantly influenced Nietzsche’s thinking.¹⁴⁰ The key that we can take from Lange’s work is that there is no ontological difference between forces and affects. Instead, they are just two descriptions of one and the same reality. Lange presents this idea in the course of describing the basic ontology of the modern materialist, where the world is made up of matter and force. According to Lange, this matter-force dichotomy maps onto a basic subjectpredicate ontology. Whereas matter plays the role of a property-bearing subject that we never immediately experience, force is to be equated with the affects we directly experience. On this model, it is matter, and not force, that plays the role of the cause 138 Cox (1999, pp. 128ff.). Hussain (2004) offers a similar account. 139 For an analysis of Nietzsche’s bundle ontology, see Hales and Welshon (2000, pp. 57ff.). 140 Lange (1866).

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of our sensations.¹⁴¹ Thus, when Nietzsche contends that the world consists only of affects, he is jettisoning the matter of modern materialism, and in doing so, he is jettisoning the cause of our sensations or affects. However, this world of affects can also be construed in the language of force, and these forces are not to be understood as the causes of our sensations or affects, but rather as being equivalent to, in the sense of being numerically identical with, our sensations or affects. It is in this sense that force and affect are simply two alternative descriptions of one and the same reality, and so there is no longer some independently existing entity that is the cause of sensation. In this way, Nietzsche can be said to avoid the problem of affection. Even if the first two objections have been met, there remains the ever-present difficulty of construing becoming in such a way that it does not entail the kind of dualism that Nietzsche so adamantly rejects. Indeed, the previous attempt to overcome the problem of affection seems to have fallen into precisely this trap. There is now, on the one hand, a true world of dynamic relations of force that can also be described from a first-person point of view as a chaos of sensations or affects and, on the other hand, an apparent world of conscious subjects and ordinary, everyday, middle-sized objects. To respond to this objection, I argue, pace Cox, that Nietzsche does not reject all forms of dualism and so he does not entirely reject the related appearance-reality distinction.¹⁴² Instead, he simply rejects the kind of ontological dualism that holds that there are entities that exist in addition to the world that the senses reveal. The fact that Nietzsche does not entirely reject the appearance-reality distinction is explicit in a handful of Nachlass fragments. In one of these fragments, Nietzsche opposes our “psychological perspective” and “phenomenal world” of ordered, recognizable, identical things to “the formless unformulable world of the chaos of sensations – another kind of phenomenal world, a kind ‘unknowable’ for us” (WP 569; NL, KSA 12, 9[106]). Similarly, in his critique of mechanistic science, Nietzsche contends that once we reject number, thing, and the concepts of activity and motion as merely phenomenal, we are still left with “dynamic quanta, in a relation of tension to all other dynamic quanta: their essence lies in their relation to all other quanta, in their ‘effect’ upon the same” (WP 635; NL, KSA 13, 14[79]). What both of these fragments suggest is that a kind of dualism is implicit in Nietzsche’s thinking insofar as we have the real world of dynamic relations of force which can also be described in terms of a chaos of sensations, and an apparent, commonsense world that seems to be populated with selfidentical subjects and objects that exist and persist through time.¹⁴³ 141 Lange (1866, p. 380). 142 Schacht (1983, pp. 187ff.) defends a similar position. As a theoretical point, if Nietzsche did reject all forms of the appearance-reality distinction, there would be no way to make sense of error and falsehood, as error occurs when something appears to someone differently than it actually is. Denying the possibility of false beliefs is not only problematic in its own right, it is difficult to square with the fact that Nietzsche remains committed to the view that most of our beliefs falsify reality throughout his productive career. 143 Such a distinction is also at work in GS 354, which I discuss in section 5.4.

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Cox is not only aware of these passages, but he also cites a number of others that support the view that Nietzsche is in fact committed to some sort of appearancereality distinction. Nevertheless, Cox rejects such a reading: [It] would certainly equivocate [Nietzsche’s] own rejection of the appearance/reality distinction and put into doubt his expressed commitment to the primacy of the this-worldly, for it would commit him to the view that the world we know – the world of our experience – is built upon another, unknowable, primary, and pre-given world of becoming or chaos.¹⁴⁴

To avoid this result, Cox contends that we should construe such passages as empirical and phenomenological claims designed to remind us that the world in which we live “is continually undergoing change and transformation.”¹⁴⁵ That is, we are to recognize that ordinary, everyday, middle-sized objects are always subject to change at the micro-level and will eventually be destroyed over a long period of time at the marcolevel.¹⁴⁶ The problem with Cox’s argument is that it overextends Nietzsche’s critique of dualism in such a way that it eliminates an appearance-reality distinction that is fundamental to Nietzsche’s thought, namely, the distinction between the scientific image and the manifest or commonsense image. Whereas Cox seems to find in Nietzsche a continuity between the scientific world of swarming molecules and the middle-sized objects of every day experience,¹⁴⁷ I hold that Nietzsche’s naturalism commits him to a view of the world that deems the middle-sized objects of everyday experience falsifications of a true world that is best described in terms of dynamic relations. If this distinction between the scientific and manifest images commits Nietzsche to a form of dualism, then Nietzsche is a dualist in this sense, and this kind of dualism is unproblematic for Nietzsche because he does not, pace Cox, reject all forms of dualism. However, one might wonder whether such a distinction commits Nietzsche to a form of dualism at all. As I argue at length in chapter three, Nietzsche’s commitment to becoming and a related ontology of dynamic relations is rooted in his naturalism, which means that his ontology of dynamic relations offers itself as an alternative and superior description of the very world that commonsense accounts are meant to describe, i.e., the world that reveals itself to the senses. Here, the scientific description does not generate a second world, but a second description, and it is this second description that is held to be true while the commonsense description is rejected as false. As a final point, it is not only the case that Nietzsche allows for such a distinction, it is only through this distinction between the scientific and manifest images that we

144 Cox (1999, p. 143). 145 Cox (1999, p. 144). 146 Cox (1999, pp. 193ff.). 147 Cox (1999, pp. 194f.).

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can understand the tragic nature of Nietzsche’s later philosophy and his ultimate turn to art. Again, the idea of tragic philosophy is that it somehow stands in tension with both the philosopher’s quest for knowledge and the more general demands of life. In the case of the philosopher, the idea is that knowledge as epistêmê is possible only if the world conforms in some significant way to the structures of cognition, and what the natural sciences show, according to Nietzsche, is that the world does not meet these minimal demands. Similarly, Nietzsche thinks that we need to construe the world in a certain way in order to function and flourish, and again what science shows is that a proper description of the world stands in tension with the demands of life. To escape the skeptical and even deadly upshot of the world that science reveals, Nietzsche must overthrow what I have called the morality of truth and science such that we are again free to construct a world that we can inhabit and ultimately know.

1.4.2 John Richardson on Heraclitean Becoming Although Richardson and I share what might be called a conservative reading of Nietzsche in the sense that we both see him as offering some sort of realist ontology, we nevertheless part ways on some important issues that make his reading more conservative than my own. The key difference is that whereas I see Nietzsche subscribing to a relational ontology that does away with beings that have essential and telic structures, Richardson attributes to Nietzsche a metaphysic of beings in time that nevertheless have essentialist and telic structures, and this, in turn, makes it possible for Richardson’s Nietzsche to give a systematic account of the world.¹⁴⁸ For this reason, Richardson sees Plato and Aristotle as Nietzsche’s predecessors.¹⁴⁹ In contrast, I place Nietzsche within a tradition of natural philosophers that dates back to Thales (physiologoi), and this tradition is to be sharply distinguished from the metaphysical tradition of Parmenides, Plato, and Aristotle. As part of his attempt to preserve Nietzsche’s place in the tradition of Plato and Aristotle, Richardson argues that Nietzsche does in fact have a theory of being despite Nietzsche’s repeated rejection of the concept. The prima facie problem with such a move is that Nietzsche bases his rejection of being on his commitment to becoming, and therefore arguing that Nietzsche has a theory of being despite his commitment to becoming seems to confuse matters more than clarify them. Nevertheless, Richardson stresses two initial points to diffuse such concerns. First, he argues that Nietzsche understands being in the Platonic-Parmenidean sense of the term, where a being is an entity that is not subject to change. Thus, when Nietzsche praises Heraclitus for having rejected being, he is praising him for having denied the existence of such enti-

148 Richardson (1996, p. 3). 149 Richardson (1996, p. 3).

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ties.¹⁵⁰ By interpreting Nietzsche’s rejection of being in this manner, Richardson can attribute to Nietzsche a commitment to beings that are in time and subject to change. Richardson’s second point is that we can understand Nietzsche’s doctrine of becoming in terms of an ontology of being. By insisting that all beings are in time and subject to change, Richardson can now argue that Nietzsche’s intention is not to reject being altogether, but rather to argue that, “being is becoming.”¹⁵¹ As Richardson notes, he needs to say more about what the claim “being is becoming” might mean. He begins this task by stating that, for Nietzsche, becoming means “beings are essentially changing.”¹⁵² Here again, the claim that beings are essentially changing needs to be developed. According to Richardson, when most people think of the type of change that Heraclitean becoming is supposed to describe, they think of it as “of beings.” More specifically, the typical reading of becoming holds that every being passes out of existence and is replaced by a different being at some point in time. Here, Richardson considers both qualities and things to be types of beings. Thus there is an instance of becoming when an apple changes from green to red since the green of the apple passes away and the color red comes to be when it replaces the green. Similarly, there is an instance of becoming when an apple rots or is eaten. Here, the apple passes away and some new object presumably takes its place. Richardson calls both of these processes “being replacement,” and he combines this view with the claim that “beings are essentially changing” to formulate a possible interpretation of Nietzsche’s theory of becoming: “Nothing is that has not replaced something else or will not later be replaced itself.”¹⁵³ At this point, Richardson begins to wonder if this is the best reading of becoming. The source of his worry is that his reading fails to explain why Nietzsche associates becoming with a denial of thinghood. Indeed, “being replacement” seems to be quite consistent with the existence of mundane things. As a result, Richardson concludes that Nietzsche’s theory of becoming must be saying something more. Here, he explores the idea that Nietzsche denies the existence of things because being replacement occurs at every instant. In this case, the only beings that “are” would be instantaneous beings. That is, although they exist, they do not persist through time, no matter how short this interval might be. According to Richardson, this reading does have the potential advantage of explaining Nietzsche’s denial of things and substances. The idea here is that persistence is a necessary condition of thinghood. Since nothing persists, Nietzsche concludes that there are no things. Despite the potential advantage of this interpretation, Richardson highlights what he takes to be one significant problem, namely, that it is “wildly at odds with our experience.”¹⁵⁴ Stated

150 Richardson (1996, p. 74). 151 Richardson (1996, p. 74). 152 Richardson (1996, p. 76). 153 Richardson (1996, p. 80). 154 Richardson (1996, p. 82).

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quite simply, apples and colors seem to last longer than mere instants, even when we observe such beings with the utmost care and attention. Nevertheless, Richardson tries to counter our common-sense resistance to the theory by introducing some additional considerations into the discussion. The first has two components, and it very much resembles the understanding of things that Cox hints at in his reading of becoming.¹⁵⁵ First, Richardson urges us to think about things not in terms of substances and their properties, but rather in terms of parts and wholes. Thinking in these terms emphasizes constant change because it can be said that a thing changes when any of its parts change, even if those parts cannot be detected by the naked eye. Second, in thinking about the relationship between parts and the whole, it is possible to think in terms of Heraclitus’ image of the bow or the lyre. The idea is that wholes are composed of parts that are continually struggling with one another. On this model, then, one can see the way in which things are constantly changing because each of their parts is continually striving to overcome the other parts that naturally oppose them. The second consideration that helps make more sense of constant change is thinking of change in terms of individuated points along a continuum. While it might be hard to believe that water is, at every moment, changing from warm to cold and then back again, one might more readily accept that water is, at every moment, changing its absolute temperature, however minute this change may be. True, one will not always be able to perceive such changes, but one might nevertheless grant that imperceptible changes are, in fact, happening all the time. Of course, such an ontology would eliminate conceptual groupings of similar, but not identical, instances. That is, one could no longer say that the water remains warm through time because even though it is still warm, it has changed its absolute temperature. The upshot of this kind of thinking, however, is a world of precisely individuated beings, not only in time, but, as Richardson points out, in space as well. Moreover, because beings cannot be grouped into species, types, or natural kinds, “each being is a kind only to itself.”¹⁵⁶ Having made “constant change” as plausible as possible, Richardson proceeds to develop a series of reasons for rejecting it. First, Richardson argues that most would resist Heraclitean becoming so construed because it tries to undermine our everyday views by being overly precise. That is, there does not seem to be any good reason to give up thinking about warm water remaining warm through time just because its absolute temperature is changing however so slightly. The second shortcoming has to do with Nietzsche’s claim that becoming undermines the existence of beings altogether. According to this reading, becoming not only does not undermine the existence of beings, it multiplies the number of beings in the universe infinitely. For instance, the claim that one cannot step into the same river twice does not entail there are no beings, but rather that a new being is born at every moment with every change. 155 Cox (1999, p. 194). 156 Richardson (1996, p. 88).

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Thus, where the common man sees one river that persists through time and change, the Heraclitean now sees a series of rivers that replace each other at every moment. Richardson’s analysis of becoming is valuable because he shows, in a step-bystep fashion, why the doctrine of becoming should not be understood as “things change” or that change is “of beings.” On the one hand, if the doctrine is read as the rather banal claim that all things are subject to change at some point in time, then it is hard to make sense of Nietzsche’s repeated attacks on things. On the other hand, if the doctrine is read as stating that all things are subject to change all the time, two potential problems emerge. First, it is hard to believe that commonsense things are changing at every moment. Second, once additional considerations are developed to show that beings are changing at every moment, we end up with an ontology that does not deny beings, but multiplies them, perhaps infinitely.¹⁵⁷ Having shown what becoming is not, Richardson then looks to develop a positive account of what becoming is. To do this, he makes the curious move of turning away from Nietzsche’s account of Heraclitus’ views in Philosophy in the Tragic Age and The Pre-Platonic Philosophers, instead turning toward an independent analysis of the concept of becoming in Plato’s dialogues.¹⁵⁸ Richardson’s positive account consists of three central claims. First, Nietzsche’s doctrine of becoming entails that beings are not self-sufficient in the moment; instead, they are processes that are necessarily stretched over time. Second, these processes only take on their identities contextually; that is, their whatness is determined by their relationships to other processes. Finally, Richardson claims that becoming is intentional; that is, reality is comprised of processes that have a structure such that each process is striving towards the satisfaction of its contextually defined telos.¹⁵⁹ At first glance, it would seem that my own project follows Richardson in using Plato’s dialogues to develop an understanding of Nietzsche’s doctrine of becoming. This is especially true because Richardson appeals to key passages from texts such as the Cratylus and the Theaetetus,¹⁶⁰ both of which present an understanding of becoming that resembles the one I attribute to Nietzsche. However, Richardson ultimately moves away from these texts and turns toward “Plato’s effort to work out a more plausible and fruitful sense for ‘becoming’” in dialogues such as the Symposium and the Timaeus.¹⁶¹ One problem with this move is that the account of becoming in the Theaetetus and the Cratylus is not as implausible as Richardson takes it to be. A second problem with this move is that dialogues such as the Symposium and the Timaeus include substantive accounts of Plato’s theory of the Forms, a view that is

157 Richardson (1996, p. 88). 158 Richardson’s justification for this move seems to be that Heraclitus does not have the system that he is looking for in Nietzsche, and so turning to Plato offers a better point of comparison (1996, p. 75). 159 Richardson (1996, pp. 101f.) 160 Richardson (1996, p. 92). 161 Richardson (1996, p. 93).

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fundamentally opposed to Nietzsche’s rejection of metaphysics. Therefore what Richardson presents as a more plausible and fruitful account of becoming is an account that is likely shaped by aspects of Plato’s metaphysics that Nietzsche rejects. Given that Richardson attributes to Nietzsche a Platonic conception of becoming, it should not come as a surprise when Richardson concludes that Nietzsche’s disagreement with Plato is less radical than it may initially seem.¹⁶² In what follows, I turn to Nietzsche’s Philosophy in the Tragic Age, the text that provides the key to understanding Nietzsche’s conception of becoming. Only later do I supplement this understanding of becoming with Nietzsche’s comments in The Pre-Platonic Philosophers and Human, All Too Human and then Plato’s articulation of Heraclitean becoming in the Theaetetus. In so doing, I downplay Richardson’s claim that Nietzsche’s “beings” have temporal and telic structures. I reject the temporal claim because it conflicts with the Heraclitean claim that we cannot step into the same river twice (PTAG 5).¹⁶³ That is, if beings are processes stretched through time, we can indeed step into the same river more than once. I reject the telic claim because it has to do with Nietzsche’s conception of the will to power, and although becoming and the will to power are related, I endeavor in chapter five to show that they should not be conflated. Nevertheless, I accept Richardson’s contextual claim and even make a version of it the centerpiece of my interpretation. Specifically, I contend that the contextual claim, when applied to both the essence and the existence of entities, is equivalent to the view entailed by the unity of opposites that everything exists and is what it is only in relation to something else, and it is this view that is a central feature of the ontology that Nietzsche finds in Heraclitus.

1.5 Heraclitean Becoming in Philosophy in the Tragic Age of the Greeks Nietzsche’s analysis of becoming in Philosophy in the Tragic Age begins with his exposition of Anaximander’s thought. This is because Anaximander not only introduces into Greek thinking what Nietzsche calls “the problem of becoming” (PTAG 5) in a way that parallels what might be called the problem of opposites in HH 1, but also because Nietzsche portrays Anaximander as a dualist whose thought is superseded by the anti-dualism of Heraclitus. In fact, one can read Nietzsche’s interpretation of the transition from Anaximander to Heraclitus in Philosophy in the Tragic Age as a portrayal of Nietzsche’s personal overcoming of the metaphysical dualism of The Birth of Tragedy. This is because Nietzsche explicitly associates Anaximander’s thought with 162 Richardson (1996, p. 76). 163 Richardson (1996, p. 73) acknowledges that the temporal aspect of his account has a decidedly Heideggerian flavor to it. Perhaps the best evidence for thinking of Heraclitean becoming in temporal terms comes from Nietzsche’s association of the view with the historical philosophy of HH 1.

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that of Schopenhauer and implicitly accepts Heraclitus’ philosophy as his own. Just as Heraclitus dissolves the dualism of Anaximander, Nietzsche rejects, via Heraclitus, Schopenhauer’s dualism and therefore the metaphysics of his first work. In his exposition, Nietzsche attributes two principles to Anaximander that Heraclitus rejects. The first is that the world of individual entities with definite properties emerges from a hidden, metaphysical “womb of all things” called “the indefinite” (PTAG  4). The second is that Nietzsche’s Anaximander interprets the coming to be of individual things with definite properties as a violation of justice, and the penalty that these things pay for their coming to be is that they must ultimately pass away. In this sense, Anaximander is, like Schopenhauer, a life- and world-denying pessimist, one who thinks that the world of coming to be is something that ought to perish. In contrast to Anaximander, Nietzsche presents Heraclitus as a life-affirming philosopher. That is, Heraclitus does not view the world of coming to be and passing away as a grand injustice, but rather as an aesthetic game of creation and destruction (PTAG 7). Nietzsche attributes a similar view to Heraclitus near the end of The Birth of Tragedy, where he is trying to explain why it is that life is only justified as an aesthetic phenomenon. Specifically, Nietzsche contends that Dionysian art is life-affirming because it reveals “the playful construction and destruction of the individual world as the overflow of a primordial delight,” and in so doing, he refers to Heraclitus: “Thus the dark Heraclitus compares the world-building force to a playing child that places stones here and there and builds sand hills only to overthrow them again” (BT 24). It is from these passages that one can see why Heraclitus becomes Nietzsche’s tragic philosopher par excellence. He is a thinker who sees the world as a meaningless game of coming to be and passing away but nevertheless affirms and takes delight in this process as an aesthetic phenomenon. Although such passages reveal the continuities between The Birth of Tragedy and Philosophy in the Tragic Age, there is a crucial difference between the two works. Specifically, in Philosophy in the Tragic Age, Nietzsche understands dualism to go hand in hand with a life- and world-denying interpretation of existence. That is, the evaluative claim that the world of coming to be ought to perish is rooted in a metaphysical claim about a second world that is distinct from and perhaps better than the one that reveals itself to the senses. The implicit teaching of Philosophy in the Tragic Age is that the affirmation of existence requires the elimination of The Birth of Tragedy’s dualistic ontology, as it is with the elimination of this second world that the natural world of change will no longer be condemned as an unjust manifestation of some inaccessible realm of “being” or “things-in-themselves.”¹⁶⁴ In Philosophy in the Tragic Age, Nietzsche believes that Heraclitus’ philosophy accomplishes precisely this, and he begins his treatment of the issue by having Heraclitus exclaim that “becoming is what I contemplate,” not the “punishment of what 164 Nietzsche makes this idea explicit in TI Errors 8, where the denial of God restores the “innocence of becoming” and makes possible the redemption of the world.

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has come-to-be did I see, but the justification of that which is coming-into-being” (PTAG 5). According to Nietzsche, Heraclitus’ insight into the nature of becoming is related to two central negations. The first is the one discussed above: He denied the existence of two different worlds, no longer distinguishing a “physical world from a metaphysical one” (PTAG 5). Second, Nietzsche tells us that once Heraclitus denied Anaximanderian dualism, he was forced to accept a “far bolder negation: he altogether denied being” (PTAG 5). Here, it is necessary to reflect on what Nietzsche means when he says that Heraclitus “altogether denied being” (PTAG 5). Heraclitus rejected being not only because he did not believe that there was some second world beyond the world of the senses, i.e., a metaphysical world, but also because when he observed the world that is available to the senses, he did not find anything that “shows a tarrying, an indestructibility, a bulwark in the stream” (PTAG 5). From this comment alone, one might conclude that Heraclitus denied being because he could not find anything in the sensible world that persists for all time, such as a super-diamond whose nature guarantees that it will never undergo alteration. This would imply that everything that comes to be and exists for some period of time must nevertheless perish at some point, passing away back into the river of becoming. However, as the passage continues, Nietzsche’s Heraclitus proclaims that he sees “nothing other than becoming,” that only myopic people see “land” where there is only “the ocean of coming-to-be and passing away” (PTAG  5). Although the names we use for things might trick us into believing that there are things that endure, Nietzsche’s Heraclitus reminds us that we never step into the same river twice (PTAG 5). If the claim that we cannot step into the same river twice were the final word on Heraclitus’ philosophy, Heraclitus’ denial of being would have to be understood as the denial of things that persist for any period of time. However, as Richardson’s analysis makes clear, such a reading of becoming cannot account for Heraclitus’ denial of being because it actually results in the multiplication of the number of beings. On this view, there would be a world populated with instantaneously existing beings, perishing at every moment precisely because they are gaining or losing their properties at every moment. Here again, one might argue that such a construal of Heraclitean becoming still amounts to the denial of being because persistence is a necessary condition for something to be a being. However, the problem with this reading is that it does not make sense of the remainder of the argument of Philosophy in the Tragic Age, where Nietzsche delves into Heraclitus’ violation of the principle of non-contradiction and Schopenhauer’s related theory that empirical reality consists only of Wirken. On the reading that I am developing here, Heraclitus’ denial of being can be understood as the denial of not just metaphysical substances, but also commonsense things, and his denial of such entities is not a form of idealism, but rather stems from a relational ontology that he derives from empirical observation. The idea is that there are better and worse approaches to and descriptions of the empirical world. Whereas

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the naïve man of commonsense sees the world in terms of objects and their properties, a refined observer like Heraclitus recognizes that there is nothing in the world but Wirken. Indeed, the contrast between the commonsense view of the empirical world and the reality that Heraclitus discovers is, on Nietzsche’s account, so great that someone who follows Heraclitus down this path will be struck with a sort of paralysis, such that the “impact on men can most nearly be likened to the sensation during an earthquake when one loses one’s familiar confidence in a firmly grounded earth” (PTAG 5). Important here is the fact that Nietzsche introduces the distinction between the commonsense empiricist and the refined empiricist of the Heraclitean sort within the context of praising Heraclitus for having overcome the dualism of Anaximander. What this suggests is that Nietzsche does not consider Heraclitus’ rejection of commonsense descriptions of the empirical world to imply or lead to a form of unwanted dualism. Instead, the commonsense description is rejected as false, while Heraclitus’ claim that the world consists of only Wirken is held up as a genuine insight into the true nature of the empirical world. To understand why Nietzsche does not believe that these Wirken are beings, it is necessary to delve into Heraclitus’ doctrine of the unity of opposites, and it is here that I amplify the contextualist point that Richardson has put forth in his analysis. Specifically, Nietzsche contends that Heraclitus explained the coming to be and passing away of the empirical world in terms of opposites that continually seek to unite with each other. Here, Nietzsche describes the phenomenon of generation and corruption using both the language of forces and qualities. In the first description, Nietzsche tells us that a force divides itself into two qualitatively opposed activities and then seeks to re-unite with itself. In the second description, Nietzsche tells us that “a given quality contends against itself and separates into opposites,” and after this separation, these opposite qualities everlastingly seek to re-unite. In both instances, Heraclitus’ understanding of reality stands in sharp contrast to reality as it is conceived by the people (PTAG 5). Whereas the common man sees “something rigid, complete, and permanent,” Heraclitus sees the way in which “light and dark, bitter and sweet are attached to each other and interlocked at any given moment like wrestlers of whom sometimes the one, sometimes the other is on top” (PTAG 5). The definite qualities that appear to us in this process do not constitute the coming to be of some “thing” that is sweet, but rather the temporary dominance of one quality over the now hidden other. Indeed, Nietzsche claims that only “narrow human minds” and “animal-heads” believe that there are things. In truth, things have no real existence: “They are but the flash and spark of drawn swords, the quick radiance of victory in the struggle of opposites” (PTAG 5). Whether the Heraclitean world sketched in Philosophy in the Tragic Age is one of eternally warring qualities, such as bitter and sweet, or eternally opposed forces, as Nietzsche thinks the physics of his day reveals, his conception of the world does away with self-identical things or beings. At this point, however, someone like Richardson might argue that Nietzsche does indeed have a theory of being precisely because he

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tells us what the world is made of, namely, ever-quarreling qualities or forces. This would be right if “being” simply referred to the fundamental stuffs of any ontology, whatever they may be. However, I think we should avoid referring to these qualities or forces as beings because using the term “being” runs the risk of obfuscating Nietzsche’s rejection of being and, in so doing, transforming him into a more traditional thinker than he actually is. In my mind, the definition of being implicit in the argument of Philosophy in the Tragic Age is that a being is a (1) self-identical, (2) unified entity that is (3) capable of independent existence and (4) has certain essential or intrinsic properties. With this definition in hand, it is possible to identify four corresponding reasons why the stuffs of Nietzsche’s Heraclitean world are not beings of the traditional sort, and each of these reasons shows how Heraclitus’ rejection of being is intimately bound up with his doctrine of the unity of opposites. The first difference, on Nietzsche’s view, between qualities or forces and beings of the traditional sort, e.g., forms, substances, atoms, monads, etc., is that, unlike the latter, the former are not capable of independent existence. Nietzsche’s Heraclitus holds that qualities or forces are not capable of independent existence because they depend on their relation to something that they are not or their opposites. In terms of warring qualities, one can say that if the bitter were to conquer the sweet completely, it would result in the destruction of both the bitter and the sweet. In terms of forces, Nietzsche’s Heraclitus holds that the situation is the same. For a force to exist, it requires resistance, a force that opposes it.¹⁶⁵ Without such resistance, the force itself is extinguished. In this sense, forces or qualities are existentially united with their opposites. The second reason why forces or qualities differ from beings of the traditional sort is that they are essentially united with their opposites. The difference between an existential and an essential unity of opposites is that whereas the former deals with the conditions of existence, the latter deals with the determinate nature of the entity in question. By determinate nature I have in mind that which would answer the question, “what is it?” Here, the essential unity of opposites tells us that “things” only take on a determinate character by standing in relation to other things. If, for instance, one speaks of active and reactive forces, as Deleuze wants us to do,¹⁶⁶ then the unity of opposites requires one to say that these forces only take on such a character in relation to each other.¹⁶⁷ That is, one cannot isolate each force from its relationship and 165 Riccardi (2009, pp. 179ff.) has traced the relational nature of force back to Kant and Spir (among others). A similar idea can also be found in Lange’s (1950, Vol. II, p. 378) discussion of Büchner and Moleschott, in which he refers to the claim that, “a force which does not express itself cannot exist.” That is, forces must express themselves, and since they express themselves by affecting other forces, they necessarily stand in relation to other forces. Finally, Deleuze (1983, p. 7) makes a similar point: “Every force is thus essentially related to another force. The being of force is plural, it would be absolutely absurd to think about force in the singular.” 166 Deleuze (1983, pp. 39ff.). 167 Gerhardt (1996, p. 303) makes this point about Nietzsche’s later ontology.

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say that here is an essentially active force and there is an essentially reactive force. At the level of perception, one can say that a perceived object does not have the qualities it does independently of being perceived. Instead, it comes to be a such and such only when it enters this relation. In terms of common sense things, one can say that what one calls wine only becomes sweet insofar as it is being tasted. Independent of this relation, the wine does not have the property of being sweet. Finally, one can apply this principle again to the realm of commonsense things and say that these things only take on the properties they do insofar as they are situated in some contextual relation to other things. In a classic example, Phaedo can only become tall if there is some other person such as Simmias who becomes short when they stand in relation to each other. It is with the principle of the unity of opposites in hand that one can state an additional yet related reason why the fundamental forces or qualities of the Heraclitean picture are not beings of the traditional sort. As I have argued, it is because they are existentially and essentially united with their opposites that these entities cannot be considered unities in themselves. As Figl rightly notes, becoming and unity form a contradiction and so exclude each other.¹⁶⁸ Thus, the only instances of unity are unities of multiplicities. However, and here is where the position jars with our logical sensibilities, once these relata are detached from their relationships, no selfsubsisting unity remains. Instead, the unity of opposites states that the relata, independently of their relations, are nothing. The final element implicit in the denial of being is the rejection of self-identity.¹⁶⁹ Here I understand self-identity as equivalent to self-relation and oppose self-relation to what I call other-relation. In rejecting beings, Heraclitus is thereby rejecting the notion that there are things that are related to themselves, and Heraclitus’ rejection of things that are related to themselves goes hand in hand with his claim that everything is necessarily related to something else. Indeed, the contrast between self-relation and other-relation is the dominant principle that governs the previous three claims. In the Heraclitean world, things do exist, but only in relation to something else. Moreover, things do have determinate properties, but only in relation to something else. Finally, things do exhibit a certain unity, but only as a unity with something else. If I have construed the position correctly, one can see just how bound up the denial of being is with Heraclitus’ doctrine of the unity of opposites. At the same time, Nietzsche’s exposition of Heraclitus’ philosophy does not run along the lines of an immediate contrast between being and the unity of opposites, but rather between being and becoming. Thus, one might argue that the real contrast that Nietzsche wants to establish in Philosophy in the Tragic Age is between the stability of being and the change of becoming and further wonder what the unity of opposites has 168 Figl (1982, p. 89). 169 In the Heraclitean scheme, the only entity that may be a candidate for being self-identical is the only thing that does not stand in relation to anything else, and this would be the entire universe.

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to do with either of these. To understand this connection, I want to recall Richardson’s analysis of becoming to insist that becoming cannot be construed in terms of a substance-property ontology. That is, I resist the temptation to think of the issue in terms of an Aristotelian ontology in which things change by gaining or losing properties. That said, the easiest way to explain how the unity of opposites relates to becoming is to say that the relations in the Heraclitean world are dynamic relations. In other words, the relations that hold between the fundamental stuffs of the Heraclitean world are such that they cannot exist without affecting or dynamically relating to something else. So construed, interrelated forces must always be affecting each other, and since this process of affecting and being affected is a type of change, one can say that change is therefore an essential feature of reality and therefore all reality is becoming. For the purposes of my analysis, this is perhaps the best way to construe the relationship between becoming and the unity of opposites, and it is an understanding captured by Nietzsche’s appeal to Schopenhauer’s explanation of sensible reality in terms of Wirken which only have relative existence (PTAG 5). However, Nietzsche does offer alternative explanations of change in terms of the unity of opposites, both in Philosophy in the Tragic Age and in his account of Heraclitus’ philosophy in The Pre-Platonic Philosophers. As noted above, Nietzsche also describes the world of becoming in terms of eternally quarreling qualities like bitter and sweet, light and dark. On the one hand, this account is simply a metaphorical description of the eternally quarreling forces described above, in which qualities such as light and dark are understood as active agents in the world. On the other hand, Nietzsche likens these quarreling opposites to “wrestlers of whom sometimes the one, sometimes the other is on top” (PTAG 5). Although this preserves the understanding of change as the active quarreling between opposites, it implies an additional sort of change that occurs when the subordinate “wrestler” comes to dominate the previously dominant partner. The idea is that there is a constant war going on under the surface between a unity of opposed qualities, and what comes to the surface or what appears is the quality dominant in the relationship. When the dominant partner in the relationship is overthrown, change takes place as the previously subordinate partner makes its appearance. This additional construal of change is important for two reasons. The first is that it provides an understanding of change that most matches the language of the problem of opposites raised at the beginning of HH 1 and BGE 2. That is, this view makes it possible for things to come from their opposites because these opposites are eternally united to each other, and so change is the coming to be of the dominant partner in the relationship. Here, one might worry that on this view things cannot change at all because change involves moving from one contrary to another, and since both contraries are eternally co-present, there is no change. Based on Nietzsche’s construal of the position in Philosophy in the Tragic Age, one can say that although change from one contrary to the other does not occur in any absolute sense – where the appearance of one contrary entails the complete destruction of the other – it does occur in

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the sense of one contrary becoming more dominant than the other in the relationship for a certain period of time. This leads to the second point. Because both opposites are always co-present, change can be understood as a matter of degree. That is, one can not only speak of an opposite being more or less dominant in a relationship, but also say that at no time does one contrary completely abolish the other. This is because the unity of opposites dictates that if one of the opposites in a given pair were ever to be completely destroyed by the other, the dominant opposite would be destroyed along with it. For this reason, one can say that for Nietzsche’s Heraclitus the struggle between these opposites “endures in all eternity” (PTAG 5). The final understanding of change in this Heraclitean ontology that I want to consider has to do with the status of macro-objects. As both Cox and Richardson note, the Heraclitean understands macro-objects to be like bows and lyres, meaning that macro-objects are not subjects of change, but rather unities of opposing forces that are constantly changing. Although this way of understanding such objects does not appear in Nietzsche’s account of Heraclitus in Philosophy in the Tragic Age, it does occur in The Pre-Platonic Philosophers (PPP, p.  66), and it resembles Nietzsche’s understanding of the subject as a collection of “drives and affects” that he presents later in BGE 12. The idea is that the macro-objects that are assumed to be propertybearing substances are actually composite wholes. However, they are not, as Democritus would have it, made of individual parts that are themselves substance-like entities that have determinate properties and are capable of independent existence. Instead, they are composites of interrelated forces that only exist insofar as they are affecting or “quarreling” with each other. What this means is that despite the apparent stability of macro-objects over time, there is an eternal quarrel between the parts of the larger whole going on beneath the surface that makes change an essential feature of reality. Moreover, in holding that the apparent stability of macro-objects depends on an underlying tension, Nietzsche’s Heraclitus places agon, struggle, strife, and even suffering at the heart of the world (PTAG 5).¹⁷⁰ It is with this last point that one can begin to see the way in which the Heraclitean worldview sketched by Nietzsche is tragic in that it renders impossible a certain understanding of eudaimonia. By construing all of nature, including ourselves, in terms of ever-quarreling forces, suffering is made an essential part of existence. On this view, war is the father of all things, and if peace or ataraxia is an essential component of happiness, happiness will never be had. Indeed, Nietzsche tells us that this war is not only constantly going on within each individual, but also between individuals, groups, and states on a continual basis: It is Hesiod’s good Eris transformed into the cosmic principle; it is the contest-idea of the Greek individual and the Greek state, taken from the gymnasium and the palaestra, from the artist’s

170 See Acampora (2013) for an account of the centrality of the agon in Nietzsche’s early and later thought.

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agon, from the contest between political parties and between cities – all transformed into universal application so that now the wheels of the cosmos turn on it. (PTAG 5)

The idea that suffering is an ineluctable element of human existence is a central feature of what I have called the tragic worldview and therefore constitutes one reason why Heraclitus’ philosophy can be called tragic. However, I have noted above that the philosophy of Nietzsche’s Heraclitus is also tragic in an aesthetic sense. That is, Heraclitus’ philosophy, according to Nietzsche, models tragedy not only in depicting the world in a way that makes suffering an essential part of it, but also in being able to transfigure and affirm this constant struggle as a game that Zeus plays with himself (PTAG 6). Important here is that Nietzsche associates this aesthetic attitude toward existence with the playfulness of the child: “In this world only play, play as artists and children engage in it, exhibits coming-to-be and passing away, structuring and destroying, without any moral additive, in forever equal innocence” (PTAG 7). This is important not only because this description refers back to the appearance of Heraclitus in The Birth of Tragedy (BT 24), but also because it points forward to the image of the child that caps the three metamorphoses found at the beginning of Nietzsche’s own tragedy in Zarathustra (Z I Metamorphoses). Finally, Heraclitus’ philosophy can also be dubbed tragic with respect to knowledge, and this tragedy of knowledge has two components. On one level, Nietzsche portrays Heraclitean becoming as “a terrible, paralyzing thought” (PTAG 5). In this sense, Nietzsche believes that what we do learn from Heraclitus is something that is itself a potential cause of suffering. Thus, the Heraclitean philosopher is similar to Oedipus in that what he discovers is not a source of joy and happiness, but rather an occasion for pain, fright, or even despair, and it is only through the transfiguring power of an aesthetic attitude that one can see such a world in terms of play. On another level, Nietzsche’s Heraclitus presents a philosophy that is tragic in the sense that we seem to know enough about the world to know that we will never fully grasp it. Although Nietzsche does ascribe to Heraclitus the power to think “intuitively,” which in turn makes it possible for Heraclitus to attain the insights he does, Nietzsche also notes the way in which the Heraclitean position violates Aristotle’s principle of noncontradiction. As I have argued above and will argue below, Nietzsche’s Heraclitus asks us to understand the world in terms of relations without any pre-existing relata. The problem, of course, is that when we try to think such a world, the structures of thought compel us to believe that relations necessarily depend on pre-existing relata. Whereas Nietzsche will insist that Heraclitus’ insight forces us to conclude that such a world is, in a strict sense, unknowable, Nietzsche’s Parmenides will reject Heraclitus’ philosophy precisely because it drives a wedge between the way we think and the way the world is. It is to Nietzsche’s account of Parmenides’ philosophy and his response to Heraclitus that I now turn.

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1.6 The Response of Nietzsche’s Parmenides to Nietzsche’s Heraclitus Nietzsche begins his treatment of Parmenides’ philosophy by casting Parmenides and his doctrine of being as a counter-image to Heraclitus and his doctrine of becoming (PTAG 9). As I noted in my exposition of The Birth of Tragedy, Nietzsche understands the developments in ancient Greek culture and philosophy in terms of a radical clash between two competing worldviews represented by tragic poetry and a corresponding tragic worldview, on the one hand, and Socratic optimism and Platonic philosophy, on the other hand. In The Birth of Tragedy, Nietzsche argues that Euripides and, above all, Socrates were the leaders of a new way of thinking that brought an end to the tragic worldview and the genuine art that affirmed a world so understood. In Philosophy in the Tragic Age, Nietzsche pushes the break with the tragic worldview back to the debate between Heraclitus and Parmenides. Whereas Nietzsche finds in Heraclitus a naturalist philosopher whose doctrine of becoming raised the curtain on the greatest of all dramas (PTAG 8), Nietzsche thinks that Parmenides’ metaphysical turn marks the beginning of the end of the tragic worldview. For this reason, Nietzsche characterizes Parmenides’ discovery of being as a moment un-Greek like no other in the tragic age, one that ultimately divided pre-Socratic philosophy into two halves and marked the beginning of the end of the tragic age of Greece (PTAG 9). According to Nietzsche, the doctrine of being also divided Parmenides’ own philosophical activity into two periods. During the first period, he was, much like his predecessors, interested in Anaximander’s problem of becoming or how something could come from its opposite. Like Heraclitus before him, Parmenides wanted to develop an account of the physical world that would solve the problem of change. However, he did so by mistakenly dividing opposing qualities into two distinct groups, and, according to Nietzsche, it was this mistaken reasoning about opposites  – the very mistake that Nietzsche alludes to in HH  1  – that drove Parmenides to develop his doctrine of being. The next step in his method was to interpret one of the opposites as the negation of the other. As a result, he divided the world into positive and negative qualities, associating the former with light and the latter with darkness. However, because the “dark” qualities were mere negations or privations of the “light” qualities, Parmenides further concluded that the latter were “existent,” while the former were “non-existent” (PTAG 9). Thus, for the young Parmenides, the physical world consisted of both being and non-being, that which exists and that which does not exist (PTAG 9). Having divided the world in this manner, Parmenides approached Anaximander’s problem of becoming. Believing that what exists cannot come from what already exists (as this would not be a case of coming to be) and that something cannot come from nothing, he concluded that coming to be must result from a mixture between being and non-being. In Nietzsche’s words, “for coming-to-be, the existent [das Seiende] as well as the nonexistent [das Nicht-Seiende] are necessary; whenever they interact, we

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have coming-to-be” (PTAG 9). However, because he did not see being and non-being as naturally united to form becoming, Parmenides had to explain how these two originally distinct elements could come together. To do so, he appealed to the mysterious power of eros as that which is capable of uniting these two distinct elements (PTAG 9). According to Nietzsche’s account, the mature Parmenides soon rejected this youthful theory of becoming. In so doing, he not only broke with his prior philosophy, but also with the philosophers of nature who preceded him. On Nietzsche’s view, Parmenides rejected his previous account of becoming, which is supposedly preserved in the Doxa, because it violated the principles of rational thought. Specifically, Parmenides realized the inherent contradiction contained in the notion of a negative quality. That is, Parmenides’ description of becoming made use of the non-existent, but for the non-existent to mix with the existent, the non-existent must itself exist. According to Nietzsche’s Parmenides, this is a logical blunder of the highest rank. This is because thinking dictates that, “what is, is” and “what is not, is not.” To assert anything else, especially that something both “exists and does not exist” or “is and is not” is “a universal crime against logic” (PTAG 10). Important for my purposes is the fact that Nietzsche interprets Parmenides as responding not only to his own youthful philosophy, but also to the account of becoming given by Heraclitus. We know this because Nietzsche tells us that Parmenides was just as much disgusted with Heraclitus’ philosophy as he was with his own original system. Specifically, Nietzsche speaks of Parmenides’ hatred of “the antinomy-play of Heraclitus” by referring to statements such as “we are at the same time and are not” and “being and nonbeing is at the same time the same and not the same” (PTAG 10). According to Nietzsche’s Parmenides, people who make such statements are twoheaded know-nothings; “everything is in flux with them, including their thinking” (PTAG 10). Although the claim that Parmenides designed his philosophy as a response to Heraclitus is controversial,¹⁷¹ Nietzsche undoubtedly reads the relationship between the two thinkers in this way. Not only can we identify the fragment that Nietzsche has in mind when he refers to Parmenides’ hatred of the two-headed know-nothings, we also know, from The Pre-Platonic Philosophers, Nietzsche’s source for reading Parmenides in this manner. Specifically, the Parmenidean fragment that Nietzsche has in mind is DK B6, where Parmenides speaks of “two-headed” (dikranoi) types who know nothing, presumably because they believe that “being and not-being” are “the same and not the same” (DK B6).¹⁷² Nietzsche’s source for the claim that Parmenides is responding here to Heraclitus’ philosophy is Jacob Bernays,¹⁷³ and this is known because Nietzsche cites Bernays in a similar discussion in The Pre-Platonic Philosophers (PPP, p. 84). Bernays’ work is significant because he is known for having devel171 See Graham (2006, pp. 155ff.). 172 Translation by Gallop (1991, p. 61). 173 Bernays (1850). Hölscher (1979, p. 168) also makes this point.

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oped, again controversially, what is often called the three ways of Parmenides.¹⁷⁴ In the spirit of both Bernays’ reading and Nietzsche’s comments in Philosophy in the Tragic Age and The Pre-Platonic Philosophers, I want to unpack an interpretation of these three ways both to show how Parmenides argues for the superiority of his philosophy and to further understand how Nietzsche’s Parmenides construes Heraclitus’ philosophy of becoming as violating the principle of non-contradiction. On this reading of Parmenides’ philosophy, there are three possible paths that one can follow: (1) it is; (2) it is and is not; and (3) it is not. In order to establish the desired connection between these three ways and the distinction between being and becoming, it is necessary to interpret the verb “to be” existentially. In so doing, the first way reads “it exists,” and this is Parmenides’ philosophy of being. The second way reads “it exists and does not exist,” and this is Heraclitus’ philosophy of becoming. The third way reads “it does not exist,” and this is what I call a philosophy of non-being or nothingness. The purpose of Parmenides’ philosophy is to establish the truth of the first way by eliminating the other two paths. Following Nietzsche, one can say that Parmenides eliminates the path of becoming by asserting the identity of thinking and being (DK B3). That is, the path of becoming, which is followed by those “two-headed” mortals who believe that “being and non-being” are “the same and not the same” (DK B6.8–9),¹⁷⁵ is ruled out because construing change as a mixture of being and non-being violates the laws of rational thinking, i.e., the principle of non-contradiction. For rational inquirers, there are only two possible ways, namely, “it is” and “it is not” (DK B2.2–5). Here, Parmenides rules out “it is not” or non-being on the grounds that it is unlearnable, unknowable, and it could not be pointed out (DK B2.6–8). In other words, non-being cannot be an object of thought, discourse, or perception precisely because in order for it to be an object at all it has to be or exist. Thus, the path of non-being is eliminated, and the only path remaining is “it is” or the path of being. It must be noted, however, that this reading of Parmenides’ philosophy is not without controversy. First, there is much dispute concerning the interpretation of the verb “to be.” According to the existential interpretation, Parmenides’ entire philosophy is designed to prove the claim, “it exists.” Although this might seem like a trivial point, the significance of Parmenides’ philosophy comes to light once he is read as responding to Heraclitus’ attempt to describe the ever-changing world in terms of entities that both exist and do not exist, i.e., that exist only in relation to other entities. Parmenides responds to Heraclitus not by arguing that he has misconstrued the nature of the sensible world, i.e., that there are indeed self-identical entities that reveal themselves to the senses, but rather by claiming that the sensible world that Heraclitus accurately describes is a deception. Because there is an isomorphism between thinking and being, reality cannot be contradictory, and if the senses reveal 174 See Mansfeld (1964, pp. 1ff.). 175 Translation by Gallup (2000).

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a world that is somehow contradictory and therefore unthinkable, then the senses must be a source of deception. In contrast, Parmenides argues that thought alone is the source of truth, and what thought reveals is being, a conception of reality that corresponds to the logical principle of identity, A=A (PTAG 10). Having laid out Parmenides’ critique of Heraclitus, Nietzsche proceeds to criticize Parmenides’ philosophy in turn, a fact that further suggests that Nietzsche is indeed interested in more than the mere personalities of these thinkers. The first criticism he levels against Parmenides is not that he has misconstrued Heraclitus’ philosophy as contradictory, but that Parmenides held that thought alone can be used as a constitutive principle in determining the nature of reality. Even though “experience nowhere offered him being as he imagined it” (PTAG 11), Nietzsche tells us that Parmenides simply “concluded its existence from the fact that he was able to think it” (PTAG 11). According to Nietzsche, the problem with this move is that “it rests on the assumption that we have an organ of knowledge which reaches into the essence of things and is independent of experience” (PTAG 11). That is, it presupposes that one can move from the possession of a mere concept of a thing to the inference that the conceptualized thing has a mind-independent existence. Such an inference, however, is unjustified. This is because Kant, according to Nietzsche, has taught us that the laws of thinking are merely formal conditions of truth and knowledge, and “further than this, logic cannot go” (PTAG 11). Thus, although it is logically true that “what is, is” and “what is not, is not,” Nietzsche argues that, “we cannot find any reality whatever which is constructed strictly in accordance with those propositions” (PTAG 11). In the end, Parmenides’ employment of logical principles for ontological purposes reveals itself to be nothing more than an exercise in what Glatzeder has called logical anthropomorphism (PTAG 11).¹⁷⁶ Just as he criticizes Parmenides for using the logical principle of identity as a constitutive principle in metaphysical speculations, Nietzsche also attacks Parmenides and Zeno for employing the principle of non-contradiction as a regulative principle to reject the sensible world as illusory. According to Nietzsche, Zeno did this by means of his analysis of the infinite. On this theory, the infinite can only exist as a perfect or completed infinity, and the senses reveal to us everywhere the notion of perfect infinity. The problem, however, is that perfect infinity, where any determinate distance can be infinitely divided, makes motion impossible. In order to move from point A to point B, an entity such as Achilles must traverse an infinite number of spaces. Traversing an infinite number of spaces, however, is impossible. Thus, it is impossible for Achilles, or anything else, to move from one point to the next. Because the senses both show that motion occurs and attest to a perfect infinity that makes motion impossible, one must conclude that the senses reveal a world that is contradictory. However, since the assumed isomorphism between thinking and being rules out the possibility of a con-

176 Glatzeder (2000, p. 98).

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tradictory world, the testimony of the senses must be rejected as illusory. According to Nietzsche, this is the general point of Zeno’s philosophy, namely, to show that “all our conceptions lead to contradictions as soon as their empirically given content, drawn from our perceivable world, is taken as an eternal verity” (PTAG 12). Similar to his treatment of Parmenides’ encounter with Heraclitean antinomies, Nietzsche does not argue that Zeno missed some crucial point by showing that the sensible world is not, in fact, contradictory. Instead, Nietzsche attacks the suppressed premise that allows Zeno to conclude, on the basis of his paradoxes, that the sensible world cannot have “true Being” and must be “merely an illusion” (PTAG  12). The presupposition is again the Parmenidean claim that true being must conform to the laws of logical thinking. Rather than testing our concepts against sensible reality and rejecting our concepts when they fail to measure up to this criterion, Parmenides and Zeno believe that “with our capacity to form concepts we possess the decisive and highest criterion as to being and nonbeing, i.e., as to objective reality and its antithesis” (PTAG 12). They therefore reject empirical reality for failing to measure up to our concepts. In contrast, Nietzsche asks: “Wouldn’t one think that confronted with such logic a man would attain the insight that such concepts do not touch the heart of things, do not undo the tangle of reality?” (PTAG 12). In other words, if sensible reality does not correspond to our conceptual thinking, rather than leaving the sensible world behind for another world that does conform to our conceptual thinking, Nietzsche thinks that we should simply acknowledge that this means that our minds are not equipped to know the sensible world and leave it at that.

1.7 A Rebirth of Antiquity? In trying to read Nietzsche’s mature philosophy and poetry through the ancient Greeks, one is inevitably confronted with a number of challenges and objections, and I would like to address three such objections before I proceed in the next chapters to link Nietzsche’s mature philosophy to his early reflections on pre-Socratic philosophy. Some, for instance, have worried about the historical accuracy of Nietzsche’s account of Heraclitus’ philosophy and the radical breaks he posits in the history of ancient philosophy. While acknowledging the centrality of the Greeks in Nietzsche’s early writings, others have doubted that he remains committed to a project of reviving elements of Greek philosophy and poetry throughout his productive career. Still others have claimed that Nietzsche’s mature project of returning to antiquity is a complete failure on the grounds that he can never escape his time and his hatred of Christianity. I will address these concerns in turn. In his essay, “Nietzsches Erfindung der Vorsokratiker,” Borsche argues that central aspects of Nietzsche’s presentation of the pre-Socratics are his own inventions rather than philologically substantiated discoveries. On the one hand, Borsche contends that Nietzsche crosses the Rubicon between philological interest and phil-

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osophical speculation when he presents Heraclitean becoming as the play of children and artists (PTAG 7). Whereas evidence for the metaphor of a child at play in Heraclitus’ thought is the controversial and much-discussed fragment DK B52,¹⁷⁷ Borsche claims that there is no talk in Heraclitus’ fragments of the play of artists.¹⁷⁸ Thus, Borsche argues that Nietzsche is just carrying on a modern tradition of seeing in Heraclitus’ philosophy an aesthetic conception of the world. On the other hand, Borsche contends that Nietzsche also invents, rather than discovers, the idea that Socrates represents a “breach in the evolution” (HH 261) of Greek philosophy,¹⁷⁹ and that Nietzsche, only a few years later, would reject this chasm between Socrates and his predecessors.¹⁸⁰ Borsche is certainly right to argue that Nietzsche’s portrayal of pre-Socratic philosophy in Philosophy in the Tragic Age is inventive. In particular, Borsche correctly points out that there is little evidence in the fragments themselves for thinking of Heraclitus’ philosophy in aesthetic terms, just as there is little evidence for thinking of Anaximander as being any more moralistic than his contemporaries. Instead, Nietzsche’s portrayal of Anaximander and Heraclitus is due to the fact that Nietzsche wants to associate Anaximander with both Kant and Schopenhauer and Heraclitus with himself, painting the former as a moralistic, life-denying thinker and the latter as an aesthetic, life-affirming philosopher. Thus, the inventive moments of Nietzsche’s interpretation are at their apex when he tries to link ancient thought to contemporary philosophical issues. Nevertheless, there is evidence in Plato’s works supporting the idea that Heraclitus’ philosophy has something to do with Greek poetry. For instance, in the passage from the Theaetetus quoted in the introduction, Plato links the world of tragic and comic poetry to the Heraclitean-Protagorean view that everything exists and is what it is only in relation to something else (Tht. 152d–e). What these remarks suggest is that the Heraclitean-Protagorean position stands at the heart of what Stephen Halliwell has called “a larger vision or world-view” that can be associated with, but is not exclusive to, the genre of tragedy.¹⁸¹ Although these remarks do not in any way prove that Heraclitus’ philosophy has the aesthetic dimension that Nietzsche attributes to it, they do indicate that Nietzsche falls in a tradition that can be traced back to Plato of

177 Borsche (1985, pp. 73f.). 178 Borsche (1985, p. 75). 179 Borsche (1985, p. 81). Borsche (2012, p. 474) also appeals to HH 261 to argue that Nietzsche gave up his youthful belief that the “true Greeks” were to be found in the sixth- and fifth-centuries. However, the lines that Borsche quotes from HH 261 only refer to the way in which the appearance of Socrates resulted in the sudden destruction of a philosophical Wissenschaft. This, however, does not mean that Nietzsche abandoned his early understanding of the Greeks; instead, it seems to reaffirm Nietzsche’s argument in The Birth of Tragedy that the wonders of early antiquity met a sudden, unexpected, and unfortunate end with the appearance of Socrates. 180 Borsche (1985, pp. 84ff.). 181 Halliwell (1996, p. 333).

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connecting Heraclitus’ thought to Greek poetry and to a larger, tragic worldview that Plato has Socrates oppose throughout his dialogues. Plato can also be cited in support of two further moves that Nietzsche makes in his portrayal of pre-Socratic philosophy. First, Enrico Müller has argued that explicit references to becoming (gignesthai) are nowhere to be found in the fragments we possess from Heraclitus.¹⁸² Thus, one might argue that Nietzsche, by attributing to Heraclitus a doctrine of becoming, is inventing a vision of a thinker that has no historical foundation. Here again, Plato readily attributes to Heraclitus a doctrine of becoming in the Theaetetus, and the deep parallels between Nietzsche’s and Plato’s understandings of Heraclitean becoming suggest that Nietzsche is following, if only indirectly, Plato’s understanding of the thinker. Second, Nietzsche’s portrayal of Parmenides has also been criticized – Giorgio Colli has gone so far as to say that the chapter on Parmenides should be completely rejected¹⁸³ – and one could develop Colli’s point by arguing that Nietzsche’s almost exclusive focus on the split between Heraclitus and Parmenides betrays his proclaimed intention of recapturing the “polyphony of Greek nature” (PTAG Preface).¹⁸⁴ Although pitting Parmenides against Heraclitus in this way has been a matter of philological dispute, it is nevertheless nothing new, as one can again find this very opposition in Plato’s Theatetetus, where Parmenides is presented as the lone soul brave enough to confront the pre-Socratic army of flux theorists (Tht. 152d–e and 180d–e). For this reason, the legitimacy of Nietzsche’s portrayal of Parmenides and the way in which he opposes Parmenides’ thought to that of Heraclitus can be said to stand or fall with the accuracy of Plato’s account. Nevertheless, even if one could show that Nietzsche has invented his Heraclitus and has mischaracterized Heraclitus’ position within the trajectory of pre-Socratic philosophy, this would still have no bearing on whether Nietzsche’s later project can be read through the ancient Greeks. This is because the primary question here is not the accuracy or even truth of Nietzsche’s claims. Instead, the issue is how Nietzsche understood himself, and so when we assess the extent to which Nietzsche’s later philosophy is Heraclitean, it has to be assessed according to Nietzsche’s understanding of Heraclitus, not our own; similarly, when we ask whether there is some plausible connection between Nietzsche’s Heraclitean philosophy and his own activity as a Dionysian poet, we need to think in terms of the picture Nietzsche paints of an artfriendly Heraclitus in Philosophy in the Tragic Age, not the “real” Heraclitus contemporary scholars claim to find in the fragments we possess. In chapters three and five, I use the framework developed in this chapter to interpret Nietzsche’s mature philosophical and artistic project. Because of this, I must confront another challenge to my reading, which is that scholars such as Tracy Strong 182 Müller (2005, p. 142). This, however, may be due to the fact that Heraclitus’ writings that do speak of becoming have been lost. 183 See Colli’s “Nachwort” in KSA 1, p. 917. 184 This is a leading theme in Müller’s (2005, ch. 3) exposition of the Greeks.

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and Christa Davis Acampora have joined Borsche in arguing that Nietzsche was either never interested in returning to the Greeks or that he eventually abandoned the Greeks as a historical model or ideal. Whereas Strong claims that Nietzsche “never advocates ‘returning’ to the Greeks, nor making society over in their own image,”¹⁸⁵ Acampora asserts that Nietzsche “has no bald nostalgia for ‘returning to the Greeks’.”¹⁸⁶ Similarly, Borsche has argued that Nietzsche eventually comes to see that all historical ideals must be overcome, including the Greeks.¹⁸⁷ Strong and Acampora base their claims on Nietzsche’s remarks from the planned but fragmentary and unpublished text, “We Philologists,” from 1875. What is clear from these fragments is that Nietzsche has no interest in studying the Greeks for the sake of knowledge alone and that he has no interest in simply imitating the Greeks (WPH, p. 329; NL, KSA 8, 3[16]). However, Strong and Acampora also find statements among these fragments suggesting that Nietzsche had, at least at this time, abandoned the project of returning to or retrieving certain aspects of antiquity, and it is these remarks that need to be addressed. One problem with the arguments of Strong and Acampora is that the textual evidence they cite does not always support their positions. In one case, Acampora cuts short a fragment in which Nietzsche seems to be claiming that antiquity is “gone for good” (WPH, p. 345; NL, KSA 8, 3[76]).¹⁸⁸ However, a more careful reading of the passage shows that the doubts expressed here are not those of Nietzsche, but those of what can be called a philological skeptic or a philologist who insists on the deep gulf between antiquity and the modern world and thus the futility of the latter recapturing the former. What the full passage indicates is that Nietzsche is actually criticizing the philological skeptic for her skepticism. This is because Nietzsche concludes the passage by noting how fortunate it would be if such a philologist could grasp the cultural significance of Schopenhauer and Wagner, i.e., the two figures Nietzsche deems responsible for a rebirth of tragedy in his first work. Although far from clear, the idea seems to be that the appearance of Schopenhauer and Wagner in the modern world shows that antiquity is, pace the philological skeptic, by no means gone for good (WPH, p. 345; NL, KSA 8, 3[76]). This, then, is why Nietzsche writes that, “between our highest art and philosophy and the truly understood archaic period of antiquity, there is no contradiction: they are mutually supporting and sustaining. My hopes are founded on this” (WPH, p. 368; NL, KSA, 8, 5[111]). The evidence Strong cites carries a bit more weight. In particular, he points to a fragment in which Nietzsche speaks of a would-be thesis of describing “Greek culture as irrecoverable” (WPH, p.  378; NL, KSA  8, 5[156]). In another fragment, Nietzsche speaks of besting the Greeks through deeds (WPH, p. 382; NL, KSA 8, 5[167]). Although 185 Strong (1975, p. 136). 186 Acampora (2013, p. 34). The other fragment Acampora cites is WPH, p. 374; NL, KSA 8, 5[146]. 187 Borsche (1985, p. 86). 188 The title of the English translation used here is “We Classicists.”

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the first fragment does provide some evidence for Strong’s view, it is nevertheless a conditional statement in which the context does not make clear whether Nietzsche himself endorses the pursuit of the thesis. In contrast, the second fragment almost speaks against Strong’s claim, as Nietzsche challenges the philologist to live classically so that he can, like Goethe, both understand the Greeks and even best them. The mention of Goethe in the passage is significant because, when taken in combination with remarks about Schopenhauer and Wagner (WPH, p. 345; NL, KSA 8, 3[76]), one gets the sense that Nietzsche is not abandoning the Greeks, but contrasting the philological approach to antiquity with that of Goethe, Schopenhauer, and Wagner. Whereas the philologist kills antiquity by turning it into a sterile object of study, Goethe, Schopenhauer, and Wagner all show that antiquity can be best understood when there is a genuine interest in making it come alive again. Thus, Nietzsche speaks of these three figures as marking a new beginning for philology, so that, “thanks to them…the fifth and sixth centuries can be discovered now” (WPH, p. 342; NL, KSA 8, 3[70]). Even if “We Philologists” did support the view that he had abandoned the project of reviving antiquity, Nietzsche never published these ideas. Following the priority principle, there needs to be some corresponding support for these claims in the published works. Furthermore, Nietzsche’s remarks in “We Philologists” would need to be reconciled with his claims in the contemporaneously published works that contradict the view that Nietzsche had no interest in returning to antiquity. For instance, one would need to explain why Nietzsche, in Richard Wagner in Bayreuth (1876), highlights the deep affinities between Kant and the Eleactics, Schopenhauer and Empedocles, Wagner and Aeschylus and claims that the only hope for culture is the “retention of the sense for the tragic” (WB 4). One would also need to explain why Nietzsche begins Human, All Too Human (1878) with the claim that, “almost all the problems of philosophy once again pose the same form of question as they did two thousand years ago” (HH 1). The idea is that if there is going to be sufficient evidence to undermine the claim that Nietzsche is trying to revive aspects of Greek philosophy and poetry, it will need to come from the published works. For this reason, Borsche’s argument presents a greater challenge, as he supports his position by pointing to Nietzsche’s claim near the end of the 1882 edition of The Gay Science that “we must overcome even the Greeks” (GS  340).¹⁸⁹ Specifically, Borsche claims that Nietzsche, at this time, was finally freeing himself from the illusion that science could correct existence,¹⁹⁰ and, according to Borsche, Nietzsche’s claims about science here include history and so historical ideals. So construed, Nietzsche is freeing himself from the belief that his-

189 Strong (1975, p. 184) also cites this passage. 190 Borsche (1985, p. 85) cites Nietzsche’s 1883 paraphrase of a claim from The Birth of Tragedy (NL, KSA 10, 7[7]).

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torical role models like the Greeks can offer us hope for a better future in which existence is somehow corrected. Whereas one could challenge Borsche’s claim that Nietzsche saw in the preSocratic Greeks a cure for existence on the grounds that tragedy, for Nietzsche, was not a cure for suffering, but a way to affirm the suffering that characterizes the human condition, the real question that Borsche’s argument raises is how to interpret Nietzsche’s claim in The Gay Science that we need to overcome even the Greeks (GS 340). On the one hand, it could be read in the way Borsche proposes, i.e., that Nietzsche now wants us to overcome the Greeks entirely. On the other hand, it could be read as referring specifically to Socrates and the Socratic quest for truth, such that the poetry and philosophy prior to Socrates remain outside the scope of the claim. Following Stegmaier’s call for a contextual interpretation of Nietzsche’s aphorisms,¹⁹¹ it is more sensible to follow the latter interpretation. This is because the claim is from an aphorism titled, “The dying Socrates,” which suggests that Socrates is the primary figure that must be overcome. Moreover, Nietzsche introduces, in the very next aphorism, a teaching, i.e., the eternal return (GS 341), that he associates with the mystery cults of ancient Greece (NL, KSA 10, 8[15]) and later attributes to Heraclitus (EH Books BT  3). The introduction of the eternal return is then followed by a reference to the rebirth of (Greek) tragedy in Zarathustra (GS 342), a work in which Nietzsche’s concept of the Dionysian becomes a supreme deed (EH Books Z 6).¹⁹² Finally, the first speech of Zarathustra identifies what seems to be the Heraclitean child of DK B52 as the capstone to the three metamorphoses of the spirit (Z 1 Metamorphoses). Thus, it is hard to see how Nietzsche could be advocating an overcoming of these Greeks in GS 340; instead, it is likely that he is advocating an overcoming of the Socratic quest for truth at all costs that characterizes the free spirit project up to that point (GS 344), thereby liberating the ability of art to justify existence (BT 5), rather than simply making it bearable (GS 107). The final criticism leveled against the idea of attributing to Nietzsche a renaissance of pre-Socratic philosophy and poetry is, as Abel succinctly puts it, “there is no atavistic return.”¹⁹³ In putting forth this claim, Abel refers to the arguments that Löwith presents in his chapter, “The Anti-Christian Repetition of Antiquity.”¹⁹⁴ There, Löwith argues that Nietzsche was so “branded by a Christian conscience” that he was simply incapable “of regaining the lost world in his own existence on the peak of modernity.”¹⁹⁵

191 Stegmaier (2009). 192 Also see Vivarelli (1992) for a discussion of the Dionysian metaphors that run throughout Zarathustra. 193 Abel (1998, p. 15). My translation. 194 Löwith (1997, pp. 108–121). 195 Löwith (1997, p. 120). Abel (1998, p. 15) also cites Löwith’s assessment with approval.

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What is important to note about such criticisms is that they do not deny that Nietzsche wanted to revive antiquity. Instead, these criticisms, especially those of Löwith, grant that Nietzsche takes himself to be engaged in precisely this project, but then argue that Nietzsche fails in his stated task. Thus, these criticisms are directed at the possibility of, rather than the desire for, recapturing the foundations of antiquity. Although Nietzsche thinks that he is recapturing antiquity, these critics argue that his project is doomed to failure. Developing Abel’s point, one could argue that “going back” is impossible because even if we could gain a clear understanding of the world of the pre-Socratics, we still carry with us the historical consciousness of a PlatonicChristian heritage that dominated Europe for roughly two millennia. Thus, one can argue, in Nietzsche’s language, that this intervening tradition has broken all bridges to antiquity (WP 419; NL, KSA 11, 41[4]). Indeed, a version of this idea stands at the heart of Löwith’s critique. That is, Nietzsche fails to revive antiquity because his love of Greece is actually motivated by a hatred of and “aversion to Christianity.”¹⁹⁶ Thus, the historical presence and dominance of Christianity colors and distorts his understanding of antiquity, and so, Löwith argues, many of the ideas Nietzsche claims to find in ancient Greece ultimately “derive from the Judeo-Christian tradition.”¹⁹⁷ In response, it must be said that a number of the criticisms Löwith levels against Nietzsche are simply unfair. For instance, Löwith’s claim that the Greeks understood the creative element in man to be an “imitation of nature”¹⁹⁸ is something taken from Plato’s philosophy, not the pre-Socratics, and so the accusation that Nietzsche’s emphasis on the creative will is un-Greek stems from a source, namely, Plato, that Nietzsche excludes from the period of antiquity he wants to revive. Furthermore, Löwith’s criticisms seem to miss the point of Nietzsche’s relationship to antiquity. The goal, for Nietzsche, is not to recapture antiquity for its own sake by simply mirroring their culture in precise detail. Instead, it is to see in antiquity a model for dealing with contemporary philosophical and existential problems.¹⁹⁹ Thus, the primary goal is confronting these issues, while the revival of antiquity is only a means to this greater end, and so one should expect a distinctively modern character to Nietzsche’s return to the Greeks, one that may very well overstep the bounds of what the Greeks thought and achieved. Nevertheless, the reason why Nietzsche sees in the Greeks a potential model for dealing with the problems of the modern world has to do with the number of parallels Nietzsche sees between the emerging modern worldview and the pre-Socratic understanding of the world. So even though the historical links between the ancient Greeks and the modern Germans have been broken, there are still “rainbow bridges

196 Löwith (1997, p. 119). 197 Löwith (1997, p. 121). 198 Löwith (1997, p. 121). 199 In this sense, I agree with Strong’s explanation of why Nietzsche was interested in the Greeks (1975, p. 137).

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of concepts” that link the two cultures (WP 419; NL, KSA 11, 41[4]). Indeed, Nietzsche believes that the more modern philosophy and science progress, the more they return to a view of the world held by the pre-Socratic Greeks (BT 19). In this spirit, one could say that just as Darwin’s theory of natural selection has precedents in the thought of Empedocles, the “big bang” understanding of the beginnings of the cosmos has certain parallels to the cosmogony in Hesiod’s Theogony. Although part of his project is emphasizing these parallels, Nietzsche’s originality lies in the fact that he thinks that the revival of these ways of thinking about the world makes possible and even necessary a corresponding revival of ancient values (WP 419; NL, KSA 11, 41[4]). Here again, though, Nietzsche’s goal is not simply to copy the values of antiquity, but rather to embody and express them within a modern context. In subsequent chapters, I make the claim that Nietzsche’s philosophy does constitute some sort of revival of views that can be found not only in Nietzsche’s understanding of ancient philosophy, but also through an independent study of the works of Plato and Aristotle. Nevertheless, my interest in turning to Plato’s Theaetetus and Aristotle’s Metaphysics has more to do with trying to work through the philosophical difficulties created by the various views that Nietzsche endorses and less to do with trying to substantiate the claim that Nietzsche is reviving views that can indeed be found in ancient authors. Thus, in turning to Aristotle’s defense of the principle of non-contradiction in Metaphysics IV in the next chapter, I am primarily concerned with the legitimacy and the consequences of rejecting such a principle as well as Aristotle’s attempt to defend what I have called the Parmenidean presupposition of the isomorphism between thinking and being. It is to Aristotle’s text that I now turn.

Chapter Two Aristotle’s Defense of the Principle of Non-Contradiction in Metaphysics IV Heraclitus’ regal possession is his extraordinary power to think intuitively. Toward the other type of thinking, the type that is accomplished in concepts and logical combinations, in other words toward reason, he shows himself cool, insensitive, in fact hostile, and seems to feel pleasure whenever he can contradict it with an intuitively arrived-at truth. He does this in dicta like “everything forever has its opposite along with it,” and in such unabashed fashion that Aristotle accused him of the highest crime before the tribunal of reason: to have sinned against the law of contradiction.  – Nietzsche, 1873 (PTAG 5)

2.1 Introduction In the previous chapter, I attempted to spell out Nietzsche’s understanding of becoming and its relationship to the unity of opposites via his interpretation of Heraclitus’ philosophy in Philosophy in the Tragic Age. Specifically, I argued that these two theses, taken together, give expression to an ontology of dynamic relations. Moreover, it was argued that Nietzsche’s Parmenides rejected this conception of nature on the grounds that it was unthinkable. Specifically, the unity of opposites violated Parmenides’ formulation of the principle of non-contradiction, and, according to Nietzsche, it was for this reason that Parmenides rejected not only Heraclitus’ philosophy, but also the sensible world as such. Although Parmenides’ rejection of Heraclitus’ philosophy was, on Nietzsche’s account, historically successful, Nietzsche nevertheless thinks that Parmenides’ philosophical revolution rested on the assumption that there is an isomorphism between thinking and being, and what I want to do in this chapter is reflect on the justification for this assumption and examine some of the consequences that result from its denial. However, because Parmenides does not explicitly defend this principle in the fragments we possess, one cannot turn to his work to undertake such an investigation. For this reason, I am going to turn away from Parmenides’ philosophy and devote this chapter to an independent reading of Aristotle’s defense of the principle of non-contradiction (PNC) in Metaphysics IV. The reason for turning to Aristotle’s text at this juncture stems not only from the fact that Nietzsche critically references Aristotle’s version of PNC in both Philosophy in the Tragic Age and his late Nachlass, but also because we can read Metaphysics IV, or so I will contend, as an extended attempt to defend a version of Parmenides’ belief that there is an isomorphism between thinking and being. My reason for holding that we can read Aristotle’s defense of PNC in this way comes from the fact that Aristo-

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tle defines the principle, first and foremost, in ontological terms. That is, Aristotle’s primary formulation of PNC is not about statements and their truth values, but about objects and their properties, and what this means is that Aristotle’s defense of PNC is effectively a defense of the view that the structure of the world fundamentally corresponds to the way we think and even talk about it. Important for my purposes is the fact that Aristotle does not defend the ontological version of PNC (PNC-ontological) by appealing to logical consistency or what I will call the logical formulation of PNC (PNC-logical), i.e., the view that two contradictory statements cannot be true at the same time. That is, he does not argue that we should accept PNC-ontological because its denial would lead to the impossible situation in which two contradictory statements are true at the same time. One of the reasons why Aristotle does not choose this method of defense is that it would beg the question, and the reason why it would beg the question is not because he would be using PNC-logical to defend PNC-logical – as Aristotle is not defending PNC-logical – but because Aristotle’s understanding of negation forces him to base his version of PNClogical, which I will call PNC-logical(A),²⁰⁰ on PNC-ontological. For Aristotle, negation is not truth-functional, and as a result, contradictory statements can and would both be true if some property both belonged and did not belong to the same subject at the same time and in the same respect. However, if Aristotle can show that it is impossible for this to be the case, he can also show that two contradictory statements cannot be true at the same time. In this sense, Aristotle secures PNC-logical(A) by defending PNC-ontological. The fact that Aristotle does not appeal to the contemporary version of PNC-logical to defend PNC-ontological is significant for my purposes because it shifts the debate away from issues of logical consistency towards fundamental questions in ontology. For this reason, I argue that Nietzsche can maintain the Heraclitean position without violating the laws of logical consistency. Quite simply, one can be consistently committed to the unity of opposites insofar as one does not also deny the unity of opposites, just as one can be consistently committed to a doctrine of becoming insofar as one does not also deny the doctrine of becoming. Of course, showing that the denial of an ontological version of PNC is logically consistent does not prove the denial of the ontological version of PNC. It merely shows that it is logically possible. As a result, the logical consistency of the denial of PNC-ontological simply raises the question of whether the position accurately captures the way the world is, and this question hinges, in large part, on whether nature is populated with self-identical entities that exist and have some of the properties that they do in virtue of themselves. This is why I contend that Aristotle’s defense of PNC-ontological is at the same time a defense of his substance metaphysics, and this is why much of the latter part of

200 I will explain this difference in more detail as the chapter unfolds.

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his defense is geared toward showing, pace his pre-Socratic opponents,²⁰¹ that substances and substrata play an essential role in a proper explanation of both change and perception. However, this is only one of three different strategies that Aristotle adopts in trying to defend the principle.²⁰² His first strategy is to show that an interlocutor cannot assert an instance of the denial of PNC-ontological without accepting the principle. This is because asserting an instance of the denial of the principle presupposes significant speech, and Aristotle provides an extended argument to show that significant speech entails PNC-ontological. However, even if Aristotle’s argument is successful, he has not thereby provided a positive proof of the principle. Instead, he leaves the interlocutor with the option of either accepting PNC-ontological or denying significant speech. As a result, the possibility remains open for the interlocutor to reject PNC-ontological insofar as he also abandons significant speech. Whereas Aristotle designs the first part of his defense to show that the would-be denier of PNC-ontological is refuted as soon as he speaks, the argument can also be read as implicitly revealing one of the disastrous consequences that results from the denial of the ontological formulation of PNC, namely, the loss of significant speech. In this sense, the first leg of Aristotle’s defense goes hand in hand with the second, as the second leg consists of showing just how bad the situation would be if PNC-ontological did not hold of the world. Although Aristotle mentions a number of negative consequences that follow from the denial of PNC-ontological, I highlight and discuss the four that are most relevant to my interpretation of Nietzsche’s philosophy: (1) The denial of PNC-ontological entails the rejection of substance and essence and results in the view that everything is an indefinite one; (2) it leads to the breakdown of the rules that govern statements and their truth values, such as Aristotle’s understanding of the law of excluded middle and the principle of bivalence; (3) it makes it impossible to render practical judgments; and (4) it underwrites a form of skepticism that brings the philosophical project of knowing things-in-themselves to an end.²⁰³ Whereas the second part of Aristotle’s defense corresponds to Nietzsche’s tragic philosophy, the third part of his defense is equally important for my purposes. In Metaphysics IV.5–6, Aristotle diagnoses the reasons why his predecessors  – a list that includes a wide range of pre-Socratic figures from Homer to Heraclitus – came to adopt views that led to the denial of PNC-ontological, and in offering this diagnosis, Aristotle endeavors to undermine the credibility of their position. Not only does 201 Throughout this chapter, I often speak of the pre-Socratics or Aristotle’s pre-Socratic opponents as a group of thinkers committed to some common beliefs that Aristotle opposes. I do this not only for the sake of simplicity, but also because Aristotle does encourage us, at least at times, to think of his predecessors in this way. That said, it should be noted that when I speak of Aristotle’s pre-Socratic opponents, as I do here, I do not mean all pre-Socratic thinkers, but rather those pre-Socratic thinkers who held theories that are similar to those that Aristotle is critiquing. 202 Aristotle summarizes his three-pronged strategy at Met. 1011b13–15. 203 I also talk about how the theory might be self-refuting, which is not a negative consequence of denying PNC-ontological, but rather a reason for accepting PNC-ontological.

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he contend that pre-Socratic philosophers denied PNC-ontological in explaining how contraries could come to be from the same thing, he also sketches the way in which (1) the denial of PNC-ontological, (2) the Protagorean thesis that man is the measure of all things, and (3) Heraclitean becoming all have a common source. Specifically, I follow Lee and Michael Wedin in arguing that the common source of these views is a belief that equates beings (ta onta) with sensible reality (ta aisthêta) (1010a1–3), a belief that implies what I call a strict empiricism and is equivalent to what I call ontological naturalism.²⁰⁴ Whereas the former is an epistemological thesis stating that sense experience is a necessary and sufficient condition for knowing reality,²⁰⁵ the latter is an ontological thesis that identifies reality exclusively with the sensible world.²⁰⁶ Furthermore, I extend Lee’s and Wedin’s analyses by arguing that Aristotle understands a number of pre-Socratic thinkers to be united not only in their ontological naturalism and strict empiricism, but also in their attempts to develop theories of perception (Protagoras) and change (Heraclitus and Cratylus) that do without the subject matter of Aristotle’s Metaphysics, namely, substances or, more generally, selfidentical things that exist and are what they are in virtue of themselves. What is revealed through this analysis is that Aristotle’s defense of PNC-ontological against his pre-Socratic opponents has more to do with theories of perception, change, and the constitution of the fundamental stuffs of reality than with issues of logical consistency. This is an important distinction because it suggests that Nietzsche’s critique of logic is really an attack on ontologies that arose from what he thinks is the misguided application of logical principles to reality. Before I turn to an analysis of Aristotle’s defense, I want to take a closer look at Nietzsche’s criticism of logic and show how it should be construed as an attack not on logical consistency, but on the Parmenidean presupposition that there is an isomorphism between thinking and being.

2.2 Nietzsche’s Critique of Logic If it is correct that Nietzsche’s critique of logic or what I have called his denial of the isomorphism between thinking and being lies at the heart of his break with the Western metaphysical tradition and his attempt to revive what I have called a tragic worldview, it is rather surprising that the issue has not played a more prominent role in Nietzsche scholarship. Although scholars have often noted Nietzsche’s criticisms

204 Lee (2005, p. 121) does not explicitly use the term “empiricism,” and where I use ontological, she uses metaphysical. However, she does argue that this statement contains both a metaphysical and an epistemological claim. See also Wedin (2004b). 205 This view is best captured in the claim that perception is knowledge discussed in Plato’s Theaetetus. 206 So if something is not a possible object of sense experience, then that thing does not exist.

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of logic,²⁰⁷ they have rarely made such criticisms a focus of their interpretations and, in turn, linked them to the tension between becoming and being in Philosophy in the Tragic Age and the denial of opposites in Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil. Perhaps one of the most prominent exceptions to this tendency can be found in the work of Müller-Lauter.²⁰⁸ Specifically, he has argued that Nietzsche not only develops an ontology of antagonistic forces that renders reality contradictory, but also that Nietzsche is committed to various doctrines, such as the eternal return and the Übermensch, that are inconsistent with one another. Whereas some have rejected Nietzsche’s thought for the latter reason, Müller-Lauter believes that such logical inconsistencies actually derive from Nietzsche’s ontology of antagonistic forces. As a result, they should be understood as an essential part of his philosophical project.²⁰⁹ Müller-Lauter’s position on this issue has given rise to justified criticism. In his review of the English translation of Müller-Lauter’s book, Tom Bailey has argued that there does not seem to be any way that Nietzsche could articulate his theory of reality without conforming to PNC.²¹⁰ This is because a statement like “there are no selfidentical things” cannot be affirmed unless it excludes its contradictory, i.e., “there are self-identical things.” Here, Bailey appeals to Poellner’s discussion of the issue, in which Nietzsche is criticized for thinking that his ontology of force and his related doctrine of becoming lead to a denial of PNC. According to Poellner, the applicability of the axioms and rules of inference of logic does not presuppose the existence of even relatively enduring particulars. The law of non-contradiction asserts that ‘no statement is both true and false […]. This would hold even in a world of rapidly changing and chaotic constellations of qualities (Nietzsche’s world of “becoming,” or of the “chaos of sensations”).²¹¹

While Bailey, following Poellner, is right to criticize Müller-Lauter for holding that Nietzsche embraces logical inconsistency, Bailey and Poellner both fail to make the crucial distinction between PNC as a principle of logical consistency and PNC as an ontological principle. In the previous quote, Poellner defines PNC in terms of statements and their truth values, and although he is right to argue that PNC holds even if the world is in constant flux, the problem is that Nietzsche’s criticisms are primarily

207 For instance, Schacht (1983), Nehamas (1985), Clark (1990), and Richardson (1996) all mention Nietzsche’s comments on logic, but do not subject them to sustained philosophical reflection or argue that they are central to his philosophical project. Clark (1990, p. 66) is perhaps the most sensitive to Nietzsche’s critical attitude toward logic, but she nevertheless misses the main thrust of Nietzsche’s critique, i.e., the mistaken belief that in logic we possess a means of grasping being. 208 Müller-Lauter (1999a). Djuric (1985) is also a significant exception to this tendency, and much of what I discuss here expands on what he says in the section, “Das Losbinden der Logik von der Ontologie” (pp. 16–31). 209 Müller-Lauter (1999a, p. 5). 210 Bailey (2003, pp. 96f.). 211 Poellner (1995, p. 193).

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directed at an ontological version of the principle. Once PNC is defined in ontological terms, one can see why Nietzsche would connect his attack on PNC (ontological) to his defense of an ontology of dynamic relations. This, however, does not entail that Nietzsche also rejects the logical version of the principle. More recent work on Nietzsche’s critique of logic has highlighted the importance of distinguishing between ontological and purely logical notions. Specifically, Hales and Welshon have argued that, “Nietzsche’s critique is really about the applicability of logic and object realism and not about logic per se.”²¹² In other words, Nietzsche’s critique is about semantics, not syntax, as he is focused on the meaning of logical symbols, not on the rules for the manipulation of symbols that make up logic as a formal system. According to Hales and Welshon, Nietzsche’s argument is that logic does not have any applicability to the world in itself, i.e., a mind-independent reality, because there are no mind-independent, self-identical things to which the symbols and formulas of logic refer.²¹³ Despite their sensitivity to the way in which Nietzsche’s critique of logic concerns his denial of self-identical entities, Hales and Welshon nevertheless claim that it is not entirely clear that Nietzsche wanted to reject synchronically self-identical entities, as opposed to diachronically self-identical entities or even qualitatively identical yet numerically distinct entities. Here they ask: “What could be ‘nuttier’ than rejecting synchronically self-identical entities?”²¹⁴ In responding to Hales and Welshon, Michael Steven Green has pushed the issue further by insisting that Nietzsche does reject synchronic self-identity. Not only does he cite additional textual evidence to show that Nietzsche holds such a view, Green also claims: To read Nietzsche as rejecting merely diachronic self-identity is to conclude that he is confused about one of the simplest and most rudimentary logical principles, for the logical principle of self-identity concerns synchronic self-identity only. It says nothing about whether an object is the same thing over time.²¹⁵

In presenting his case, Green highlights the influence of Afrikan Spir on Nietzsche’s thinking, and while I say more about Spir in the next chapter, the important thing to note about his project here is that Spir is not only conscious of the distinction between the logical and ontological versions of PNC and the principle of identity, he also argues for the ontological employment of logical principles. In so doing,

212 Hales and Welshon (2000, p. 55). 213 As Hales and Welshon (2000, p. 50) point out, however, Nietzsche’s critique of realist metaphysics does not require the rejection of logic as a formal system on the grounds that logic can be applied to fictional entities as well. 214 Hales and Welshon (2000, p. 55). 215 Green (2002, pp.  60f.). For Nietzsche’s critique of the principle of identity, see NL, KSA  8, 9[1] (p. 136); NL, KSA 12, 7[4] (p. 266); and WP 520 (NL, KSA 11, 36[23]). Important for my next chapter is the fact that the passage from NL, KSA 8, 9[1] forms the basis for HH 32.

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Spir countenances a world in which the ontological formulations of the principles of identity and contradiction do not hold, and he argues that such a world would be characterized by Heraclitean flux.²¹⁶ At the same time, Spir argues against such a conception of reality by contending that the laws of logic do in fact apply to the world. In terms of pre-Socratic philosophy, one can say that Spir rejects Heraclitean becoming by defending Parmenides’ principle that there is an isomorphism between thinking and being.²¹⁷ Spir is important for understanding Nietzsche’s critique of logic precisely because one can read Nietzsche as rejecting Spir’s attempt to defend the Parmenidean position. This is because the denial of the isomorphism between thinking and being underwrites Nietzsche’s critical remarks about logic not only in Philosophy in the Tragic Age, but also in his later writings. In Human, All Too Human, for instance, Nietzsche claims that, “logic too depends on presuppositions with which nothing in the real world corresponds” (HH 11). In The Gay Science, he argues that the concept of substance is indispensable for logic, even though nothing in reality corresponds to it (GS 111). In Beyond Good and Evil, he speaks of the fictions of logic, such as the unconditional and the self-identical (BGE 4), and he rails against the superstitions of logicians, especially their belief in the ego and the atom (BGE 17). Finally, in Twilight of the Idols, he claims that when logic and applied logic operate independently of the testimony of the senses, “reality is not encountered at all, not even as a problem” (TI Ancients 3).²¹⁸ In the late Nachlass, there are a number of passages in which Nietzsche effectively declares “war” on the “optimism of logicians” (WP 535; NL, KSA 11, 38[4]). In one passage, he explicitly denies that the “basic laws of logic, the law of identity and the law of contradiction” are what he calls “forms of pure knowledge” (WP 530; NL, KSA 12, 7[4]). Instead, he declares that they are merely “regulative articles of belief” (WP 530; NL, KSA 12, 7[4]). In another passage, he rejects the Parmenidean principle of the isomorphism of thinking and being and asserts the contradictory nature of reality: The law of contradiction provided the schema: the true world, to which one seeks the way, cannot contradict itself, cannot change, cannot become, has no beginning and no end. This is the greatest error that has ever been committed, the essential fatality of error on earth: one believed one possessed a criterion of reality in the forms of reason – while in fact one possessed them in order to become master of reality, in order to misunderstand reality in a shrewd manner. And behold:

216 Spir (1877, p. 164). 217 See Green (2004, p. 178). 218 Green (2005) and Clark (2005) have engaged in a nuanced debate about Nietzsche’s position on logic in general and in Twilight of the Idols in particular. Because this chapter is primarily about Aristotle’s defense of PNC, rather than Nietzsche’s critique of logic, I cannot enter into the nuances of this debate here. However, I will say that PTAG 11 speaks against Clark’s (2005, p. 21) claim that Nietzsche initially agreed with Spir’s denial that logical principles were purely formal and then, only later, came to see logic as a purely formal science.

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now the world became false, and precisely on account of the properties that constitute its reality: change, becoming, multiplicity, opposition, contradiction, war. (WP 584; NL, KSA 13, 14[153])

Finally, in a passage that is important for my argument in subsequent chapters, Nietzsche contends that logic, not experience, is the source of our belief in opposites. We believe that there are opposites in nature only because we have falsely projected our thinking onto nature (WP 552; NL, KSA 12, 9[91]). What is common to each of these passages is that Nietzsche is not so much attacking the principle of logical consistency as he is the belief that logical principles can function as a “criterion of reality,” and it is in this sense that Nietzsche’s “war” on logic is really a war on the Parmenidean presupposition of an isomorphism between thinking and being. This line of thinking can also be found in a passage from the late Nachlass in which Nietzsche explicitly attacks Aristotle’s defense of PNC. The note begins with Nietzsche’s attempt to reduce the laws of thinking to mere psychological facts of our existence. That is, propositions such as A=A are not, on this view, necessary truths, but have resulted from the fact that we are unable to affirm and deny one and the same thing. Nietzsche then refers to Aristotle, noting that if the law of contradiction were the most basic of all principles, we would still need to consider “what presuppositions already lie at the bottom of it” (WP 516; NL, KSA 12, 9[97]). This line of questioning leads Nietzsche to wonder whether our logical principles correspond to reality or are a means by which we create reality. Because we could only affirm the former position if we already knew what reality was like, Nietzsche concludes that logic “contains no criterion of truth, but an imperative concerning that which should count as true” (WP 516; NL, KSA 12, 9[97]). At this point, Nietzsche questions the existence of the self-identical “A,” which he argues is presupposed by every proposition of logic. Here he claims that if there is in fact no self-identical “A,” then logic has “a merely apparent world as its condition,” and he goes on to affirm precisely this possibility. What we need to recognize is that the thing that leads to the “belief in logic” is merely a construction. If we do not recognize this, we will make logic “a criterion of true being,” and this will lead “to positing as reality all those hypostases: substance, attribute, object, subject, action, etc.; that is, to conceiving a metaphysical world, that is, a ‘real world’” (WP 516; NL, KSA 12, 9[97]). What this final remark indicates is that Nietzsche’s rejection of the isomorphism of thinking and being is not an isolated point, but forms the basis for his attack on an entire conception of reality which holds that there are substances endowed with intrinsic properties out there waiting to be known by the philosopher. In short, it forms the basis for his attack on the metaphysical tradition. In turning to Aristotle’s Metaphysics IV, I provide support for Nietzsche’s view. Aristotle’s defense of PNContological is not an attempt to point out an isolated mistake made by a pre-Socratic like Heraclitus. Instead, it is an attack on an entire ontology that Aristotle thinks is the ultimate consequence of the naturalist and empiricist commitments of the preSocratics. Moreover, in rejecting this ontology and the general mental outlook from

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which it derives by way of his defense of PNC-ontological, Aristotle is, at the same time, establishing the foundations for his own substance metaphysics. This, then, is why Aristotle places a defense of what appears to be a strictly logical principle in the opening books of his Metaphysics.

2.3 An Overview of Aristotle’s Defense of the Principle of Non-Contradiction Aristotle’s defense of PNC in Metaphysics IV is a densely argued piece of philosophy covering a wide range of topics that require familiarity with his larger corpus. Because one could dedicate a book-length study to the issue, I do not offer an exhaustive account of Aristotle’s defense in this chapter. Instead, I emphasize certain aspects of Aristotle’s defense by developing an interpretation of issues that are relevant to my interpretation of Nietzsche’s philosophical project. My analysis of Aristotle’s defense of PNC is divided into six sections. In section 2.4, I deal with the fact that commentators have identified as many as three different versions of PNC in Aristotle’s defense. Here, I establish the primacy of PNC-ontological first by showing that one of these versions is not a version of PNC and then by showing how Aristotle’s version of PNC-logical(A) actually depends on PNC-ontological, thereby making PNC-ontological the primary object of Aristotle’s proof. In section  2.5, I delve into Aristotle’s elenctic defense of the principle. In so doing, I show not only how Aristotle seeks to establish the claim that significant speech presupposes PNContological, but also how he uses what we now recognize as basic logical principles and rules of inference to mount his defense. Here, I contend that if he were defending the logical version of PNC as we understand it, Aristotle would be guilty of a petitio principii. However, because Aristotle is not defending our logical version of PNC, but an ontological version of PNC, he can use what we now recognize as fundamental rules of inference to mount his defense of PNC-ontological without begging the question. One of the interesting facets of Metaphysics IV is that Aristotle cannot provide a positive proof of PNC-ontological. As a result, what Aristotle’s elenctic proof establishes is that the denier of PNC-ontological cannot articulate his position, or anything else, in significant speech. While this might provide the interlocutor with enough reason to abandon his denial of PNC-ontological, Aristotle nevertheless supplements his argument with two further strategies designed to motivate the interlocutor to accept PNC-ontological. In section 2.6, I go through the first of these strategies in which Aristotle highlights the negative consequences he attaches to the denial of PNC-ontological at the end of Metaphysics IV.4. In sections  2.7 through  2.9, I again emphasize the ontological thrust of Aristotle’s defense. Here, I argue that he devotes Metaphysics IV.5–6 to showing how the ontological naturalism and strict empiricism

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of his predecessors led to the denial of not only PNC-ontological, but also the subject matter of the Metaphysics, namely, being qua being.

2.4 Three Formulations of the Principle of Non-Contradiction in Metaphysics IV Aristotle begins Metaphysics IV by claiming that, “there is a science [epistêmê] which investigates being qua being [to on hê on] and the attributes which belong to this in virtue of its own nature [kath’ hauto]” (Met. 1003a22–23).²¹⁹ The fact that Aristotle begins the book that contains his defense of PNC with a reference to essential properties of things-in-themselves is significant for my reading of Nietzsche not only because it highlights Aristotle’s concern with ontological issues in the text, but also because this is precisely what the pre-Socratics who violate the principle of non-contradiction deny. Because Aristotle’s Metaphysics deals primarily with ontological issues and Metaphysics IV opens with a reference to things-in-themselves, it should come as no surprise that Aristotle first formulates the principle of non-contradiction in terms of an ontology of property-bearing subjects and their properties: “It is impossible for the same attribute at the same time to belong and not belong to the same subject in the same respect” (1005b19–20).²²⁰ Despite the broad agreement that Aristotle wants to defend the ontological formulation of the principle, commentators have nevertheless found two more formulations of the principle present in Metaphysics IV. Lukasiewicz has claimed that there are three versions of the principle that Aristotle wants to defend: the ontological, psychological, and logical.²²¹ Apparent evidence for a psychological version of the principle appears immediately after the introduction of the ontological version, where Aristotle claims that someone cannot believe that something both is and is-not (F) (1005b23–24).²²² In contrast to the ontological and psychological versions of the principle, which appear in the opening stages of Aristotle’s defense, evidence for the logical version appears in his summary of what his argument has established. It reads: “The most indisputable of all beliefs is that contradictory statements are not at

219 As in this case, I supply the Greek text where the translation may affect my argument: ἔστιν ἐπιστήμη τις ἥ θεωρεῖ τὸ ὄν ᾗ ὄν καὶ τὰ τούτῳ ὑπάρχοντα καθ’ αὑτό. 220 My translation of: τὸ γὰρ αὐτο ἅμα ὑπάρχειν τε καὶ μὴ ὑπάρχειν ἀδύνατον τῷ αὐτῷ καὶ κατὰ τὸ αὐτό. 221 Lukasiewicz (1979). Gottlieb (1992, pp. 185f.) identifies three versions, but refers to them differently: ontological, doxastic (psychological), and semantic (logical). Brinkmann (1992, pp. 205ff.) also distinguishes three different principles, but claims that they are all expressions of what he calls the principle of determinacy. 222 I have adopted Whitaker’s (1996) convention of distinguishing between “is-not F” and “is not-F.” Whereas the former is a negation stating that a property (F) is separate from a subject, the latter affirms that the property (not-F) belongs to a subject.

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the same time true” (1011b13–14).²²³ Although Lukasiewicz thinks that the logical and ontological formulations are logically equivalent, he claims that they nevertheless have different meanings.²²⁴ Whereas the ontological version is about objects and their properties, the logical version is about assertions and their truth values. Because I hold that the demonstrandum of Aristotle’s defense is the ontological version of the principle, my task here is to show, pace Lukasiewicz, that Aristotle is not also offering an immediate defense of a psychological and a logical version. I begin with the psychological version. Specifically, I hold that Aristotle is not defending a psychological version because what Lukasiewicz has dubbed the psychological version of the principle is not a version of the principle at all. Instead, it is a claim about PNC-ontological, namely, that it is the most certain of all principles (1005b22), and Aristotle uses PNC-ontological to establish this point. We know that the argument uses PNC-ontological because Aristotle claims this at the beginning of Metaphysics IV.4: “But we have now posited that it is impossible for anything at the same time to be and not to be, and by this means have shown that this is the most indisputable of all principles” (1006a3–5).²²⁵ While this much is clear, there is some ambiguity about the argument itself. On the standard interpretation,²²⁶ the argument is supposed to work by applying PNC-ontological to the knowing subject. Specifically, to believe that something both is and is-not (F) is to have contrary beliefs, a point supposedly secured by an argument in section fourteen of De Interpretatione. Beliefs, however, are properties of a thinking thing. To have contrary beliefs at the same time is to have contrary properties at the same time, and having contrary properties violates PNContological. Thus, if PNC-ontological is true, one cannot believe that something both is and is-not (F), and so PNC-ontological is the most indisputable of all principles. While there might be some reservations about this reading, the important point is that Lukasiewicz’s so-called psychological formulation of the principle is really a claim about PNC-ontological. If this argument is correct, then there are only two formulations of PNC remaining, the logical and ontological. The next step in the argument is to deal with the passages that have suggested to Lukasiewicz and others that Aristotle is interested in defending the modern logical version of the principle. This is important because while Cresswell has argued that Aristotle is not defending PNClogical, he does not provide an alternative explanation for the passages that suggest such a reading.²²⁷ Here I contend that although Aristotle indirectly defends a logical version of the principle (PNC-logical(A)), which states that two contradictory asser-

223 ὅτι μὲν οὖν βεβαιοτάτη δόξα πασῶν τὸ μὴ εἶναι ἀληθεῖς ἅμα τὰς ἀντικειμένας φάσεις. 224 Lukasiewicz (1979, pp. 51f.). 225 ἡμεῖς δὲ νῦν εἰλήφαμεν ὡς ἀδυνάτου ὄντος ἅμα εἶναι καὶ μὴ εἶναι, καὶ διὰ τούτου ἐδείξαμεν ὅτι βεβαιοτάτη αὕτη τῶν ἀρχῶν πασῶν. 226 I follow Whitaker (1996, p. 185). Lukasiewicz (1979, pp. 52f.) and Wedin (2000, pp. 115f.) provide similar treatments. 227 Cresswell (2003, p. 170).

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tions cannot be true at the same time, he is nevertheless not arguing for the modern logical notion. As I argue, this distinction is important in that, unlike the modern logical notion, PNC-logical(A) ultimately depends on certain facts about the world, namely, PNC-ontological. To understand why this is so, it is important to note the difference between Aristotle’s understanding of contradictory assertions and our own. For many modern logicians, contradictory assertions are defined as those for which it is impossible for both to be true or both to be false at the same time.²²⁸ For Aristotle, however, there is nothing in the definition of contradictory assertions that guarantees that they cannot both be true at the same time. This is because of Aristotle’s notion of negation. Specifically, Aristotle does not think in terms of negating propositions, such that the negation is external to the proposition and implies the falsity of the embedded affirmation. Instead, for Aristotle, negation is a second kind of assertion. When we negate, we simply assert that a property (F) is separate from a given subject (x). Negation, of course, stands in contrast to affirmation, when it is asserted that a property (F) belongs to a given subject (x). A contradictory pair of assertions therefore consists of two assertions that affirm (“x is F”) and deny (“x is-not F”) the same thing (F) of the same thing (x) (De Int. 17a30–35). Thus, there is nothing in the definitions of negation and contradiction to ensure that two contradictory assertions cannot both be true at the same time (PNC-logical(A)). Nevertheless, Aristotle does hold that, for nearly all assertions (see discussion below), two contradictory assertions cannot be true at the same time. His reasoning, however, is not based on the definitions of contradiction and negation, but rather on certain facts about the world. To see why PNC-logical(A) depends on certain facts about the world, it is necessary to turn to De Interpretatione, where Aristotle is discussing exceptions to what C.  W.  A. Whitaker has called the rule of contradictory pairs (RCP). This rule states that for “every contradictory pair [of assertions], one member is true and the other false.”²²⁹ RCP is simply a combination of PNC-logical(A) and what is known as Aristotle’s law of excluded middle (LEM). Whereas PNC-logical(A) states that two contradictory assertions cannot both be true at the same time, LEM states that two contradictory assertions cannot both be false at the same time. Taken together, we have RCP. Aristotle’s discussion in De Interpretatione is important for my purposes because it highlights the way in which the rules governing contradictory assertions depend on the ontological status of their subject matter. Indeed, they admit of exceptions precisely because of this dependency. Thus, in chapter seven of De Interpretatione, Aristotle identifies a class of contradictory assertions, namely, non-universal assertions about universal subjects such as “man is pale” and “man is-not pale,” that can be true at the same time (17b29), thereby violating RCP and PNC-logical(A). In the next chapter, he identifies an additional exception to RCP, arguing that, in the case of con228 For a list of the various definitions of contradiction, see Grim (2004, pp. 51ff.). 229 Whitaker (1996, p. 78).

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tradictory pairs in which a name signifies more than one thing, it is possible for both to be false (18a27).²³⁰ In chapter nine, Aristotle presents his analysis of future contingent assertions, where he argues that, “it is necessary for one or the other of the contradictories to be true or false – not, however, this one or that one, but as chance has it; or for one to be true rather than the other, yet not already true or false” (19a36–39). While there has been much debate about whether Aristotle is suspending RCP in the case of future contingents or the principle of bivalence (PB),²³¹ which states that any given assertion must be either true or false (17a1–3), the important point for my purposes is the fact that Aristotle allows for exceptions to the rules governing contradictory assertions because of the way things are. In chapter nine, Aristotle’s concern is that if RCP holds for future contingents,²³² then fatalism will be true. Fatalism, however, cuts against the commonsense view that one can influence the future. To preserve this view of the world, Aristotle argues that the rules typically governing contradictory assertions do not apply to future contingents, and Aristotle can and must do this because the rules governing contradictory assertions are ultimately related to how the actual things are (19a33). In Metaphysics IV, Aristotle’s task is not to identify exceptions to basic rules governing contradictory assertions, but to argue that the world is structured such that, for present singular assertions, two contradictory assertions cannot be true at the same time (PNC-logical(A)) (Met. 1011b14). In other words, Aristotle’s task in Metaphysics IV is to reject theories that deny PNC-ontological. This is because the possibility that the same property can belong and not belong to the same object at the same time and in the same respect is the one and only way for two contradictory present singular assertions to be true at the same time. This is because, for Aristotle, “x is F” is true iff x is F, and “x is-not F” is true iff x is-not F (1011b26–28). So both “x is F” and “x is-not F” can be true at the same time iff it is possible that x is and is-not F. Thus, in order to secure PNC-logical(A) with respect to present singular assertions, Aristotle must defend PNC-ontological. The situation would be devastating for Aristotle’s program of scientific demonstration if PNC-ontological did not hold. Not only would PNC-logical(A) fail, but also

230 This is an interesting instance that reinforces the point about Aristotle’s understanding of negation. It occurs when a term “cloak” signifies two things, such as horse and man. The statements “cloak is pale” and “cloak is-not pale” can both be false when man is pale and horse is-not pale. While modern logicians would acknowledge that the “cloak is pale” is false because one of the subjects which it signifies is not pale, they would contend that “cloak is not pale” is true because it is not the case that pale can be attributed to both of the subjects of which pale is predicated. For Aristotle, however, asserting that the “cloak is-not pale” is to assert that the predicate pale does not belong to horse and does not belong to man. However, since pale does belong to man, it is also false to say that “cloak isnot pale.” See Whitaker (1996, pp. 97ff.). 231 See Whitaker (1996, pp. 129ff.) for a brief summary of the secondary literature and the various responses to the issue. Also see D. Frede (1985). 232 This, in any case, is Whitaker’s (1996) interpretation.

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LEM and PB. Since “x is F” is false when x is-not F and “x is-not F” is false when x is F, both “x is F” and “x is-not F” would be false if x is and is-not F. Thus, LEM would fail. However, I have just shown above that “x is F” and “x is-not F” can both be true. Therefore, both assertions would be true and false if PNC-ontological did not hold. Thus, PB would fail.²³³ Since RCP, PNC-logical(A), LEM, and PB would all fail if PNContological did not hold, one can see why Aristotle thinks that PNC-ontological is the “ultimate belief” for anyone who is demonstrating anything and why it is the startingpoint for all other axioms (1005b33f.).²³⁴ As Aristotle’s defense of PNC in Metaphysics IV.4 indicates, if PNC-ontological does not hold, not only will demonstration be impossible, but even significant speech.

2.5 Aristotle’s Elenctic Defense Having shown that the immediate object of Aristotle’s defense is PNC-ontological, I now want to turn to the first part of his defense, namely, his elenctic refutation of an opponent who is invited to assert an instance of the denial of PNC-ontological. In so doing, I substantiate my claim that Aristotle is seeking to defend PNC-ontological by highlighting the way in which he uses what we now recognize as basic principles of logic and rules of inference to “force” his interlocutor into abandoning his denial of PNC-ontological insofar as the interlocutor remains committed to significant speech. The idea here is that Aristotle can use these basic principles of logic and rules of inference in his defense because he is defending PNC-ontological, not the modern logical formulation of the principle. In contrast, if he were attempting to show that PNC-logical is the foundation for rules of inference such as modus ponens and modus tollens, Aristotle would ultimately beg the question. Aristotle argues, at the end of Metaphysics IV.3, that PNC-ontological is the most certain of all principles by presupposing the truth of PNC-ontological. In Metaphysics IV.4, Aristotle’s task is to defend PNC-ontological itself. The problem that he immediately confronts is that the principle cannot be positively demonstrated. This is because PNC-ontological is the most fundamental principle of all demonstration. If PNC-ontological were to be a conclusion of a demonstration, it would no longer be the starting-point of all other axioms. This is because Aristotle stipulates that any demonstration must proceed from premises that are prior to and better known than the conclusion (Apo. 71b22). Therefore, if some other principle were to be used to

233 This, of course, assumes that PB is a principle based on an exclusive, rather than inclusive, “or” – that an assertion must be true or false means that it must be one or the other and not both. 234 With Wedin (2004a, pp. 258ff.), I defend Aristotle against Lukasiewicz (1979) who rejects Aristotle’s claim that PNC is the highest principle of all demonstrations. However, I differ significantly from Wedin in my explanation of why Aristotle thinks that PNC is an ultimate belief for anyone demonstrating anything.

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prove PNC-ontological, that premise would be the starting-point of all other axioms. Of course, even if some other principle dethroned PNC-ontological, the opponent could again demand a demonstration of this most fundamental principle and such a demonstration would, in turn, require a principle that is more fundamental than it. This, however, would lead to an infinite regress, and this is why Aristotle claims that it is want of education to demand a positive demonstration of the most fundamental axiom. While we are told that there cannot be a positive demonstration of PNC-ontological, Aristotle believes that he can provide an elenctic demonstration (Met. 1006a13). Although commentators like Lukasiewicz have been baffled by this distinction,²³⁵ it seems quite clear what Aristotle has in mind and why it is significant for his argument. Specifically, Aristotle is claiming that he can successfully refute anyone who asserts an instance of not-PNC-ontological, i.e., that some property both belongs and does not belong to the same subject in the same respect. This is different from a straightforward demonstration because the interlocutor is now responsible for articulating the proposition that Aristotle will then try to refute. If he does not agree to such a procedure, Aristotle claims that he has no logos, and if he has no logos, then there is no reason to debate with him (1006a13–16). It is at this point that Aristotle invites his interlocutor to meet the most minimal of demands, namely, to say “something significant both to himself and to another” (1006a21–22).²³⁶ Once the interlocutor answers this demand, Aristotle thinks that he can successfully refute him. This is because significant speech entails the acceptance of PNC-ontological. Therefore if he can get the interlocutor to accept significant speech, he can force him to accept PNC-ontological. It is here that one gets a sense of the elenctic structure of Aristotle’s proof. Aristotle’s argument is the same form that Gregory Vlastos finds in Plato’s elenctic dialogues.²³⁷ There, Socrates combats an interlocutor’s belief that (p), first by getting him to commit to some additional premise (q) and then showing that (q) entails (not-p). In other words, Socrates’ strategy is to convict the interlocutor of being committed to an inconsistent set of beliefs. In Metaphysics IV, Aristotle’s strategy is to combat the interlocutor’s claim that (p), i.e., an instance of not PNC-ontological, by getting his assent to (q), i.e., significant speech, and then showing that (q) entails (not-p). There are, however, two worries that have emerged in the secondary literature about this strategy. The first is that Aristotle’s negative refutation seems to depend on the interlocutor’s commitment to significant speech. That is, the interlocutor might assent to the force of Aristotle’s demonstration that significant speech is inconsistent with the denial of PNC-ontological, but he will still be able to deny PNC-ontological by then abandoning his commitment to significant speech. It is this apparent loop235 Lukasiewicz (1979, p. 55). 236 My translation of: σημαίνειν γέ τι καὶ αὑτῷ καὶ ἄλλῳ. 237 Vlastos (1999).

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hole in Aristotle’s strategy that has led some commentators to think that Aristotle’s elenctic refutation is really a transcendental argument on behalf of PNC-ontological.²³⁸ That is, Aristotle is arguing from the possibility of significant speech to the truth of PNC-ontological. The problem with this reasoning is twofold. First, there does not seem to be any reason why the interlocutor needs to assent to the possibility of significant speech in order for the proof, so construed, to work. That is, Aristotle could simply bypass the interlocutor, claim that significant speech is possible, and then prove PNC-ontological. The problem with this is that it transforms Aristotle’s elenctic proof into a straightforward demonstration. The second reason strikes at the heart of transcendental arguments as such, and it recalls the dictum that one person’s modus ponens is another’s modus tollens. That is, while Aristotle, on this reading, uses the premise “if significant speech is possible, then PNC-ontological holds” to prove PNContological by affirming the antecedent, his interlocutor could just as well deny the possibility of significant speech by denying the consequent. That is, he could reject PNC-ontological and join Cratylus in trying to purge philosophy of linguistic utterances altogether (1010a13). The other reason for rejecting the transcendental reading is that one can make sense of Aristotle’s elenctic refutation by noting one more facet of his argument. Specifically, Aristotle thinks he can refute anyone who asserts an instance of notPNC-ontological because he thinks that significant speech is a necessary condition for asserting an instance of not-PNC-ontological. That is, if the interlocutor wants to assert an instance of not-PNC-ontological, he must say something significant. Indeed, he does not even have to make an assertion, i.e., a sentence capable of being true or false. Instead, all he has to do is utter a significant word, and in so doing, he will have committed himself to the very proposition he wants to deny, namely, PNC-ontological. Thus, while Aristotle’s elenctic refutation does not provide positive proof of PNC-ontological, it is designed to show that it is impossible to assert the denial of PNC-ontological. Therefore, the interlocutor is left with a choice, either accept PNContological or refrain from saying anything at all, even denying PNC-ontological. Of course, if he refrains from saying anything at all, he will be, according to Aristotle, no better than a vegetable (1006a15). Having shown that his interlocutor must have a logos (1006a14) and that a logos presupposes significant speech, Aristotle launches his defense of PNC-ontological by trying to establish the claim that significant speech entails PNC-ontological. On my reading, Aristotle’s argument begins at 1006a31, where he states that if “man” signifies one thing, then let it be a two-footed animal.²³⁹ In signifying one thing, Aristotle claims that the interlocutor is committed to the view that if something (x) is a man, then that thing (x) will be whatever it is to be a man. The reason why Aristotle insists that the interlocutor signify one thing, and not many, is that signifying one thing is 238 See Gottlieb (2007). Politis (2004, p. 158) seems to endorse this reading. 239 See Wedin (2000, p. 133) for a discussion of the brief argument in 1006a29–31.

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a necessary condition for discourse, with both another and oneself. This is because “it is impossible to think of anything if we do not think of one thing” (1006b9–10).²⁴⁰ A word that signified many things would not signify, because to signify, for Aristotle, means to use words as symbols of affections in the soul (De Int. 16a4–9). If a word signified more than one thing, it would not evoke a corresponding affection in the soul, either in another or in the one who signifies. As a result there would be no significant speech. As one can see, Aristotle’s demand that the interlocutor say something significant is far from innocent. Indeed, Aristotle’s notion of significant speech seems to be precisely what establishes an isomorphism between thinking and being. This is because what counts as significant speech is not only limited by the world, but also by the structure of our minds. Quite simply, when we signify something, we must signify one thing precisely because we can only think of something as being one, not many, and it is by accepting this demand that the interlocutor will be committed to the principle that (x) (here “man”) is whatever it is to be (x) (here “two-footed animal”). That is, by insisting that significant speech must signify one thing and one thing only, Aristotle will have eliminated the possibility that (x) can also signify anything other than what it is to be (x), for if the name were to signify anything other than what it is to be (x), then it would signify not one, but many things. Thus, if “man” signifies what it is to be a man, then it cannot signify anything else, including what it is not to be a man. According to Wedin, Aristotle concludes the first stage of the elenctic argument with the following claim:²⁴¹ “Now let this name, as we said at the beginning, signify something and signify one thing” (Met. 1006b11–13).²⁴² The second stage begins with Aristotle’s attempt to show that “man” and “not-man” cannot signify the same thing. The reason for this is that Aristotle’s requirement that the interlocutor signify one and only one thing would not exclude a thing being man and not being man if “man” and “not-man” signified the same thing. Aristotle begins by introducing the following premise: 1) (a) If “man” signifies one thing, (b) it is impossible that “being man” and “not being man” will signify the same thing. (1006b13–16) Aristotle’s next move is to assume that “man” and “not-man” signify the same thing (see 2a), i.e., the denial of what he wants to prove, and then show that it entails the negation of (1b). This is expressed in the following premise: 2) (a) If “man” and “not-man” signify the same thing, then (b) “being man” and “not being a man” will signify the same thing. (1006b22–24)

240 The Greek reads: οὐθεν γὰρ ἐνδέχεται νοεῖν μή νοοῦντα ἕν. 241 Much of this analysis follows and borrows from Wedin (2000, pp. 134ff.). 242 My translation of: ἔστω δή, ὥσπερ ἐλέχθη κατ’ ἀρχάς, σημαῖνόν τι τὸ ὄνομα καὶ σημαῖνον ἕν.

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Aristotle then endeavors to support (2) with the following argument (1006b25–28): 3) If (a) 2a, then (b) “being man” and “not being a man” have the same logos. 4) If (a) 3b, then (b) “being man” and “not being man” will be one thing. 5) If (a) 4b, then (b) “being man” and “not being man” will signify the same thing. Since (5b) is equivalent to (2b), (2) has been proven: If (2a) – assumed in (3a) – , then (2b). With (2) now in place, Aristotle can use modus tollens to reject (2a). That is, from (1) and the previous demand that significant speech can only signify one thing (1a), (1b) is true (1006b28–29). Since (1b) is the denial of (2b), we must reject (2a). Therefore one must grant (not 2a) that “man” and “not-man” cannot signify the same thing. At this point, it is important to recall why Aristotle wants to prove that “man” and “not-man” cannot signify the same thing. The reason is that it represents the last remaining possibility that something could both be and not-be man. That is, once it is shown that from the nature of significant speech that “man” can signify one and only one thing, the only way that something could be and not-be man is if “man” and “not-man” signified one and the same thing. While Aristotle acknowledges that something might be man and not-man homonymously, the issue is not whether something can be man and not-man merely in name (onoma), but in fact (pragma) (1006b22). As the previous argument shows, “man” and “not-man” cannot signify the same thing in fact; if they did, then “man” would not signify one thing and therefore not be significant. The next step in the argument is what Dancy has called the “clincher.”²⁴³ The clincher begins with the claim that: 7) Necessarily, if anything is a man, it is a two-footed animal. (1006b28–30) As Dancy notes, Aristotle seems to be reworking the claim already put forth at 1006a32–34, which states that if anything is a man, its humanity will consist in being whatever it is to be, e.g., a two-footed animal. The crucial addition, of course, is the term “necessarily.” This is important because it allows Aristotle to take the next step in the argument, which is: 8) It is not possible for anything that is a man not to be a biped animal. (1006b31) Here, Aristotle simply reformulates (7). Specifically, he transforms the hypothetical into a negated conjunction. That is, he is saying that it is not possible, as opposed to necessary, for the antecedent to be true, i.e., that something is a man, and for the consequent to be false, i.e., that that something is also not a two-footed animal. With (8) in hand, all one needs to do now is substitute “man” for “biped animal.” This move is permitted because “biped animal” is the definition of “man.” In so doing, Aristotle can conclude:

243 Dancy (1975, p. 29).

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9) It cannot be true to say at the same time that the same thing is and is not man. (1006b34) This can be rephrased as: 9a) It is not possible for anything to be a man and not be a man. While Aristotle will go on to show that the same argument also holds in the case of not being man (1007a1), (9) is generally taken as the conclusion of the argument. Of course, it is merely an instance of the general principle, but Aristotle believes the instance proves the rule. Thus, Aristotle believes that he has shown that once one utters something significant, it is impossible for the same attribute to belong and not to belong to the same thing at the same time and in the same respect. At this point, it is helpful to recall exactly what Aristotle is trying to prove. As I argued above, Aristotle is not trying to prove the modern logical principle, and therefore he is not trying to show that the modern logical principle is the basis for rules of inference, such as modus ponens, and other axioms, such as the principle of identity, of formal logic. This is evidenced by the fact that Aristotle’s elenctic proof has the structure of a modus ponens: If one is committed to significant speech, then one is committed to PNC-ontological; since the interlocutor commits himself to significant speech in trying to deny PNC-ontological, he is therefore committed to PNC-ontological. Moreover, I have also argued that he uses modus tollens to reject the claim that (2a) “man” and “not-man” signify the same thing. If Aristotle were trying to prove that PNC-logical is the basis for these rules of inference, he would run the risk of a petitio principii.²⁴⁴ Here, commentators like Wedin have tried to help Aristotle escape this charge by arguing that although the validity of modus ponens and modus tollens depends on PNC, thus preserving the claim that PNC is the basis of all other axioms, Aristotle does not use PNC in employing the aforementioned forms of inference to secure PNC and therefore does not beg the question.²⁴⁵ Although Wedin’s strategy has some plausibility, it seems to be unnecessary because he has assumed that Aristotle’s defense is geared toward securing the modern logical version of PNC and that this version of the principle is supposed to provide the basis for the various rules of inference.²⁴⁶ Instead, the object of Aristotle’s proof is PNC-ontological, and it is because he is trying to show how significant speech presupposes PNC-ontological that he can

244 See Wedin (2000, pp. 154ff.). 245 See Wedin (2004a, pp. 258ff.). 246 Wedin (2000, p.  115), usually quite thorough, simply asserts in a footnote, citing no specific textual evidence, that Aristotle is defending –(p and –p). Wedin (2004a, pp. 234f.) does offer some reflections on the difference between the ontological and the logical versions of the principle, but nevertheless says nothing about the difference between Aristotle’s understanding of negation and our contemporary understanding of negation.

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use what we now recognize as basic rules of inference to secure agreement from an interlocutor who has a logos and is willing to observe the normal rules of Aristotelian dialectic. Thus, even the interlocutor who denies the principle for the sake of argument, as opposed to an interlocutor who denies the ontological version because of genuine perplexity (1009a16), can be compelled by reasoning and argumentation. He is not, therefore, like Lewis Carroll’s tortoise who refuses to accept the conclusion of a sound argument,²⁴⁷ but someone who demands a demonstration that things in the world cannot both have and not have the same property at the same time in the same respect. What Aristotle has provided here is a negative demonstration of this very point by arguing that this ontological fact is a necessary condition for significant speech, dialectics, demonstration, and even the attempt to deny PNC-ontological.

2.6 The Devastating Consequences of Denying PNC-Ontological Whereas most of the commentary on Metaphysics IV has focused on Aristotle’s elenctic refutation of PNC-ontological, this aspect of his defense of PNC constitutes only one part of his program. Indeed, the purpose of the elenctic refutation is not to prove that PNC-ontological unconditionally holds, but to show that it is impossible for anyone to articulate an instance of its denial. Aristotle employs this strategy because he himself cannot provide a positive proof of the principle. Thus, what Aristotle has effectively shown is that if the interlocutor wants to maintain his position, he has to abandon significant speech, and if he abandons significant speech, he can no longer assert anything at all. Although one might think that this result would motivate the interlocutor to abandon his position, Aristotle does, in the later stages of his defense, depict Cratylus as remaining consistent by abandoning significant speech in light of his commitment to the denial of PNC-ontological. On my reading, Nietzsche’s dual commitment to a Heraclitean ontology, on the one hand, and a belief that the structures of language and logic somehow falsify reality, on the other hand, places him within the Cratylean tradition that Aristotle describes in Metaphysics IV. Moreover, the Nietzsche I present also holds that a number of negative or tragic consequences follow for both philosophy and for life from the truth of this Heraclitean ontology, and so there are further parallels between Nietzsche’s philosophy and Aristotle’s defense of the principle of non-contradiction. This is because, in the next section of his defense, Aristotle sets out to show that the denial of PNContological leads to a series of terrible consequences. Whereas Nietzsche embraces these tragic consequences as part of the terrible truth of the world, Aristotle thinks that bringing these consequences to light will motivate his interlocutor to accept PNContological.

247 Carroll (1895).

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Although commentators have held that Aristotle officially begins the process of listing the unwanted consequences that follow from the denial of PNC-ontological when he claims that such a position entails that all things will be one (1007b19– 21),²⁴⁸ it is worth noting that Aristotle highlights another unwanted consequence of the denial of PNC-ontological in a supplemental argument to his initial proof (1006b34–1007a20). Specifically, after having shown by means of his elenctic refutation that it cannot be true to say at the same time that the same thing is and is-not man (1006b33f.), Aristotle claims that the same argument can be used for negative predications, such as “not being man” (1007a2). Here, he considers someone who might argue that something is both man and not-man because Socrates, say, is both man and white, where white is a kind of not-man. As Aristotle argues, the problem with this line of argumentation is that it does away with ousia in the sense of essence (1007a21).²⁴⁹ In doing away with essence, it eliminates the distinction between essential properties and accidental properties. That is, the interlocutor thinks that he can signify Socrates by saying “white” or “not-man.” This, however, is not the case. What he is actually doing is signifying something about Socrates, not Socrates himself. In contrast, to signify ousia is to signify the essence, and when one signifies the essence of something, that something must be whatever it is signified as being and nothing else (1007a29). Thus, if some (x) is essentially a man, then that (x) cannot also be essentially not-man or white or even a ship. What should be evident here is that the belief that one can signify something through two or more predicates leads to the destruction of ousia in the sense of essence. As the next step in Aristotle’s argument shows, the problem with this is that it results in an impossible situation in which everything is accidental (1007a30–31), where there is a world in which accidents are supposed to be predicated of accidents.²⁵⁰ For Aristotle, accident predication is impossible because that which is accidental must, by virtue of being accidental, be predicated of something with an essential nature. Because of this, Aristotle concludes that there must be something that signifies ousia, and once there is something that signifies ousia, “contradictory statements cannot be predicated at the same time” (1007b17). Aristotle’s argument becomes rather murky in the very next passage, where he claims that, “if all contradictory predications of the same subject at the same time are true, then clearly all things will be one” (1007b18–20). The problem is that this passage marks, in the words of Wedin, a “curious turn” in Aristotle’s defense of PNContological.²⁵¹ This is because Aristotle seems to be attributing to his interlocutor a

248 See Wedin (2000, pp. 161f.). 249 The Greek reads: οὐσίαν καὶ τὸ τί ἦν εἶναι. I take the καί to be epexegetical and thank Gisela Striker for pointing this out. 250 For an analysis of this issue, see Brinkmann (1992). 251 Wedin (2003). Lukasiewicz (1979, pp. 57f.) also notes that the object of Aristotle’s proof undergoes a transformation.

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new and even stronger denial of PNC-ontological. Whereas the denial of Aristotle’s initial formulation of PNC-ontological only requires that at least one property both belongs and does not belong to one and the same subject at the same time and in the same respect, Aristotle now attributes to his interlocutor the view that all contradictory predications are true of all subjects at the same time and in the same respect. Although Aristotle’s curious turn is difficult to explain, what is clear is that the strong denial of PNC-ontological leads to the complete destruction of substance in the sense of essence. Once substance in the sense of essence is destroyed, one is left wondering what the world would be like. On the one hand, one might countenance a world in which there is accident predication. However, it has just been shown that this is impossible. Accidents have to attach themselves to something. The other option is that all accidental properties attach themselves to an indefinite one. This, of course, is the option that Aristotle considers as the passage unfolds (1007b23–29), and he employs a complex argument to generate this kind of ontology. The upshot of this argument seems to be that since the strong denial entails the view that everything has and does not have every (essential) property, the strong denial generates a world in which there is no essential (qualitative) difference between any of the individual entities. However, if there is nothing left to distinguish (qualitatively) one entity from another, these entities will no longer be numerically distinct,²⁵² and since entities cannot be numerically distinct, everything collapses into one thing. If that one thing has and does not have every essential property, then that one thing cannot properly be said to be anything. Instead, it must be something indefinite (aoristos) (1007b27). At this point, it is necessary to say something about the kind of defense that Aristotle is offering here. This is because Lukasiewicz has raised worries about a petitio principii if we construe Aristotle’s arguments in this section as proofs of PNC. According to Lukasiewicz, Aristotle’s arguments take the form of a reductio ad impossible, and Lukasiewicz thinks that such reductio arguments presuppose PNC.²⁵³ Here, Aristotle’s strategy is to show that if the strong denial of PNC is true, then certain false conclusions follow, such as that the world will be an indefinite one. Since the things that follow from the strong denial of PNC are false, the strong denial of PNC must also be false. In dealing with this issue, Wedin has acknowledged that Lukasiewicz is right on the issue of a petitio principii if this is what Aristotle is in fact doing. However, Wedin claims that Aristotle does not intend these arguments to be proofs for PNC.²⁵⁴ Instead, Wedin believes that they should be interpreted as “shriek” arguments, in

252 Priest (1998, p. 119) suggests that the identity of indiscernibles might be at work here. 253 Lukasiewicz (1979, pp. 56f.) explains this as follows: “A reductio proof runs thus: – If a were the case, b would have to be the case; but b is not the case; therefore a cannot be the case. Why not? Because if a were the case, then there would be a contradiction – for b too would be the case, and it is not the case.” 254 Wedin (2000, pp. 157ff.).

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which Aristotle attempts to extract an awkward or unwanted consequence from the strong denial of the principle. According to Wedin, a shriek argument differs from a reductio proof because it leaves the truth-value of the principle that is being attacked unaffected. What it does instead is transfer the awkwardness of the entailed consequence to the doctrine itself. So if the strong denial of PNC entails that the world is an indefinite one and this is somehow awkward or embarrassing, then the strong denial of PNC itself will be awkward or embarrassing. Although I agree with Wedin’s claim that Aristotle is offering a series of shriek, rather than reductio, arguments, I do so for different reasons. Specifically, the problem that Wedin’s distinction is designed to overcome is a pseudo-problem, and it is a pseudo-problem generated by Lukasiewicz’s and Wedin’s shared belief that Aristotle is trying to prove the contemporary version of PNC-logical. As I have argued above, Aristotle is trying to prove PNC-ontological, and this permits him to use in his defense what we now recognize as basic rules of inference and, in certain cases, PNC-logical. Thus, one is not forced to read Aristotle’s arguments in the way that Wedin does in order to avoid a petitio principii. Nevertheless, I do read Aristotle’s arguments in this way, and I do so because if any one of these arguments could successfully prove the truth of PNC-ontological by showing that its denial entails false consequences, then Aristotle would indeed have provided a positive proof of PNC-ontological and there would, in turn, be no need for an elenctic proof. That said, there are times when Aristotle seems to be doing more than merely highlighting the embarrassing consequences of the strong denial of PNC-ontological. As I have argued, Aristotle thinks that the denial of PNC-ontological leads to the view that the world is an indefinite one. Although this might already scare the strong denier of PNC-ontological into submission, Aristotle seems to provide an argument as to why such an ontology cannot be true. Specifically, he claims that nature cannot be an indefinite one because nothing can fully or actually exist unless it is a definite something. As a result, this indefinite exists only potentially, and given the fact that this potentiality does not attach itself to anything that actually exists, this potentiality is akin to not existing at all (1007b26–29). As a result, the strong denial of PNC leads to the view that the world is a sort of nothing, a view that does not seem to be merely unpalatable, but simply false. However we might construe Aristotle’s argument, one can see the way in which he readily associates his defense of PNC with ontological issues, so much so that his defense of PNC-ontological thus far has almost turned into a contest between two competing ontologies. Whereas the affirmation of PNC-ontological goes hand in hand with Aristotle’s own substance ontology, the strong denial of PNC-ontological entails the destruction of Aristotle’s substance ontology and generates an ontology in which everything is mixed together in an indefinite one. What has just been shown is that Aristotle defends PNC-ontological by arguing, first, that we cannot do without essence and that essence entails PNC-ontological and, second, that it is unpalatable or even impossible that everything is mixed together in an indefinite one.

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One might object to my emphasis on the ontological issues at work in Aristotle’s defense on the grounds that it downplays, to an unjustified extent, the presence of his appeal to logical principles as his defense unfolds. This is because we find Aristotle referring to LEM (1008a2ff.), PB (1008a28–29), PNC-logical(A) (1008a28–29), and RCP (1008a34–b2) all within the final arguments of Metaphysics IV.4. However, it is important to recall what I have argued above. Specifically, one reason for holding that Aristotle’s defense is primarily, although not exclusively, a defense of PNC-ontological is because he thinks that PNC-ontological is the necessary condition for LEM, PB, PNClogical(A), and RCP. Indeed, the fact that Aristotle appeals to these principles as a part of his shriek strategy simply re-affirms the primacy of PNC-ontological. This is because in offering shriek arguments, Aristotle is not showing that PNC-ontological must be accepted because its denial would violate any one of these principles. Instead, his arguments are designed to show that the denial of PNC-ontological entails the denial of these logical principles. Therefore, if one wants to preserve these principles, one must accept PNC-ontological. Aristotle first references what commentators have interpreted as a violation of LEM just after showing that the denial of PNC-ontological leads to the view that all things are an indefinite one (1008a2–7). I say that commentators have interpreted it as a reference to LEM because Aristotle does not explicitly speak of two contradictory statements that are both false at the same time.²⁵⁵ Instead, what he says is that for those who violate PNC-ontological “it is not necessary either to assert the affirmation or the denial” (1008a3–4).²⁵⁶ The idea is that if some (x) both is and is-not (F), then there is no need to assert anything. This is because the purpose of asserting is to establish that something is the case, and establishing that something is the case means ruling out what is not the case. If it is the case that (x) both is and is-not (F), then neither the affirmation nor the denial will rule out anything. At the same time, there is reason for following commentators who think that Aristotle is referring to LEM here. The idea is that there is no need either to affirm or deny because both statements are false. If it is the case that (x) both is and is-not (F), then “x is F” will be false because (x) is-not (F) and “x is-not F” will be false because (x) is (F). Here, there will be a violation of LEM, as two contradictory statements will both be false at the same time. Aristotle appeals to PB and PNC-logical(A)²⁵⁷ after a discussion of whether the denial of PNC-ontological holds for all terms or only for some. In this discussion, Aristotle argues that if someone holds that it is equally possible to assert or deny anything of anything, then it will be the case that all statements are true and all false (1008a28– 29). As shown above, if (x) is and is-not (F), then both “x is F” and “x is-not F” are both true and false. Since “x is F” and “x is-not F” are both true, PNC-logical(A) will 255 Both Priest (1998, pp. 121f.) and Wedin (2000, p. 155) read it in this way. 256 My translation of: οὐκ ἀνάγκη ἤ φάναι ἤ ἀποφάναι. 257 LEM is also implicit in this discussion.

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be violated. Since “x is F” and “x is-not F” are both true and false, PB is violated. One consequence of the denial of PB is that the opponent must admit that what he says is false. Even worse is that the opponent’s denial of PB, LEM, and PNC-logical(A) makes it obvious that discussion with him is about nothing at all. This is because he either says that things are both thus and not thus or he refrains from saying that things are thus and not thus. In both cases he fails to make some definite statement, one that says that the world is one way and not the other (1008a31–34). In his next argument, Aristotle appeals to RCP (1008a34–b2). This is an important part of Aristotle’s defense because he wants to use it to defeat his interlocutor, but he knows that he cannot precisely because it would beg the question. Specifically, he argues that if the truth of the affirmation entails the falsity of the negation and the truth of the negation entails the falsity of the affirmation, then it will be impossible for the assertion and the denial to be true at the same time. In other words, if RCP is true, then PNC-logical(A) is true, and if PNC-logical(A) is true, then PNC-ontological must also be true. Nevertheless, Aristotle recognizes that this argument simply begs the question, noting that “but perhaps they might say we had assumed the very thing at issue” (1008b1–2), and the reason why he thinks it begs the question is because, as I have argued above, PNC-logical(A) and RCP are only true if PNC-ontological is true, and so he cannot appeal to the truth of PNC-logical(A) and RCP to prove the truth of PNC-ontological. Given that he cannot use RCP and PNC-logical(A) to prove PNC-ontological on the grounds that it begs the question, one is left to wonder why Aristotle would even raise this issue here. In response, one can say that Aristotle is doing precisely what Wedin takes him to be doing with each of his previous arguments, namely, highlighting the unwanted consequences of denying PNC-ontological. The idea is that if one denies PNC-ontological, then one must also deny PB, LEM, PNC-logical(A), and RCP and therefore any attempt to say anything definite about the world. Shriek! Aristotle’s next shriek argument (1008b2–13) is also crucial for my purposes because it not only raises an issue that seems to plague Nietzsche’s own thinking, but also forces one to think more clearly about the denial of PNC-ontological. Specifically, Aristotle suggests that the denial of PNC-ontological is either self-refuting or it transforms the interlocutor into a vegetable, and he makes his case by mapping out three possible positions that the denier of PNC-ontological can take with respect to his own theory. First, let us say that the denier of PNC-ontological thinks that his position is right and the defender of PNC-ontological is wrong. Aristotle seems to reason that if one holds that one’s view is right, then one must be committed to the view that reality has a definite nature. However, Aristotle has just shown that the denial of PNC-ontological leads to the view that reality is indefinite. Therefore, the denier of PNC-ontological cannot be correct in holding that he is right. So now let us say that the denier of PNC-ontological is not right absolutely, but more right than its defender. Here again Aristotle argues that the denier of PNC-ontological will be committed to the view that reality has a definite nature, and his position will be true

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and not be false. Finally, let us say that all men are equally right and wrong, both the denier and the defender of PNC-ontological and anyone else for that matter. Here, the denier of PNC-ontological can either assert both the affirmation and the denial of his position or he can refrain from judgment. In the first case, he actually says nothing (1008b8–9), as Aristotle’s elenctic proof has shown. In the second case, he fails to produce a logos, and in failing to produce a logos, he has again transformed himself into a vegetable (1008b13). Although it is not exactly the same, one could easily map the alternatives Aristotle lays out here with respect to the denial of PNC-ontological onto the debates that have circled around Nietzsche’s perspectivism. The question is whether Nietzsche’s own philosophy can escape the charge of self-refutation, and while I argue in chapter five that Nietzsche does believe that his view is right absolutely and that it escapes the problem of self-refutation, I offer a brief response to Aristotle’s variant of the problem here. Specifically, Aristotle’s charge amounts to the claim that one cannot consistently hold that something is indefinite. The supposed reason is that in claiming that something is indefinite, one is effectively defining the nature of that thing. What Aristotle is doing however is equivocating on the meaning of what it is for something to be a definite something. On the one hand, one can say that for something to have a definite nature is for that thing to possess certain properties that entail the exclusion of others. Here, something is what it is and not something else. On the other hand, if one says that something has an indefinite nature, one is defining that thing only in virtue of what it is not. That is, one can say what it is, i.e., indefinite, only by referring to the fact that it lacks definite properties. Whereas someone who rejects PNC-ontological denies that things are definite in the first sense, she is committed to something being definite in the second, broader sense, i.e., it is defined by not having a definite nature. As a result, she is committed to the truth of her own view, i.e., that things have no definite nature in virtue of what they are in and of themselves, and the falsity of the opposing view, i.e., that things do have a definite nature in virtue of what they are in and of themselves. Therefore, she says something, and she believes that what she says is true and what her opponents say is false. However one might deal with the problem of self-refutation, the proponent of this view will nevertheless be confronted with the next objection that Aristotle presents (1008b12–31), and it is again noteworthy that we find Nietzsche wrestling with this same issue. Specifically, Aristotle contends that the denial of PNC-ontological entails the indeterminacy of nature, and the indeterminacy of nature undermines the basis for making practical judgments and acting upon them. According to Aristotle, the reason why we act is that we judge one thing or one state of affairs to be better than another. However, if everything is both so and not so, then it is not the case that something or some state of affairs is better than another, as it will both be and not-be good. Since we do things only because we want to bring about a better state of affairs than if we did not do such things, there will be no reason to do anything. Moreover, Aristotle contends that when we judge something to be good or bad, we do so because of the

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determinate qualities that it has or does not have. If everything both has and does not have a given property, then there is no reason why I should pursue one thing over another. For instance, if I desire something sweet and everything both is and is-not sweet, I will be confronted with the problem that there is nothing that is just sweet and that no one thing is sweeter than another. As a result, there will be no basis for pursuing one thing over another. Here again Aristotle does not go on to claim that his argument proves PNC-ontological. Instead, he argues that our actions show that no one can believe in and live in accordance with the strong denial of PNC-ontological. Aristotle thinks that once we recognize the way in which our actions depend on judgments about the way things are and knowledge of the way things are helps us render better judgments, we will be all the more eager to pursue the truth. This is because we are more likely to attain the things we want if we guide our decisions and actions by knowledge rather than mere guesswork, and knowledge consists in having insight into the way things are and the way they are not (1008b27–31). What is significant about this final remark is that Aristotle also thinks that the denial of PNC-ontological underwrites a certain form of skepticism via the indeterminacy thesis. For whatever reason, Aristotle does not list this as one of the terrible consequences of the strong denial of PNC-ontological in Metaphysics IV.4. Instead, it is found in Metaphysics IV.5 in which he argues that the pre-Socratic failure to distinguish between thought and perception led to the view that all things are the way we perceive them to be and this, in turn, led to the view that things are both so and not so (1009b33–1010a1). There, Aristotle claims that the consequences of this argument are the most difficult. This is because if supposedly clear-sighted men like Empedocles and Democritus held these views, then up and coming philosophers can only despair, as the pursuit of truth will be akin to chasing flying things (1009b38–1010a1). This is a form of what I call paradoxical skepticism. It is paradoxical because this sort of skepticism seems to presuppose a certain sort of knowledge about what the world is like, namely, that the world has no definite nature.²⁵⁸ Indeed, I identified a similar sort of skepticism in the last chapter in showing that Nietzsche, very much in line with the conclusion of Plato’s Cratylus, believes that Heraclitus’ ontology makes it impossible for us to think such a world. For Aristotle, the denial of PNC-ontological leads to the view that nature is radically indefinite, and the view that the world is radically indefinite makes philosophy, in the sense of the quest to know things as they are in themselves, impossible. Although the problem of skepticism occurs most prominently in Metaphysics IV.5, Aristotle does finish Metaphysics IV.4 with some similar considerations. After arguing that nature admits of degrees and therefore there will be, at the very least, some view that is truer or more correct than another, Aristotle remarks that all of the

258 See Lee (2005, p. 129) for considerations that parallel this analysis.

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aforementioned arguments are designed to free us from the view that would prevent us from making any mental determination (1009a2–5). Here again, the issue of indeterminacy emerges, but it does so not with reference to things, but rather with reference to thought, and the idea seems to be that the denier of PNC-ontological must refrain from making any mental determination precisely because his position entails the indeterminacy of nature. Of course, this argument presupposes that our minds ought to mirror or reflect the way the world is, even if the world is radically indefinite. As I argue in the chapters that follow, Nietzsche accepts a version of the indeterminacy thesis with respect to nature, but rejects the view that we ought to refrain from making any mental determination. Instead, he argues not only that we can make mental determinations, but also that it is through these mental determinations that we give shape and consistency to a world that ultimately exists for us.

2.7 Empiricism, Naturalism, and the Denial of PNC-Ontological In Metaphysics IV.4, Aristotle provides an elenctic proof of PNC-ontological and highlights the consequences that follow from the denial of the principle. His elenctic proof is designed to show that if the interlocutor accepts significant speech, then he must also accept PNC-ontological. Thus, what Aristotle does not do is offer a positive proof of the principle, and because he cannot offer a positive proof of the principle, he seeks, in the final portion of Metaphysics IV.4, to motivate the interlocutor to abandon his denial of PNC-ontological by highlighting the unwanted consequences that follow from such a position. In Metaphysics IV.5–6, Aristotle continues his defense. However, he does so not by continuing to scare his interlocutor into accepting PNC-ontological, but rather by arguing that those who historically denied the principle had no good reasons for doing so. With this shift in strategy, Aristotle distinguishes between two types of interlocutors at the beginning of Metaphysics IV.5. On the one hand, there are those who deny the principle of non-contradiction for the sake of argument. On the other hand, there are those who deny it because of a generally confused mental outlook (1009a15–22). Given this distinction, there is reason to think that Aristotle’s elenctic demonstration in Metaphysics IV.4 is directed at the former type of interlocutor because this interlocutor can be cured through argumentative force and refutation (1009a21). Indeed, the elenctic refutation is particularly effective against those who hold it for the sake of argument precisely because it shows that PNC-ontological is presupposed in any argument whatsoever. The latter type, by contrast, is one who denies PNC-ontological not for the sake of argument, but because of a misguided methodological approach to reality that culminates in an equally misguided understanding of perception and change. According to Aristotle, such an opponent is not to be remedied by the force of refutation, but rather by persuasion. That is, it is not a matter of showing the oppo-

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nent that she is committed to an inconsistent premise set. Instead, it is a matter of showing that she has gone wrong in her basic approach to understanding the world. It is here that Aristotle begins to attack what I have called the ontological naturalism and the strict empiricism characteristic of the pre-Socratic physiologoi, an approach to reality that is also central to Nietzsche’s own philosophical project. This is because Aristotle links the pre-Socratic confusion about the status of PNC to the common belief that sensible things (ta aisthêta) are the only things that are (ta onta) (1010a1–3).²⁵⁹ On my reading, this core belief of Aristotle’s pre-Socratic opponents is, first and foremost, a form of ontological naturalism because it makes a claim about what there is, namely, that what can be perceived are the only things that exist. At the same time, Lee has argued that this view also implies the epistemological claim that “perception is the only method for finding out about the world.”²⁶⁰ This view can be understood as a form of what I call strict empiricism because it makes sense experience a necessary and sufficient condition for knowledge of reality. Although the claim that sensible things are the only things that are is central to Aristotle’s general diagnosis as to why his pre-Socratic opponents mistakenly denied PNC, it is specifically introduced in the text to explain why up and coming philosophers came to believe that the pursuit of truth is similar to chasing birds in the air and so why they would despair of ever attaining knowledge (1009b38–1010a1). Here, Aristotle argues that the belief that sensible reality is the only reality led such philosophers to adopt this form of skepticism because much of sensible reality is, in fact, indefinite (aoristos) (1010a3). Thus, Aristotle agrees with his opponents that much of the sensible world is indefinite, and so he also agrees with his opponents that ontological naturalism and strict empiricism lead to a form of skepticism. However, his implicit argument is that one can avoid such a consequence by simply rejecting the idea that sensible reality is the only reality there is. Aristotle exacerbates the skeptical consequences of the pre-Socratic approach to sensible reality by piling Heraclitean and Cratylean worries about change onto the claim that the world is indefinite. According to Aristotle, Heraclitus and Cratylus claimed that the sensible world is constantly changing in all respects, and since they also believed that no true statement can be made about anything that is changing in all respects, they held that no true statement can be made about the world (1010a8–9). Even more extreme than Heraclitus, who believed that one could not step into the same river twice, Cratylus held the view that one could not step into the same river even once. Because a reality of this sort cannot be properly expressed in language, Cratylus abandoned significant speech altogether and philosophized by simply pointing his finger (1010a10–15).

259 Wedin (2004b, p. 216). Lee (2005, pp. 120f.) also cites Met. 1009a38–b2 as further support for the same position. 260 Lee (2005, p. 121).

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What this passage shows is that Aristotle is linking what I have called ontological naturalism and strict empiricism to an anti-essentialism that has skeptical and even silencing results. In terms of understanding Nietzsche’s naturalism, Aristotle’s argument here is important because Leiter has contended that Nietzsche’s project can be linked to the views of Heraclitus and Protagoras,²⁶¹ but he has also argued that Nietzsche’s naturalism does not underwrite an anti-essentialism.²⁶² However, if Nietzsche follows Aristotle’s characterization of the pre-Socratics, then Leiter must abandon at least one of these claims. On my reading, Nietzsche not only follows the likes of Heraclitus and Protagoras in thinking that the sensible world is the only world and that the senses are the best way to know this world, he also follows them in thinking that the sensible world is both bereft of essential natures and subject to continual change. One significant upshot of this approach to reality and the views that result from it is that they put an end to the science (epistêmê) of being qua being that Aristotle introduces at the beginning of Metaphysics IV (1003a21–22). The reason why Aristotle thinks that the ontological naturalism and strict empiricism of the pre-Socratic physiologoi put an end to this kind of epistêmê (and perhaps epistêmê as such) is that this approach to reality results in accounts of change and perception that eliminate the subject matter of Aristotle’s Metaphysics, namely, being qua being or things-inthemselves. It is to Aristotle’s critical analyses of these theories that I now turn.

2.8 Aristotle’s Critique of the Heraclitean-Cratylean Theory of Change At the beginning of both Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil, Nietzsche raises the question of how something can come from its opposite (HH 1 and BGE 2). In his diagnosis of why pre-Socratic philosophers came to deny PNC, Aristotle also places the problem of how something can come from its opposite at the center of pre-Socratic reflections. According to Aristotle, the pre-Socratics denied PNC because they felt that the only way to explain how something can come from its opposite was for opposites to be co-present in that thing. Thus, Aristotle writes: Those who really feel the difficulties have been led to this opinion by observation of the sensible world. They think that contradictions or contraries are true at the same time, because they see contraries coming into existence out of the same thing. If, then, that which is not cannot come to be, the thing must have existed before as both contraries alike. (1009a22–26)

261 Leiter (2002, pp. 39ff.) 262 Leiter (2002, p. 26) explicitly rejects the idea that Nietzsche’s naturalism leads to a rejection of essences.

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Confronted with a problem drawn from the world of sense experience and constrained by the belief that something cannot come from nothing, certain pre-Socratic philosophers reasoned that some (x) can become (y) if and only if (x) is already (y). If (x) were not already (y), then the coming to be of (y) would be an instance of something coming to be from nothing. This then is why the pre-Socratics held that contrary properties were co-present in objects and why contradictory statements were therefore true of the same thing at the same time. According to Aristotle, it was this view that developed into Anaxagoras’ claim that everything is mixed with everything and Democritus’ belief that everything is a mixture of the plenum and the void, where the former is and the latter is not (1009a25–30). Although one can only speculate, Aristotle’s remarks suggest that the problem of opposites results in the view that all things occupy a middle ground between being (“it is”) and nothingness (“it is not”). As I have argued in the previous chapter, this ontological intermediary between being and nothingness is a world of becoming or relative being. Aristotle also countenances a realm of existence between being or actuality and nothingness or non-existence in his own system. This is found in his notion of potentiality (dunamis), and Aristotle appeals to the concept of potentiality to present his own solution to the problem of how something can come from its opposite (1009a30–38). Although contraries cannot be actually present in the same thing at the same time and in the same respect, Aristotle holds that they can be potentially present in the same thing at the same time and in the same respect, and it is this fact that allows something to come to be (F) without coming to be from nothing. When the wind becomes hot, hot does not come from nothing, but rather from the potentiality of the wind to be hot. At the same time, the wind is not already hot because it is only potentially hot. Thus, the wind is able to become hot and yet hot does not arise from nothing. Aristotle favors his own solution to the problem of how contraries can be generated from the same thing not only because it avoids the Scylla of violating PNC-ontological and the Charybdis of having something come from nothing, but also because he thinks that the pre-Socratic solution to the problem is no solution at all. Specifically, he argues that the co-presence of opposites not only fails to explain change, it actually makes change logically impossible (1010a33–1010b1). It makes change logically impossible because change, according to Aristotle, only occurs from one contrary to another. If this is what change is and contraries are always co-present in a given entity, then it will be impossible for something to change from one contrary to another. As a result, the co-presence of opposites not only fails to underwrite the radical flux doctrine of Heraclitus and Cratylus, it actually undermines it. Whereas this argument is based largely on logical considerations about the possibility of change, the common goal of Aristotle’s other arguments against the Heraclitean-Cratylean position is to show that there are some things in nature that are not changing at all times and in all respects. The most straightforward version of this latter line of attack occurs just prior to his claim that the denial of PNC-ontological renders change logically impossible. Specifically, Aristotle claims that, “we must

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show them and persuade them that there is something whose nature is changeless” (1010a34–35).²⁶³ Although one might read this as an expression of Aristotle’s general strategy in attacking the Heraclitean-Cratylean position, i.e., that of proving that there is something that is unmoved (akinêtos), it is more likely a specific reference to the unmoved mover that he discusses in Physics VIII and Metaphysics XII. In fact, Aristotle also seems to refer to the unmoved mover both in his initial response to the pre-Socratic theory of the co-presence of opposites (1009a36–38) and near the end of his defense of PNC in Metaphysics IV (1012b31). Aristotle’s argument is quite simple. Even if the pre-Socratics he is attacking are right in thinking that everything in the immediately sensible world is continuously in motion in all respects, there is nevertheless something that transcends the sensible world that is not in motion, and it is this unmoved something that obeys PNC-ontological. As a result, even if the things of the immediately sensible world are radically indefinite and admit of contrary properties at the same time and in the same respect, the strong denial of PNC-ontological fails because there is at least one thing that obeys the principle, namely, the unmoved mover. Aristotle, however, thinks that he does not have to leave behind sense experience altogether to show that there is something that is not continuously changing in all respects. Although celestial bodies are subject to locomotion, they are nevertheless eternal in the sense that they are ungenerated and incorruptible. Thus, even if the immediately sensible realm is radically indefinite and subject to constant change, Aristotle thinks he can undermine the Heraclitean-Cratylean theory of change and therefore their challenge to PNC-ontological by pointing to sensible entities beyond what is immediately present. Here again, Aristotle’s strategy consists in rejecting his predecessors’ denial of PNC-ontological by challenging their commitment to an ontology that, in this case, restricts the thinker to observation of the world immediately available to the senses. Even more important for my purposes is the fact that Aristotle attacks the Heraclitean-Cratylean position by appealing to his own theory of change concerning objects of the immediately sensible world (1010a15–25). It is more important because the position that Aristotle develops here is precisely the position that Nietzsche criticizes when he asserts that there is no doer behind the deed, no lightning behind the flash (GM I 13). In contrast to Nietzsche, Aristotle’s larger project is to show that, in any instance of change, there is always some unchanging entity that functions as the subject of change and persists through the transformation. In Metaphysics IV.5, he makes this point with regard to three different types of change, and he begins the argument with the following claim: “There is some real sense in their thinking that the changing, when it is changing, does not exist. Yet it is after all disputable; for that which is losing a quality has something of that which is being lost, and of that which

263 ὅτι γὰρ ἔστιν ἀκίνητός τις φύσις δεικτέον αὐτοῖς καὶ πειστέον αὐτούς.

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is coming to be, something must already be” (1010a16–19).²⁶⁴ Here, Aristotle has the argument of Physics I in mind, where he claims that whenever there is qualitative change, e.g., the non-musical to the musical, there must be something that is the subject of the change (Phy. 190a33–37). Although things become a bit more difficult for Aristotle in applying this model to substantial change, he nevertheless argues that there must also be something that underlies and persists through the generation and corruption of substances. In Metaphysics IV.5, the claim is that “if a thing is perishing, there will be present something that exists; and if a thing is coming to be, there must be something from which it comes to be and something by which it is generated, and this process cannot be ad infinitum” (Met. 1010a19–22).²⁶⁵ This issue is more difficult for Aristotle because in instances of substantial change one is left wondering what this underlying thing is supposed to be. Whereas in cases of qualitative change a substance like man exists and persists through the change from unmusical to musical, in cases of substantial change Aristotle cannot appeal to an additional substance that underlies the change. However, in Physics I, he suggests that we can know this underlying nature of substantial change by analogy: “For as the bronze is to the statue, wood to the bed, and the matter and the formless before receiving form to any thing which has form, so is the underlying nature to the substance, i.e., the ‘this’ or existent” (Phy. 191a8–12). The upshot of Aristotle’s model for change, both in cases of qualitative and substantial change, is that there are always three principles involved, two contraries – qualities such as hot and cold in cases of qualitative change and form and privation in cases of substantial change – and a substratum that persists throughout, and he uses this model to refute the Heraclitean-Cratylean position in matters of quantitative change as well. Although he grants that nothing remains constant with respect to quantity, there is nevertheless the form by which we recognize everything (Met. 1010a24–25). Thus, Aristotle admits that a river, for instance, is always changing with respect to its quantity, but there is nevertheless something, namely, the form, that preserves the kind of thing that it is and allows us to come to know it even amid constant flux. Aristotle’s line of argumentation here is important not only because it places him in direct opposition to Nietzsche, but also because it allows one to make some inferences about the position that he is trying to attack. Given that Aristotle argues against the Heraclitean-Cratylean view by contending that there is an unchangeable substrate involved in each instance of change, one can infer that the HeracliteanCratylean model described here is one that tries to explain change without reference

264 τὸ μὲν μεταβάλλον ὅτε μεταβάλλει ἔχει τινὰ αὐτοῖς λόγον μὴ οἴεσθαι εἶναι, καίτοι ἔστι γε ἀμφισβητήσιμον. τό τε γὰρ ἀποβάλλον ἔχει τι τοῦ ἀποβαλλομένου, καὶ τοῦ γιγνομένου ἤδη ἀνάγκη τι εἶναι. 265 ὅλως τε εἰ φθείρται, ὑπάρξει τι ὄν, καὶ εἰ γίγνεται, ἐξ οὗ γίγνεται καὶ ὑφ’ οὗ γεννᾶται ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι, καὶ τοῦτο μὴ ἰέναι εἰς ἄπειρον.

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to some underlying thing that exists and persists through the change. Although it is far from clear, I would suggest that this is the meaning of Aristotle’s claim that it makes some sense for these thinkers to say that things “are not” when they are undergoing change (1010a17). On this reading, the Heraclitean-Cratylean view states that change goes all the way down, such that there is nothing that is not changing with respect to itself at any moment in time such that it could be said to truly be. Although this reading might seem contrary to Aristotle’s earlier claim in Metaphysics I that Heraclitus is committed to the view that fire is the underlying substratum (984a8), fire itself is best explained in terms of motion. Evidence for such a view can be found not only in Metaphysics I (984b7), but also in Plato’s Theaetetus, a work in which we are told that heat and fire are ultimately products of movement (phora) and friction (tripsis) and that movement and friction are themselves types of motion (kinêsis) (Tht. 153a). Rather than developing a complete Heraclitean-Cratylean account of change at this juncture, I simply want to emphasize that the view Aristotle attributes to both Heraclitus and Cratylus is one that does away with independently existing things and therefore cannot be analyzed in terms of a substance-property ontology. So construed, the Heraclitean-Cratylean position in Metaphysics IV corresponds not only to Nietzsche’s own analysis of change, but also to the position that Aristotle ultimately attributes to Protagoras at the end of both Metaphysics IV.5 and IV.6, where substrata and things-in-themselves are also rejected. If this is correct, then Aristotle’s analysis indicates that the Protagorean and Heraclitean-Cratylean positions are not only united by their commitment to a strict empiricism and an ontological naturalism, but also by their common denial of things-in-themselves.

2.9 Aristotle’s Critique of Protagoras on Perception Aristotle dedicates the remainder of Metaphysics IV.5 and then Metaphysics IV.6 to undermining the Protagorean theory that all appearances are true, a view that leads to the denial of PNC-ontological. In Metaphysics IV.5, Aristotle attacks the Protagorean denial of any distinction between perception and thinking, a view that makes false beliefs impossible and so all appearances true, and he concludes the section with a short argument establishing that there must be more to the world than mere perceptions and perceptual qualities. In Metaphysics IV.6, Aristotle shows how someone of the Protagorean persuasion can avoid violating PNC by making everything relative, but he also argues that this comes at the cost of making everything dependent on perception and opinion and this, in turn, results in the dissolution of the judging subject. Thus, what Aristotle shows in his analysis is that the Protagorean claim that all appearances are true ultimately depends on the relational ontology that I attribute to Nietzsche, but that such an ontology leads to various views that, according to Aristotle, cannot be sustained.

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In his diagnosis of the pre-Socratic denial of PNC-ontological at the beginning of Metaphysics IV.5, Aristotle explains that the reason why his predecessors held the view that every perception must be true  – a position which, given the existence of conflicting perceptions, leads to the denial of PNC-ontological – is that they believed, first, that thought (phronêsis)²⁶⁶ is a form of perception (aisthêsis) and, second, that perception is a form of physical alteration (alloiôsis) (1009b13). Although the connection between the view that thinking and sense perception are forms of physical alteration and the claim that all appearances are true is not immediately obvious, Lee has argued that the problem lies in explaining the possibility of falsehood.²⁶⁷ That is, Aristotle agrees with his pre-Socratic opponents that if thinking, like perceiving, is a form of physical alteration, then it is impossible to have false appearances and beliefs. According to Lee, the reason why a number of pre-Socratics held that thinking cannot go wrong is that they believed that thinking, like perceiving, was something passive. The passivity of thinking leads to the view that all appearances are true because if nature determines our thoughts, as it does our perceptions, then there does not seem to be any way that we can make mistakes. Just as a blackboard never falsely reports what has been written upon it, the mind will never have a false impression if thinking, like perception, occurs when nature impresses itself on the thinker. This is especially true of the like-by-like theory of thinking and perception endorsed by Empedocles. If our mind becomes qualitatively identical with the object that is being perceived or thought when perception or thinking occurs, then there can be no false perceptions or thoughts. This is because error requires a qualitative difference between the object itself and the object of perception or thought, and if perceiving or thinking requires a qualitative identity between the world and the representation of the world for it to occur, then, on the like-by-like theory, a false perception or thought is no perception or thought at all. As a result, all our perceptions and thoughts must be true, and since Aristotle implicitly commits his pre-Socratic opponents to the additional view that for every perception or thought of some (x) being (F) there is a contrary perception or thought that entails that (x) is-not (F), every statement and its contradictory will be true and therefore everything will be both so and not so (1009b31–33). As Metaphysics IV.5 unfolds, Aristotle returns to this theme in mounting his attack on the Protagorean position that all appearances are true by distinguishing between phantasia²⁶⁸ and perception (aisthêsis) (1010b1–3). As readers will notice, Aristotle has redrawn the distinction between thinking (phronêsis) and perception (aisthêsis) that he first articulates at the beginning of Metaphysics IV.5 (1009b12–13) so that it is now a distinction between phantasia and perception. For this reason, the original

266 For difficulties with the translation of this word in this context, see Lee (2005, p. 137). 267 Lee (2005, pp. 133ff.). 268 Phantasia is often translated as “imagination,” but because it means something very specific for Aristotle and something different from what we often take it to mean, I leave the term untranslated here.

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use of phronêsis or thinking should be interpreted broadly enough so as to include phantasia, such that phantasia is now a form of thinking. At the same time, the specific reference to phantasia in this passage is important because it implicitly points to De Anima III.3, where Aristotle introduces the notion of phantasia in order to explain the possibility of falsehood. In De Anima III.3, Aristotle’s argument is that phantasia makes it possible for error to occur such that the content of mental states diverges from states of affairs in the world,²⁶⁹ and the implicit argument of Metaphysics IV.5 is that phantasia can go wrong precisely because it is an activity of the soul rather than a mere passive affection, as in the case of perception. Applied to Aristotle’s response to Protagoras, it is phantasia as an active form of thinking that makes false appearances possible, and since false appearances are possible, one cannot hold, as Protagoras does, that all appearances are necessarily true. Although Lee has rightly argued that Aristotle’s alternative understanding of thinking allows for falsehood by conceiving of it as something active rather than passive,²⁷⁰ Aristotle’s attempt to establish the possibility of falsehood by distinguishing between thinking and perception can also be understood in terms of his rejection of the idea that thinking is a form of physical or material change (alloiôsis). By construing the argument in this way, Aristotle’s rejection of the Protagorean thesis that all appearances are true can be linked to a further attack on the ontological naturalism of the pre-Socratics, which, in this case, commits Protagoras to the view that the operations of the mind are forms of material change and so aspects of the sensible world. The idea is that what gets the Protagorean to adopt a view that runs contrary to commonsense, namely, that all appearances are true, is an underlying view that thinking, like perception, cannot go wrong, and this view, in turn, is rooted in the idea that thinking, like perception, is a form of material change. However, once Aristotle shows that thinking is something that transcends the realm of material change, a move which implicitly denies the ontological naturalism of the pre-Socratics, then there is the possibility for error, and once there is the possibility for error, there will no longer be any good reason to adopt the counterintuitive view that all appearances are true. Aristotle thinks that once the possibility of falsehood is introduced, the claim that all appearances are true will ultimately fall to commonsense reasoning about which of two conflicting appearances is correct, and he devotes the rest of his attention in Metaphysics IV.5 to detailing the kinds of appearances that can be false (Met. 1010b3– 26). Although there might be some puzzles about conflicting appearances, no one, in the end, takes seriously the claim that the perceptions of the sick or the mad should be given equal consideration to those of a healthy and sane person (1010b3–8). Similarly, we do not have too much trouble distinguishing between dreams and reality. Thus, if one were to dream that one is in Athens but is really in Libya, one would not actu269 See Caston (1996) for a defense of this point. 270 Lee (2005, p. 6).

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ally set out for the Odeum in Athens on the basis of the dream (1010b8–11). Drawing on arguments from the Theaetetus, Aristotle also contends that no one believes that all opinions about the future are equally true, but rather that we seek out experts in each respective field for the most reliable opinion on a specific issue (1010b11– 14). Moreover, we do not grant equal weight to all reports of the senses. Thus, if the senses provide conflicting reports about the color of something, we ultimately believe that sight is the sense that has the authority to judge in such matters (1010b14–17). In singling out each sense as being authoritative with respect to its proper objects, e.g., sight is authoritative about colors, hearing about sounds, etc., potential conflict and contradiction is overcome because no sense ever provides conflicting reports at the same time (1010b18–19). In fact, Aristotle contends that although our senses might offer conflicting reports about a particular thing being sweet or not sweet over time, the senses never report the quality sweet as being anything other than sweet. Thus, although the wine might not be essentially and necessarily sweet, sweetness is (1010b19–26). This, of course, amounts to a rejection of the strong denial of PNC-ontological and the related denial of essence because if something such as sweet is necessarily what it is, namely, sweet, then it cannot both be so and not so (1010b26–30). In the concluding part of Metaphysics IV.5 (1010b30–1011a2), Aristotle again attacks the ontological naturalism of pre-Socratic philosophers, and he does so in a manner that parallels his critique of the Heraclitean-Cratylean view of change by insisting that there must be some substratum (hupokeimenon) that exists independently of a perceived quality. In the passage, the claim under criticism is specified as the view that only things that are perceived exist (1010b30), and Aristotle argues that on this view, nothing would exist if ensouled things did not exist (1010b31). This is because without ensouled things, there would be no perception, and without perception, there would be no perceptible or sensible things.²⁷¹ Aristotle admits that this may very well be true with respect to perceptions and even perceived qualities, but he argues that it is impossible that the substrate causing the perception should not exist apart from the perception. This is because perception is not something that exists or even occurs on account of itself, and therefore it requires some additional factor prior to the perception to explain its occurrence. Important here is the fact that Aristotle’s argument indicates that the position against which he is arguing denies the existence of a substratum. Just as he has argued that there is some substratum that exists and persists through change, Aristotle now contends that there must be some underlying thing that exists independently of and even causes a given perception. In suggesting that Aristotle is arguing against a position that ultimately denies any sort of substratum, one might begin to wonder what sort of positive position this could be. Although idealism might suggest itself to modern readers in this context, in which perceptible qualities are dependent

271 See Lee (2005, pp. 177ff.) for a more nuanced reading of the passage.

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on an independently existing mind, such a view would not only be anachronistic, but also be hard to square with Aristotle’s attack on the pre-Socratic view that thinking is a form of material change. Instead, what Aristotle’s argument suggests is that the pre-Socratic commitment to the existence of only what is immediately sensible results in the view that nothing exists in and of itself, but everything exists only in relation to something else. On this model, it is not only the case that perceptual qualities exist only insofar as they are perceived, but also that thinking and perceiving, understood here as material alterations (alloiôsis), exist only insofar as something is being thought or perceived. Support for such a view can not only be found in the Theaetetus, but also in a passage from Metaphysics IX, where Aristotle associates the Protagorean position with the view that neither the perceptive faculty nor the perceptual quality exists independently of perceiving and being perceived, respectively (1047a4–10). If this account is correct, then one should not be surprised to find Aristotle concluding his criticism of the Protagorean position in Metaphysics IV.6 with an analysis of the view that everything exists only in relation to something else and so nothing exists in and for itself (1011a17–18). Here, Aristotle turns to an interlocutor who wants both to avoid contradictions and to hold that all appearances are true. In order for the interlocutor to maintain this position, Aristotle argues that he must first reject the view that things exist in and for themselves. This is because he can hold the view that all appearances are true without contradicting himself only by holding that all things exist only in relation to something else. Since the view that all things exist only in relation to something else is incompatible with the view that some things exist in and for themselves, the latter view must be rejected in order to preserve the former and therewith the thesis that all appearances are true. At first glance, the strategy that Aristotle grants to his opponent to make it possible to hold the thesis that all appearances are true without contradiction seems to be one of truth relativity. That is, the Protagorean will have to contend that there are no truths that are true for everyone, but only true for some person or another at a particular time and in a particular way. This, however, is not exactly the position that Aristotle describes: If not all things are relative, but some are (whatever they are) in themselves, not everything that appears will be true; for that which appears is apparent to someone; so that he who says all things that appear are true, makes all things relative. And, therefore those who ask for an irresistible argument, and at the same time are willing to take a stand in argument, must guard themselves by saying that the truth is not that what appears is the case, but that what appears is the case for him to whom it appears, and when, and to the sense to which, and under the conditions under which it appears. And if they give an account of their view, but do not give it in this way, they will soon find themselves contradicting themselves. (1011a17–25)²⁷²

272 Translation taken from Lee (2005, p. 61).

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In this passage, it is states of affairs, not truth values, that are relativized, where each state exists only in relation to some perceiver at some time and for some particular sense. Thus, although it might seem that two perceivers are perceiving one and the same wine or even one perceiver is perceiving the same wine over time or even one perceiver is perceiving the same wine by means of taste and sight, in each case there is a numerically distinct appearance that is peculiar to the particular perception. Since each appearance is relative to each perceiver in this way and no sense of a particular perceiver at a particular time will ever report contradictory properties, contradiction can be avoided insofar as each appearance is qualified in the appropriate way. On this view, when I claim that the wind is cold, I must say that this wind is cold for me at a particular time for a particular sense and in a particular way. Thus, when you declare that the wind is warm, you must qualify your statement in a similar way. In qualifying each statement in this manner, there is no contradiction because the two statements are referring to two distinct winds. Similarly, if the wine tastes sweet to me now but bitter to me later, there is no contradiction because, again, I am technically talking about a different wine on each occasion, as there is, on this view, no such thing as a wine that exists independently of each particular perception. Furthermore, if an object that appears to be one according to sight appears to be two to my sense of touch when I have my fingers crossed, there will again be no contradiction because I am not, strictly speaking, perceiving the same object or set of objects. Instead, there will be one object that is relative to my sense of sight and another object that appears relative to my sense of touch, and so any violation of PNC-ontological will be avoided. According to Aristotle, there is a heavy price to pay for rejecting the view that things-in-themselves exist in favor of the view that everything exists only in relation to something else. Regarding objects, it leads to a conclusion that is very much in line with the quasi-idealism found at the end of Metaphysics IV.5, namely, that everything that happens will be dependent on sensation and opinion, such that nothing will happen unless someone forms an opinion about it (1011b4–8). Regarding the subject, Aristotle presents a terse argument as to why making everything relative undermines the unity of the judging subject (1011b7–12).²⁷³ Although the argument is difficult to unpack, Aristotle seems to be claiming that if all things are made relative to a judging subject, then one must make the judging subject, qua embodied human being, into an object of judgment and therefore relative to a judging subject, and relative not just to one judging subject, but to an infinite number of specifically different judging subjects. However, if this is done, the unity of the thinking subject will be destroyed. This is because the argument begins with the premise that if a thing is one, then that thing can stand only in relation to something that is one (hen) or definite (hôrismenon), but not to an infinite number (apeira) of specifically different things. However, it has

273 For an alternative reading of this argument, see Lee (2005, pp. 70f.).

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just been argued that if all things are relative, then the judging subject will stand in relation to an infinite number of specifically different things. As a result, the judging subject cannot be one. Thus, the interlocutor is left with a choice. He can abandon either the claim that the thinking subject is one or the claim that all things are relative. Although nothing is explicit, one can surmise that Aristotle, very much in line with Plato’s refutation of the Heraclitean-Protagorean position in the Theaetetus, has designed this argument to provide a good reason for rejecting the belief that all things exist only in relation to something else. If nothing exists in and for itself, then this includes the judging subject, and if the judging subject is relative to things that it is not, then the unity of the judging subject must be abandoned. Because Aristotle seems to think that this conclusion is enough to reject the view, he does not provide any argument as to why we must believe that the judging subject is a unified something. However, the value of Aristotle’s analysis lies not so much in the fact that he provides knockdown arguments against such views, but that he details the way in which the strict empiricism and ontological naturalism of pre-Socratic thinkers point toward or even culminate in a view that does away with independently existing objects and subjects and makes everything stand in relation to something else. As I argue in my analysis of the Theaetetus in chapter four, this is precisely the doctrine that Plato uses to bind the Heraclitean and Protagorean positions together. As I argue in chapters three and five, this is the doctrine that Nietzsche subtly places at the beginning of Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil when he raises the pre-Socratic question of how something can come from its opposite.

2.10 Some Concluding Remarks Before concluding this chapter, it might be good to take stock of the terrain I have just covered and link this analysis of Aristotle’s defense of PNC to my larger argument about Nietzsche’s philosophical project. This is because my discussions of the distinction between thought and perception and the view that everything exists only in relation to something else may seem to have taken me far away from initial concerns about violations of the principle of non-contradiction. This, of course, is something that would be especially true if one were to think of PNC as a logical principle. As I have argued, however, Aristotle’s defense of PNC is first and foremost a defense of PNC as an ontological principle, and as such, he is defending the view that the world is structured in such a way that it corresponds to the basic structures of thought and even language. Although Aristotle does imagine an interlocutor who might reject PNC-ontological for the sake of argument, he nevertheless directs the latter half of his defense against pre-Socratic thinkers who were committed to a strict empiricism and an ontological naturalism that led them, in turn, to develop theories of change and perception that eliminated any notion of things-in-themselves. Although he agrees with his predecessors that this approach to reality does lead to these theories and the

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negative consequences that these theories entail, Aristotle rejects these theories as adequate characterizations of reality by rejecting the sort of empiricism and naturalism that his predecessors endorsed. However, Aristotle does not then flee into a Parmenidean world of pure being that is divorced from the senses and accessible to pure reason alone. Instead, he argues that a proper understanding of the empirical world must be supplemented by a study of being qua being, which is the subject matter of the Metaphysics. In the next chapter, I turn to Human, All Too Human, and what I show is not only the way in which Nietzsche begins the text by raising the pre-Socratic question of how something can come from its opposite, but also how he answers this question in a way that is designed to purge philosophy of things-in-themselves. Specifically, he commits himself to a form of Heraclitus’ unity of opposites thesis that entails the relational ontology central to the theories of Heraclitus and Protagoras that Aristotle criticizes in Metaphysics IV. In so doing, Nietzsche does away with the underlying substratum of Aristotle’s own accounts of change and perception as well as the atom common to Democritus’ philosophy and early modern science. In making this move, Nietzsche is not rejecting modern science as such. Instead, he is carrying modern science to what he thinks is its rightful conclusion. That is, Nietzsche contends that once natural scientists liberate themselves from illegitimate metaphysical suppositions and commit themselves to careful observation of the empirical world, they will see such a world in terms of dynamic relations of force. It is here, according to Nietzsche, that the philosophy of Heraclitus will undergo a rebirth and the guiding principle of rationalist metaphysics will be denied, namely, that there is an isomorphism between thinking and being.

Chapter Three Naturalism, Becoming, and the Unity of Opposites in Human, All Too Human Direct self-observation is not nearly sufficient for us to know ourselves: we require history, for the past continues to flow within us in a hundred waves; we ourselves are, indeed, nothing but that which at every moment we experience of this continued flowing. It may even be said that here too, when we desire to descend into the river of what seems to be our own most intimate and personal being, there applies the dictum of Heraclitus: we cannot step into the same river twice. – This is, to be sure, a piece of wisdom that has gradually grown stale, but it has nonetheless remained as true and valid as it ever was.  – Nietzsche, 1879 (AOM 223)

3.1 Introduction It is with the background of Nietzsche’s interpretation of Heraclitus’ ontology in Philosophy in the Tragic Age and Aristotle’s analysis of the pre-Socratic denial of the principle of non-contradiction in Metaphysics IV in hand that I now turn to Nietzsche’s 1878 work, Human, All Too Human. The hope is that my efforts in the previous two chapters will become readily apparent. Not only does Nietzsche begin Human, All Too Human with the declaration that “almost all the problems of philosophy once again pose the same form of question as they did two thousand years ago,” he also raises the question that Aristotle identifies as an important centerpiece of pre-Socratic philosophizing: “How can something originate in its opposite?” (HH 1). Moreover, the importance of my interpretation of Philosophy in the Tragic Age should become evident in examining the two alternative responses that Nietzsche identifies to this guiding question. Specifically, it is Philosophy in the Tragic Age, along with Nietzsche’s 1888 re-working of HH 1, that enables one to associate the metaphysical philosophy of HH 1 with Parmenides’ doctrine of being and the historical philosophy of HH 1 with Heraclitus’ ontology of dynamic relations. As a result, when Nietzsche turns to historical philosophizing in the opening stages of Human, All Too Human, he will be committing himself to both the doctrine of becoming and the related doctrine of the unity of opposites that he first articulated through his interpretation of Heraclitus’ philosophy in Philosophy in the Tragic Age. In developing my interpretation of the first book of Human, All Too Human, I argue that Nietzsche commits himself not only to a Heraclitean ontology in endorsing the historical philosopher’s denial of absolute opposites, but also to a number of other philosophical positions that follow from this ontology, positions that resemble the negative consequences that Aristotle derives from the denial of the ontological version of the principle of non-contradiction. In particular, I focus on two facets of

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Nietzsche’s treatment of “the first and last things” in Human, All Too Human. First, I contend that just as Aristotle’s defense of the principle of non-contradiction forced the interlocutor to join Cratylus in refraining from significant speech, Nietzsche’s Heraclitean ontology in Human, All Too Human underwrites a version of what is known as the falsification thesis, which I have defined as the view that the structures of language and logic seduce us into adopting false beliefs about reality. Also found in Aristotle’s analysis is the view that the denial of the ontological version of the principle of non-contradiction not only leads to a certain kind of skepticism, but also makes it impossible to act in everyday life. In my reading of Human, All Too Human, I continue to develop the view that the doctrine of becoming and the related unity of opposites have, for Nietzsche, tragic consequences for both philosophy and life. With regard to philosophy, Human, All Too Human highlights the way in which these views entail the claim that our minds cannot think the structure of reality. With regard to life, Nietzsche holds that we can only live by means of falsifying the world through what he calls unjust judgments. This, then, is the reason why the Heraclitean doctrines found in HH 1 form the basis for Nietzsche’s tragic philosophy and why such a philosophy is, as Nietzsche’s remarks at the end of the first chapter of Human, All Too Human indicate, a potential source of despair (Verzweifelung) (HH 31, 33, and 34).²⁷⁴ In terms of Nietzsche’s larger oeuvre, there are two reasons for wanting to highlight the way in which Nietzsche’s Heraclitean ontology underwrites the tragic tension between truth and life in Human, All Too Human. The first is that Human, All Too Human is often read as a break with Nietzsche’s earlier writings and as an outright rejection of his youthful hopes for a rebirth of tragedy and tragic culture. In contrast, my reading shows that Human, All Too Human follows The Birth of Tragedy and History for Life in maintaining Nietzsche’s view that the truth is somehow “deadly” (HL 9). Again, Nietzsche concludes the first chapter of Human, All Too Human wondering whether his philosophy will quickly morph into a tragedy (HH 34). Here, the reference to tragedy is suggestive not only because it can be used to characterize the philosophy of Human, All Too Human as tragic, but also because I read Zarathustra as Nietzsche’s own tragedy. Given that Human, All Too Human is the first in a series of works that conclude with the final aphorism of the 1882 edition of The Gay Science, in which Zarathustra is introduced under the title of “incipit tragoedia” (GS 342), there is reason to think that the tragic philosophy of Human, All Too Human morphs into Nietzsche’s own tragedy in Zarathustra. The other reason for highlighting the tragic tension between life and truth in Human, All Too Human is that it helps explain the relationship between Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil. While both works begin with the question of how something can come from its opposite, Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil are significantly different, and their differences can be understood in terms

274 On the relationship between despair and nihilism, see Reginster (2006, pp. 28ff. and 54ff.).

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of the relative value placed on life and truth in each work. In Human, All Too Human, Nietzsche portrays himself as a scientifically-minded thinker committed to the ideals of the Enlightenment project. That is, the Nietzsche of Human, All Too Human is committed to what I have called the morality of truth and science, a morality that requires the thinker to expunge his subjectivity, will, and life for the sake of grasping nature as it is, in itself. In Beyond Good and Evil, Nietzsche abandons the morality of truth and science. That is, he no longer seeks to discover a de-anthropomorphized conception of nature and to know the world as it is in itself. Instead, his goal in the work is to translate man back into nature, where the life, will, and subjectivity of the individual are no longer seen as obstacles to the quest for knowledge, but rather necessary means for creating a “life-world” that reflects the existential and epistemic needs of the individual. One upshot of this reading is that while Nietzsche eventually abandons the view that falsifying or anthropomorphizing nature is something we ought to avoid, he never abandons the falsification thesis itself. Although Nietzsche’s philosopher of the future will be free to engage in the task of creating himself and his life-world, Nietzsche still sees this creative task as a falsifying process. It is on this point, therefore, that my interpretation differs from the one presented by Clark.²⁷⁵ This is because Clark holds that the falsification thesis is rooted in Nietzsche’s initial belief in a metaphysical world of things-in-themselves, and although Nietzsche was committed to things-inthemselves in his earlier works, Clark claims that he abandoned things-in-themselves in the later works and eventually the falsification thesis. In contrast to Clark, I argue that Nietzsche’s falsification thesis is rooted in his commitment to a scientifically justified ontology of dynamic relations, and since Nietzsche remains committed to such an ontology from Philosophy in the Tragic Age (1873) to Twilight of the Idols (1888), he never abandons the falsification thesis. Instead, he simply abandons or, more precisely, overcomes the morality of truth and science via the death of God in The Gay Science and therefore the view that falsity must be avoided at all costs. I begin this chapter with a discussion of Clark’s reading of the falsification thesis. I do so because Human, All Too Human is the work in which Nietzsche not only establishes a clear connection between the falsification thesis and a Heraclitean ontology, but also because he articulates this conception of the world in the language of the natural sciences. If Nietzsche’s commitment to the natural sciences leads him to adopt a Heraclitean ontology and this ontology underwrites the falsification thesis, then Nietzsche’s commitment to the natural sciences goes hand in hand with the falsification thesis. This is an important point because Nadeem Hussain has rightly noted that the primary motivation for holding that Nietzsche eventually abandons the falsification thesis is that commentators like Clark have had a difficult time reconciling it with his empiricism and his positive attitude toward the natural sciences.²⁷⁶ 275 Clark (1990). 276 Hussain (2004, p. 327).

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Thus, after explicating Clark’s understanding of the falsification thesis, I slowly build a case for linking Nietzsche’s naturalism to his ontology of dynamic relations and then show, through an analysis of the contents of the first chapter of Human, All Too Human, how this ontology forms the basis for the falsification thesis. I conclude the chapter with some remarks about the tragic philosophy of Human, All Too Human and how Human, All Too Human relates to the project of the free spirit.

3.2 Maudemarie Clark on the Falsification Thesis In her Nietzsche on Truth and Philosophy, Clark does not offer a detailed interpretation of Human, All Too Human.²⁷⁷ Instead, she presents it within the context of her developmental story about Nietzsche’s views on truth. At stake is what she calls the falsification thesis, which she defines as the belief that our best empirical theories falsify reality.²⁷⁸ According to Clark, the young Nietzsche, starting with The Birth of Tragedy and most importantly in “On Truth and Lie,” was committed to the falsification thesis. As Nietzsche matured, he abandoned this position, eventually coming to reject the falsification thesis because it presupposed a belief in things-in-themselves. The young Nietzsche therefore agreed with a certain reading of Kant: While the senses, when combined with the understanding, do provide knowledge of the phenomenal world, this knowledge is nevertheless a falsification of the way the world really is in-itself. Clark claims that the mature Nietzsche overcame this idea when he first, in The Gay Science and Beyond Good and Evil, recognized that the thing-in-itself is a contradiction in terms (BGE  16) and second, in his post-Beyond Good and Evil works, when he realized that the rejection of the thing-in-itself entails the rejection of the falsification thesis. It is for this reason, Clark argues, that one finds no evidence of the falsification thesis in Nietzsche’s post-Beyond Good and Evil writings. 277 In contrast to Clark (1990), Clark (1998) provides a more nuanced reading of Human, All Too Human, in which she identifies three elements of Nietzsche’s thinking that I also attribute to him: empiricism, naturalism, and value anti-realism. Moreover, she claims that Nietzsche divides Schopenhauer’s world of representation into two aspects, the world that science reveals and the world of our practical concerns (1998, p. 54). This, she rightly claims, forms the basis for Nietzsche’s error theory about value. However, she does not, as I do, then apply this framework to explain the falsification thesis as it relates to ontological issues. 278 Clark (1990, p. 103). Note that my own definition of the falsification thesis differs from Clark’s. While my definition emphasizes the falsifying character of language and logic, it still leaves room for science to reveal a world that is incompatible with the structures of language and thought. On my reading, Nietzsche rarely claims that the natural sciences, at their best, falsify reality. The exceptions to this are a certain reading of The Birth of Tragedy, the argument of “On Truth and Lie” (and “On the Pathos of Truth”) and Nietzsche’s comments in BGE 24. Although Clark’s version of the falsification thesis is present in these early works, I argue that he quickly leaves this behind, as evidenced by Philosophy in the Tragic Age. Moreover, I contend, in chapter five, that BGE 24 does not commit Nietzsche to Clark’s version of the falsification thesis.

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There have been numerous objections to Clark’s developmental picture.²⁷⁹ Whereas Hussain and Green have focused on Clark’s reading of Beyond Good and Evil and the presence of the falsification thesis in Twilight of the Idols, respectively, I want to add to the chorus of criticisms by focusing primarily, although not exclusively, on Clark’s readings of “On Truth and Lie” and Human, All Too Human and her claim that the falsification thesis is rooted in the thing-in-itself. As her analysis makes clear, Clark wants to contrast her reading with those who think that “On Truth and Lie” is fundamentally about the nature of truth and language. According to what Clark calls the “radical interpretation,” Nietzsche denies the existence of truth insofar as he denies that any of our beliefs correspond to reality, and this truth-denying position derives from Nietzsche’s insights concerning language.²⁸⁰ Although Clark does not dispute that Nietzsche denies the existence of truth in the essay, she nevertheless argues that Nietzsche’s denial of truth is rooted in a representational theory of perception and a metaphysical correspondence theory of truth, not, as the radical interpretation has it, in an analysis of language.²⁸¹ That is, the reason why Nietzsche denies the existence of truth in the essay is that, first, he believes that truth requires a correspondence between our beliefs and things-inthemselves and, second, because he is committed to a representational theory of perception which underwrites the view that what we immediately perceive in no way resembles things-in-themselves. Although Clark is right to argue that Nietzsche’s denial of truth does issue in part from a metaphysical correspondence theory of truth coupled with a representational theory of perception in “On Truth and Lie,” she is wrong to think that this forms the only basis of the falsification thesis in “On Truth and Lie.” This is because Nietzsche identifies additional levels at which falsification takes place in the essay. On one level, and this is what Clark’s analysis captures, Nietzsche contends that sensation falsifies, not so much the thing-in-itself, but nerve stimuli – to infer that some external object is the cause of nerve stimuli is, according to both Nietzsche and Schopenhauer, an invalid application of the principle of sufficient reason (TL  1). Sensation falsifies because it generates qualia such as sounds, colors, and smells that do not resemble nerve stimuli, just as pains do not resemble stimulated c-fibers. On another level, and this is the level that Clark’s analysis mostly overlooks, we are also engaged in a process of falsification in conceptualizing sensations. Here, Nietzsche makes two points. First, the mere fact that we are using words to symbolize the qualitative world of smells and colors is itself falsifying. Because mental representations and words are entirely different, there is no possible way that they can correspond to one another. So even if we were to avoid generalizing concepts by using demonstrative pronouns or assigning names to each particular representation, Nietzsche claims that these 279 Most notably Anderson (1996), Hussain (2004), and Green (2002 and 2005). 280 Clark (1990, pp. 63f.). 281 Clark (1990, p. 77).

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linguistic expressions would falsify the individual representations insofar as they involve a non-resembling translation from one sphere to another. The second point that Nietzsche makes has to do with the formation of concepts. The problem is that concepts necessarily falsify the world of individual representations by equating two representations that are, in fact, merely similar. For example, when we form a concept of a leaf, we do so by “arbitrarily discarding” the individual differences and “forgetting the distinguishing aspects” of two or more instances (TL 1). The fact that Nietzsche identifies a number of levels at which falsification takes place in the essay is problematic for Clark’s larger argument because she contends that Nietzsche’s later abandonment of things-in-themselves entails the eventual abandonment of the falsification thesis. The suppressed premise of her argument, however, is that the young Nietzsche believes that falsification occurs only at the level of sensation. On this view, once things-in-themselves are rejected as contradictory, there is nothing left for sensation to falsify, and since falsification occurs at the level of sensation only, the falsification thesis must be abandoned. According to Clark, Nietzsche’s works exhibit precisely this dynamic, in which the denial of things-inthemselves eventually leads to the abandonment of the falsification thesis in the Genealogy.²⁸² Although Clark is right to argue that the later Nietzsche does not hold that our sensations falsify things-in-themselves, the additional level of falsification in “On Truth and Lie” means that Nietzsche would not drop, ipso facto, the falsification thesis when he rejects things-in-themselves. Here, it must be said that Clark is aware of the additional levels of falsification in “On Truth and Lie.” However, she tries to interpret them away. Specifically, she acknowledges the possible presence of the view that falsification also occurs in moving from the realm of sensation to the realm of language. Clark responds by contending that the view articulated in “On Truth and Lie” would commit Nietzsche to a form of inconsistent nominalism.²⁸³ The problem with Clark’s argument is that even if she is successful in showing that Nietzsche’s position is somehow inconsistent, she tries to infer from this fact that Nietzsche does not hold the position. This, of course, is something she cannot do. Indeed, the problem for Clark is not only that she fails to show that Nietzsche does not hold the view in “On Truth and Lie” that falsification occurs in conceptualizing sensations, but also that there is plenty of evidence in the later works attesting to the fact that Nietzsche remains committed to this view. As Green has rightly emphasized, the mature Nietzsche does not believe that falsification occurs at the level of sensation, but rather in the conceptualization of these sensations.²⁸⁴ Although Clark is also aware of such evidence, she again tries to interpret it away at two different junctures in her work. In the first instance, she tackles the problem in the form of “the chaos of 282 Clark (1990, pp. 95ff.). 283 Clark (1990, p. 77). 284 Green (2005, pp. 55f.).

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sensations.”²⁸⁵ The view that Clark is trying to counter is that once Nietzsche rejects things-in-themselves, reality becomes identified with the chaos of sensations. Falsification is introduced when we seek to organize this chaos by imposing what roughly amounts to the Kantian categories of the understanding onto this chaos. Clark tries to diffuse this reading by arguing, through an appeal to BGE 15,²⁸⁶ that Nietzsche is committed to an extra-mental reality and therefore does not identify reality with the chaos of sensations. The problem with her response is that while she is right to argue that Nietzsche is committed to an extra-mental reality at this point, this extra-mental reality is not one of “independently existing things” such as brains and sense organs in the world of commonsense.²⁸⁷ Instead, this extra-mental reality, when subjected to scientific analysis, dissolves into the relational forces of the scientific picture, and the reason why Nietzsche thinks that the structures of language and thought falsify reality is that this relational ontology stands opposed to the subject-predicate structure of thought and language. The section “‘Reason’ in Philosophy” from Twilight of the Idols presents a similar challenge for Clark’s reading. Not only do Nietzsche’s remarks in the section suggest that the conceptual framework of the understanding, rather than sensation, is the guilty party in the falsification of reality, Twilight of the Idols belongs to a group of late works in which Nietzsche is supposed to have abandoned the falsification thesis on Clark’s account. Whereas Green has dealt at length with Clark’s denial of the presence of the falsification thesis in Twilight of the Idols,²⁸⁸ the point I want to emphasize is the way in which Clark contrasts the falsification thesis with Nietzsche’s “uniform and unambiguous respect for facts, the senses, and science.”²⁸⁹ Implicit here is Clark’s belief that the falsification thesis is incompatible with respect for the senses and science, and her position on this issue goes hand in hand with her larger claim that the falsification thesis is rooted in a belief in things-in-themselves. What Clark does not consider is that Nietzsche’s respect for science and the senses, especially insofar as they show “becoming, passing away, and change” (TI Reason 2), is precisely what leads him to accept some version of the falsification thesis. Whereas the understanding necessarily conceives of the world in terms of unity, thinghood, substance, and permanence (TI Reason 2), careful empirical observation and scientific experimentation reveal that these categories do not apply to a world in which everything exists and is what it is only in relation to something else. Indeed, the purpose of delving into the falsification thesis in Nietzsche’s later works has been to provide evidence for precisely this point. That is, the falsification

285 Clark (1990, p. 120). 286 For an extended debate on this issue, see Hussain (2004) and Clark and Dudrick (2004). I will say more about this in chapter five. 287 Clark (1990, p. 123). 288 Green (2005). 289 Clark (1990, p. 105).

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thesis is not rooted in worries about the way in which sensation falsifies things-inthemselves, but rather in worries about the way in which language and logic falsify an empirical world of dynamic relations. The reason for developing the point here is because this disharmony between reason and the sensible world forms the basis for the falsification thesis in Human, All Too Human, rather than, as Clark argues, the tension in “On Truth and Lie” and “On the Pathos of Truth” between things-inthemselves, on the one hand, and the sensible world of science and commonsense, on the other hand.

3.3 Natural Science, Heraclitean Ontology, and the Falsification Thesis To understand how the falsification thesis could emerge from Nietzsche’s commitment to science, one only needs to recall the lessons learned from the Copernican revolution. Turning to Copernicus in this context is not without textual basis, as Nietzsche often praises him in the same breath as the physicist who influenced Nietzsche the most, Roger Boscovich (BGE  12; NL, KSA  9, 15 [21]; NL, KSA  11, 36 [432]; KGB III/1, Bf. 213). Indeed, Nietzsche even likens his own critique of language to the Copernican turn (TI Reason 5). The basic lesson learned from the Copernican revolution is that we tend to get things wrong when we view the world from our commonsense standpoint. Applying this lesson to the history of philosophy, one can begin to see the way in which the Copernican revolution symbolizes the early modern break with the philosophical approach of Aristotle and the Scholastics. Whereas Aristotle believed that language, sense experience, and common opinions all provide a relatively stable foundation upon which to build the edifice of knowledge, early modern science and philosophy begins with a deep suspicion about a commonsense approach to reality and therewith a call for strict methods in the acquisition of knowledge. Indeed, it was this deep suspicion regarding commonsense observation that paved the way for the distinction between primary and secondary qualities, an idea most distinctly formulated by Locke, but dates back to Democritus and is found in the work of Descartes and Galileo. Here, it was argued that smells, tastes, and colors are not essential features of the world, but ideas in the mind that are caused by a mind-independent reality that lacks such features. By stripping these secondary qualities from the world and throwing them in the so-called dustbin of the mind, the scientist could now explore the world of primary qualities or the world-in-itself, and the world that the scientist found was composed of nothing more than matter and motion. One of the important lessons of early modern philosophy and science is that the appearance-reality distinction during this time originally corresponded to the distinction between the qualitative world of commonsense (appearance) and a scientific world that could be completely subjected to quantitative measurement (reality). Thus, the purpose of the distinction was not so much to initiate debates about ide-

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alism, realism, and skepticism, but to get at the true, mind-independent nature of the world through scientific investigation. Nevertheless, this distinction did lead to the aforementioned philosophical debates, and these debates, in turn, led to further developments in the distinction. In particular, Kant made the issue more complex not only because he used the distinction as a model for understanding the difference between what he called the phenomenal and noumenal world, but also because he retained the primary-secondary quality distinction within the phenomenal world. For Kant, there is, in addition to the distinction between phenomenal and noumenal worlds, a distinction between the empirical world of appearances and the empirical world in-itself. Whereas the former is the world of commonsense, the latter is the world discovered by the scientist. Interesting here is that Kant, like Nietzsche, follows Boscovich in describing an empirical world (in-itself) in which all matter is reduced to expressions of force.²⁹⁰ This twofold distinction between appearances and things-in-themselves in Kant is important for understanding the debates that Clark’s reading of Nietzsche has generated. This is because Clark wants to read Nietzsche through the lens of the Kantian distinction between the empirical world, which includes both science and commonsense, and the metaphysical world of things-in-themselves. Although this distinction is present in Nietzsche’s early writings, the falsification thesis in his later writings is rooted instead in the tension between the world of commonsense and the world of science. In this sense, Nietzsche is rejecting Kant’s twofold distinction and returning to the early modern understanding of the distinction, and it is for this reason that his efforts can be understood as an extension of the lessons learned from the Copernican revolution. Just as unrefined and uncontrolled sense observation generates error by leading us to believe that the sun revolves around the earth, Nietzsche holds that the uncritical application of the structures of language and logic to the world dupe us into believing that there are doers behind deeds, substances that bear properties, relata that exist prior to their relations, and matter that is in motion. I have added matter and motion to this list because Nietzsche’s commitment to the scientific project eventually drives him to reject the matter of Newton’s mechanistic worldview. Just as the early moderns saw in secondary qualities the anthropomorphization of the world via the senses, Nietzsche sees in matter the mere hypostatization of the forms of reason and language. Much like Aristotle, who needed a substance that functioned as a bearer of properties, the early modern materialists needed to posit a thing that functioned as the subject of motion. One reason why Nietzsche thinks that this is an error is because he traces matter back to Democritean atomism and sees Democritus as uncritically accepting Parmenides claim that something – in this case the atom – must be. A second reason why Nietzsche thinks this is an error is because he learns from F. A. Lange’s The History of Materialism and his

290 For further treatment of this issue, see Holden (2004, ch. 6), Langton (1998), and Wilson (1984).

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independent reading of Boscovich’s A Theory of Natural Philosophy that the natural sciences of his day are gradually eliminating the atom from the scientific picture of the world. In so doing, these scientists are discovering a world of pure motion or force,²⁹¹ and it is with this discovery that modern science is successfully eliminating the last remnant of the metaphysical tradition in the form of the atom. In Nietzsche’s mind, what these scientists are doing is making possible the rebirth of Heraclitus’ ontology of dynamic relations.²⁹² At this point, the specific influences on Nietzsche’s thought become particularly important. While one can piece together, from the Nachlass fragments and his published works, the way in which Nietzsche sees the transition from a mechanistic to a dynamic worldview as a rebirth of Heraclitean ontology, this transition is most clearly detailed by Lange’s The History of Materialism, a work that Nietzsche first read in 1866. Whereas others have provided an in-depth treatment of Lange’s influence on Nietzsche,²⁹³ I want to highlight three crucial lessons that Nietzsche is likely to have taken from his predecessor. First, he learns to see modern science as a campaign against anthropomorphic depictions of nature. Second, he comes to view modern science as a progressive shift away from the mechanistic views of Newton, in which the world is construed in terms of matter and force, toward a dynamic worldview, in which there is only force. Finally, it is Lange’s attempt to interpret modern materialism as a rebirth of Democritean atomism that provides the basic model for Nietzsche’s belief that the emerging dynamic worldview amounts to a return to Heraclitus’ ontology. To expand upon these points, it would be easiest to turn to the account Lange provides of modern physics in the chapter “Matter and Force” that was added to the second edition of his work (1873).²⁹⁴ There, Lange not only details the ever-diminishing significance of the atom, but he also assigns Boscovich a central role in the story. The problem, however, is that this chapter is not included in the first edition of the work (1866), and while Nietzsche initially read the 1866 edition in that same year (KGB I/2, Bf. 517), one cannot be sure that he read any subsequent edition prior to 1882, four years after the publication of Human, All Too Human.²⁹⁵ Nevertheless, one can construct an account from the first edition that tells a story quite similar to the one provided in the second. This is not only because one can find the essential arguments that appear in the second edition in the chapter on “Force and Matter” in the

291 See NL, KSA 11, 26[410] for an explicit association of Boscovich with a dynamic worldview. 292 Abel (1998, pp. 85ff.) provides a detailed account of this point. 293 Salaquarda (1978) and Stack (1983). 294 I cite the 1950 translation of this edition. 295 Salaquarda (1978, p.  240) denies that Nietzsche ever read the 1873 edition. Stack (1983, p.  23) doubts Salaquarda’s judgment, but offers no evidence to substantiate his doubts.

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first edition under the section “Kosmische Fragen,”²⁹⁶ but also because it was through Lange’s 1866 work that Nietzsche discovered Boscovich via his reading of Fechner.²⁹⁷ In the “Force and Matter” chapter from the 1873 edition, Lange begins by complaining about scientists who naively believe that atomism is a discovery of the modern natural sciences, noting that the doctrine dates back to Democritus and that the atom has retained its metaphysical character.²⁹⁸ In the 1866 edition, Lange expresses the same idea.²⁹⁹ Although most modern materialists want to deny that their position is similar to that of Democritus on the grounds that modern atomism is a result of experimental discoveries, Lange insists that he would not have written his book if this were true.³⁰⁰ Indeed, what Lange wants to show is that most of the questions associated with modern materialism are simply revised versions of debates in ancient philosophy and although the proofs the moderns provide for their positions are different, the goals nevertheless remain the same.³⁰¹ The reason for emphasizing Lange’s contention that modern materialism is simply a revival of Democritean atomism is that one can begin to see not only why Nietzsche would open Human, All Too Human with the claim that all of the philosophical questions are the same as two thousand years ago, but also why he would think that the modern sciences can be understood as a rebirth of pre-Socratic philosophy in general and a rebirth of a Heraclitean ontology in particular. While Lange highlights the gradual dissolution of the atom in the natural sciences, he nevertheless refrains from adopting a dynamic worldview that can be associated with Heraclitus’ philosophy. It is here, therefore, that Lange and Nietzsche part ways, and the basis for their differences is instructive. Commenting on a quote from Helmholtz, Lange considers but then rejects the possibility of a world of pure force.³⁰² According to Helmholtz, a world of pure force would be something that both is (dasein) and is not (nicht dasein). This is because force is not something that can properly be said to exist. Matter alone is that which exists (das Daseiende). Therefore, a world of pure force is something inconceivable. At the same time, however, a world of pure matter is equally objectionable. This is because we never immediately experience matter. Instead, it is something that we assume given our experience of forces. For Lange, the matter of modern materialism is therefore not much different from Aristotle’s notion of substance. Just as forces are experienced as effects, matter takes on the substance-like role as the bearer of forces qua effects. Nevertheless, Lange does not want us to revert to Aristotelian realism with respect to matter. Instead, he employs the fact that matter is merely

296 Lange (1866, pp. 357–510). 297 Schlechta and Anders (1962, p. 182). 298 Lange (1950, Vol. II, p. 351). 299 Lange (1866, pp. 357ff.). 300 Lange (1866, p. 282 and p. 358). 301 Lange (1866, p. 283). 302 Lange (1866, pp. 379ff.).

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something we assume as the bearer of forces to contend that both matter and force are relative to us. This is because the matter-force combination is not a result of empirical observation, but rather something necessitated by the nature of thinking. Matter is something ideal because we assume it via our experience of forces as effects. Force is also something ideal presumably – and here Lange is not altogether clear – because its existence depends on what has already been shown to be ideal, namely, matter. For Lange, it is here that materialism reveals itself to be self-undermining, and it is the self-destruction of materialism that leads to what has been called Lange’s (materio-) idealism.³⁰³ Nietzsche avoids Lange’s (materio-)idealism by remaining a realist about force.³⁰⁴ That is, Nietzsche accepts Lange’s claim that the natural sciences have gradually dissolved matter into motion or force, but he resists Lange’s conclusion that force is relative to us. Important for my purposes is the fact that Nietzsche rejects Lange’s conclusion by denying the isomorphism between thinking and being. That is, while Nietzsche follows Lange in holding that a world of pure force, as something that both is and is not, is inconceivable, the sheer fact that it is inconceivable does not render it ontologically impossible. To think that the world must conform to the laws of thought is to be guilty, again, of what Glatzeder has called “logical anthropomorphism,”³⁰⁵ and being scientific means avoiding anthropomorphism in all its forms. Of course, just because Nietzsche rejects the principle that the world does not necessarily conform to the laws of thought, thereby making a world of pure force possible, it does not necessarily follow that the world is, in this case, a play of forces. This is because there needs to be some additional evidence to show that nature should be construed in this way, and it is because of this that one sees the importance not only of Lange’s portrayal of the developments in the natural sciences, but also of Nietzsche’s direct engagement with the work of Boscovich. Although it is known that Nietzsche originally read Boscovich’s Philosophiae naturalis Theoria as early as 1873,³⁰⁶ his name does not appear in Nietzsche’s writings until an 1881 note in the Nachlass (NL, KSA 9, 15[21]) and then again in an 1882 letter addressed to Heinrich Köselitz (Peter Gast), in which Nietzsche writes: If anything has been well refuted, it is the prejudice of “matter”; and indeed not by an idealist but by a mathematician – by Boscovich. He and Copernicus are the two greatest opponents of appearances to the eye. Since him, there is no longer any matter – except as a popular simplification. He has thought the atomistic theory through to its end. Gravity is most certainly not a “property of matter,” simply because there is no matter. Gravity is, just like vis inertiae, certainly an appearance of force (simply because there is nothing else other than force!). (KGB III/1, Bf. 213)³⁰⁷

303 Stack (1983, p. 97). 304 In an 1882 Nachlass fragment, Nietzsche claims that, “everything is force” (NL, KSA 10, 1[3]). 305 Glatzeder (2000, p. 95) and (2003, p. 123). 306 Schlechta and Anders (1962, pp. 127ff.). 307 My translation.

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This letter is significant not only because it reveals how Nietzsche sees in Boscovich a thinker who has eliminated matter from the scientific worldview, but also because Nietzsche contrasts Boscovich’s scientific and mathematical elimination of matter with that of the idealists. What this latter point suggests is that Nietzsche neither turns to idealist arguments to jettison matter nor does he believe, like Lange, that the scientific dissolution of matter into force results in a form of (materio-)idealism. Instead, Nietzsche finds in Boscovich not only a realism about force that is crucial for the development of doctrines such as the eternal return and the will to power,³⁰⁸ but also a dynamic materialism that allows him to interpret the progress of modern physics as a gradual movement from Democritean atomism back to Heraclitus’ ontology of dynamic relations.³⁰⁹

3.4 Natural Science and Heraclitean Ontology in The Pre-Platonic Philosophers Before turning to Nietzsche’s attempt to articulate Heraclitus’ ontology of dynamic relations in the language of the natural sciences in Human, All Too Human, I want to solidify this link by showing how Nietzsche’s interest in the natural sciences intensifies during his early studies of pre-Socratic philosophy and how he weaves points gained from the natural sciences into his account of ancient Greek philosophy in The Pre-Platonic Philosophers, lectures given in the years between Philosophy in the Tragic Age and Human, All Too Human. In particular, Nietzsche borrowed a number of books on the natural sciences from the Basel library in March of 1873.³¹⁰ The fact that Nietzsche borrows these books in connection with his studies of pre-Socratic philosophy is evidenced by a letter to Carl von Gersdorff from April of that year (KGB II/3, Bf. 301). In the letter, Nietzsche tells Gersdorff that he is bringing Philosophy in the Tragic Age to Bayreuth so that he can read it aloud, but he also notes that the work is far from complete. This is because he is trying to be more disciplined with himself, and as a part of this self-discipline, he has plans to study subjects such as mathematics, mechanics, and chemistry. In Philosophy in the Tragic Age, Nietzsche tries to link ancient Greek thought to the philosophies of Kant and Schopenhauer. In The Pre-Platonic Philosophers, Nietzsche does something similar, but in these lectures he explicitly appeals to the natural sciences to provide support for pre-Socratic philosophy in general and Heraclitus’ doctrines in particular. According to Schlechta and Anders, Nietzsche turns to the natural sciences of his day on seven different occasions in The Pre-Platonic Philosophers.³¹¹ 308 See Whitlock (1996). 309 See Stack (1983, p. 233). 310 Mittasch (1952, p. 35). 311 Schlechta and Anders (1962, pp. 60ff.).

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For my purposes, the two most important of these excursions occur in Nietzsche’s treatment of Heraclitus. There, Nietzsche explicitly connects Heraclitean becoming to the natural sciences when he claims that the main proposition of the latter is that “all things flow (panta rhei)” (PPP, p. 60). To develop this point, Nietzsche first appeals to a thought experiment from Karl Ernst von Bär’s 1860 lecture, “What Conception of Living Nature is the Correct one?” Bär’s claim is that the rate of conscious perception is relative to the pulse rate of the organism. Because of this, if we were to increase the pulse rate of an organism significantly, the world would appear to be changing at a much slower rate. If, on the contrary, we were to decrease the pulse rates of an organism, everything would appear to be changing at a much faster rate. Indeed, if we decreased this infinitely, then everything, according to Nietzsche, “would be devoured by the wild storm of becoming. Whatever remains, the unmoving (mê rhein), proves to be a complete illusion, the result of the human intellect” (PPP, p. 61). In contrast, if we were to increase this infinitely, everything would come to a halt. However, if we were to combine this latter experiment with an infinitely strengthened capacity to perceive change, there would still be “no persistent thing in the indefinitely smallest particle of time [or time atom] but rather only a becoming” (PPP, p. 62). Here, Nietzsche claims that just as “becoming never ceases at the indefinitely small,” becoming also reigns at the level of macro-objects. To secure the latter point, Nietzsche turns to the work of Hermann von Helmholtz, the teacher of Lange and one of the leading natural scientists in nineteenth-century Germany. Specifically, Nietzsche seeks to disabuse us of the belief that the heavens will remain eternally the same. The earth will perish one day, most notably because the heat of the sun cannot last eternally. Quoting from Helmholtz, Nietzsche informs the reader that the rotation of the planets is slowing down because the stores of mechanical force are slowly depleting. In so doing, Nietzsche compares Helmholtz’s observation to the “intuitive” insight of Heraclitus that “there is no thing of which we may say ‘it is’.” As the passage continues, the reader is told that Heraclitus “rejects being. He knows only becoming, the flowing. He considers belief in something persistent as error and foolishness” (PPP, p. 62). Because becoming on both the micro and macro level is present in Human, All Too Human, becoming should not be interpreted as the mere claim that all existing things will eventually pass away, i.e., the denial of eternally persisting macro-objects. Instead, one should see such a claim as one piece of a larger theory stating that there is nothing in nature that is stable at any given point in time. Just as the solar system as we now know it will eventually be destroyed, one also needs to note that these macroobjects are not made of anything on a micro-level that is stable at any moment in time. Indeed, the point of turning to these examples in The Pre-Platonic Philosophers is not to articulate a precise theory of becoming, for this has already been accomplished through an analysis of Philosophy in the Tragic Age in the first chapter, but to show how Nietzsche weaves evidence from the natural sciences into his account of Heraclitus’ philosophy. This is a crucial point not only because Nietzsche presents Hera-

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clitus’ ontology as a discovery of the natural sciences in Human, All Too Human, but also because it indicates that Nietzsche is interested in defending it as an adequate characterization of nature, rather than seeing it simply as an expression of Heraclitus’ personality, as the opening of Philosophy in the Tragic Age might suggest.

3.5 A Turn to Human, All Too Human My efforts thus far have been largely dedicated to showing that Nietzsche’s turn to science in Human, All Too Human is by no means an abrupt one. Specifically, I have argued that Nietzsche develops a tragic philosophy as early as The Birth of Tragedy, modifies and improves on this tragic philosophy by turning to the anti-metaphysical ontology of Heraclitus in Philosophy in the Tragic Age, and then claims support from the natural sciences for this way of construing the world in The Pre-Platonic Philosophers. If I am right to argue that Nietzsche’s turn to science in Human, All Too Human goes hand in hand with his adoption of a Heraclitean ontology that is deeply hostile to the basic demands of life, Human, All Too Human can be seen as continuous with the gradual developments that took place in Nietzsche’s earlier works. Such a reading, however, seems to conflict with Nietzsche’s own retrospective self-description of the work: “Human, All-Too-Human is the monument of a crisis” (EH Books HH 1). Indeed, its aphoristic style stands in sharp contrast to the essays of the earlier published works, and Nietzsche’s turn to science in Human, All Too Human seems to oppose, rather than supplement, his interest in reviving the art world of ancient Greece. The fourth chapter of the work evidences this, in which Nietzsche concludes that, “the scientific man is the further evolution of the artistic” (HH 222). For these reasons, Julian Young has proclaimed that, “Human, All-too-human marks, it is clear, a tremendous departure from the world of The Birth of Tragedy.”³¹² There are two keys to understanding how Human, All Too Human is both continuous with Nietzsche’s earlier writings and, at the same time, marks a crisis or break

312 Young (1992, p. 59). Similarly, Cohen (2010, p. 48) has attempted to explain Nietzsche’s “diametric reversal on science” with the publication of Human, All Too Human; Clark (1998, p. 47) speaks of Nietzsche turning his back on the “whole project” of establishing the superiority of art to that of science; Vattimo (2002, p. 48) claims that Nietzsche “renounces the ideal of a rebirth of tragic culture.” Young rightly identifies the Heraclitean ontology at work in Human, All Too Human and links it to Nietzsche’s naturalism (1992, p. 60) and Nietzsche’s readings of Lange and Boscovich (1992, pp. 62f.). Nevertheless, Young mistakenly speaks of this ontology as a “metaphysical view of the world” and mistakenly equates the ontology in Human, All Too Human with what Young calls the “Schopenhauerian-Heraclitean” worldview of The Birth of Tragedy. As the argument of Philosophy in the Tragic Age and Human, All Too Human makes clear, the Heraclitean ontology of the two works is decidedly anti-metaphysical, and if one is to equate Schopenhauer’s metaphysics with a pre-Socratic thinker, it is that of Anaximander, which Nietzsche’s Heraclitus then overcomes by abolishing the thing-in-itself and therewith the metaphysical world (PTAG 4–5).

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with the earlier project. First, Nietzsche argues, as early as The Birth of Tragedy, that the Socratic quest for truth will play a central role in the rebirth of tragedy by destroying the optimistic view of the world, first ushered in by Socrates, that opposes it. In this spirit, Nietzsche not only sets out to explore the philosophy of what he calls the tragic age of the Greeks in his efforts prior to Human, All Too Human, but he also begins linking his reflections on pre-Socratic philosophy to the natural sciences of his day. In this respect, Human, All Too Human is nothing new. This is because the work employs the Socratic quest for truth to destroy contemporary versions of Socratic optimism. What is new, however, is the attempt to subordinate art to the scientific ethos that Nietzsche extols in Human, All Too Human. Nevertheless, and this is the second point, Human, All Too Human is just one stage in a free-spirit project that culminates in the publication of Nietzsche’s own tragedy in Zarathustra. So understood, the scientific ethos that Nietzsche presents himself as embracing in Human, All Too Human is only a temporary stage in the development of the free spirit, and it will soon be left behind for an artistic affirmation of life in The Gay Science and then Zarathustra. In this sense, Human, All Too Human is continuous with The Birth of Tragedy precisely because it represents the first step in a larger project in which the unfettered drive for truth results in the rebirth not only of a tragic worldview but also the tragic poetry that is supposed to affirm a world so understood. On this reading, the “crisis” of Human, All Too Human and its break with Nietzsche’s earlier writings can be explained in terms of Nietzsche’s relationship to Wagner and the question of who is responsible for the rebirth of a tragic worldview and tragedy itself. On my reading, Nietzsche’s crisis is the result of his decision to take over this project himself. The most direct piece of evidence for such a reading comes from Nietzsche’s retrospective account of the matter in Ecce Homo. Specifically, he traces the crisis of Human, All Too Human back to his decision to leave the first Bayreuther Festspiele in 1876 and therefore his decision to break with Wagner (EH Books HH 1). At the same time, Nietzsche claims that he did not just break with Wagner, but that he also turned to educating himself. What this seems to mean is that he decided to realize himself, both in his life and in his works, the plans and ideals that he had discussed in theory in his earlier works. Although Colli and Montinari have dated some aphorisms of Human, All Too Human back to 1875 (KSA 14, p. 115), Nietzsche’s account of his break with Wagner refers to thoughts that he penned just after leaving Bayreuth in August of 1876 under the title of the “ploughshare” (NL, KSA 8, Group M I 1).³¹³ The image of the ploughshare is that of clearing the ground for planting something new, just as one might raze a building to build again. In these fragments, the ploughshare is directly linked to the free spirit. This is because the term appears as the title for a planned work, and it is followed by the subtitle, “a guide to spiritual liberation” (NL, KSA 8, 17[105]). The idea

313 For a more detailed account of this point, see Large (1997).

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is that Nietzsche’s project of the free spirit, at least at this stage, consists of liberating or even cleansing himself of false opinions, hopes, and ideals. As we are told in Ecce Homo, Nietzsche is consciously seeking out such elements in his thinking, and rather than refuting these ideals, he places these errors on ice so that each “freezes to death” (EH Books HH 1). In this sense, Nietzsche’s project resembles that of Descartes’ Meditations, and the first edition of the work (1878) includes a short quotation from Descartes’ Discourse on Method that speaks of dedicating one’s life to the pursuit of truth (KSA 2, p. 16).³¹⁴ Nietzsche’s reference to Descartes can be seen as part of a broader attempt to link the free spirit to the Enlightenment project. Not only can repeated references to the Enlightenment be found in the text (HH  26, 110, 147, 150, 237, 463, 472, 475), Nietzsche’s desire to cast Human, All Too Human as an extension of the Enlightenment project is also evidenced by the fact that he dedicates the first edition of the text to Voltaire on the centenary of his death (EH Books HH 1). What all of this suggests is that Nietzsche’s project of self-liberation in Human, All Too Human, when read in combination with the works that follow, is also an attempt to show how the Enlightenment culminates in a rebirth of tragedy.³¹⁵ As noted above, the key to understanding Human, All Too Human as an extension of The Birth of Tragedy is to note the tension Nietzsche identifies between the Socratic quest for truth and Socratic optimism. In The Birth of Tragedy, Nietzsche argues that Kant and Schopenhauer have used the means of philosophy and science to put an end to the optimistic hope that we can attain the kind of knowledge that will cure the socalled wound of existence (BT 18–19). On my reading, Nietzsche’s efforts in Human, All Too Human follow in this tradition because the work exhibits a drive for truth that results in a series of scientific and philosophical discoveries that undermine the optimistic myth and highlight the tragic tension between life and truth.³¹⁶ In HH 6, Nietzsche explicitly addresses this issue by separating his scientific approach that “seeks knowledge and nothing further” from an optimistic philosophy that seeks “to bestow on life and action the greatest possible profundity” (HH 6). In HH 7, Nietzsche develops the point by arguing that the desire for happiness through the quest for truth has prevented thinkers from finding the truth. According to Nietzsche, when one focuses on the “unpretentious truths” of the natural sciences (HH 3), one slowly 314 See Rethy (1976) for a discussion of this point. 315 Meyer (2006). 316 This is another area where Young errs. This is because he believes that Nietzsche’s turn to science is also a turn to optimism, and so he speaks of the “scientific optimism” of Human, All Too Human (1992, p. 62), such that “pessimism has evaporated” (1992, p. 72). One could speak of a scientific optimism in Human, All Too Human in the sense of being optimistic about acquiring knowledge. However, the work is quite clearly pessimistic in an existential sense, i.e., in providing any hope of overcoming human suffering. As the final sections of the first book of Human, All Too Human make clear, the factual pessimism of The Birth of Tragedy has certainly not evaporated. Instead, Nietzsche is using science in Human, All Too Human to destroy optimism and establish his own version of factual pessimism.

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begins to realize just how much life depends on error and injustice (HH 32 and 33). In this sense, the Socratic quest for knowledge has a tragic character to it, and it is for this reason that Nietzsche concludes the chapter wondering whether his own philosophy will become a tragedy (HH 34). What also emerges from a cursory analysis of the contents of the first chapter is that Nietzsche has arranged the 638 aphorisms of Human, All Too Human not only according to certain themes, but in such a way that an argument unfolds in which certain insights license certain conclusions and these initial conclusions justify, in turn, further conclusions. Such logic can be found not only within each chapter, but also in the structure governing the relationships between each of the chapters. Indeed, a glance at the first section reveals that Nietzsche plans to provide “a chemistry of the moral, religious and aesthetic conceptions and sensations, likewise of all the agitations we experience within ourselves in cultural and social intercourse and indeed even when we are alone” (HH 1). As the attentive reader will notice, Nietzsche is referring here to the subject matter of the chapters that follow, and in turning to these chapters, one sees that they have been further grouped into something like the following scheme. Whereas the first chapter concerning “first and last things” addresses fundamental problems in metaphysics and sets the tone for the work as a whole, chapters two through four apply the attack on metaphysics found in the first chapter to traditional beliefs about morality, religion, and art. The fifth chapter functions as a sort of interlude and provides a meta-reflection on the status of the free spirit and the role that science plays in the process of becoming a free spirit. Chapters six through eight engage in the task of liberating the soon-to-be free spirit from the fetters of society, family, and the state, and the concluding chapter portrays the free spirit, now having undergone this process of liberation, as a solitary walker alone in the desert of knowledge. In the relatively sparse Anglo-American scholarship on Human, All Too Human and Nietzsche’s works of the free spirit, commentators like Jonathan Cohen and Paul Franco have stressed the way in which the aphorisms of Human, All Too Human unfold almost systematically.³¹⁷ Despite their emphasis on the structural integrity of the work, both Cohen and Franco underestimate the extent to which the first chapter and even the work as a whole unpack Nietzsche’s initial commitment to a Heraclitean ontology.³¹⁸ In contrast to Anglo-American scholarship, German scholars Heller and 317 Franco (2011, pp.  14f.) is most explicit about this. Also see Cohen (2010, pp.  14f.). In contrast, Abbey (2000) takes an issue-oriented approach to the works of the free spirit and indiscriminately quotes from these works to develop Nietzsche’s views on a range of topics. Nevertheless, Abbey (2000, p. 157) rightly argues against Kofman (1993) who sees the aphorism as an attack on traditional philosophy. 318 Whereas references to Heraclitus are entirely absent from Cohen’s (2010) work, both Franco (2011, p. 20) and Young (1992, pp. 60ff.) note the general presence of Heraclitus’ ontology in certain aphorisms from the middle of the first chapter. What they overlook, however, is that the problem of opposites that Nietzsche announces in HH 1 is a central theme of pre-Socratic philosophy and that

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Glatzeder have explicitly linked the problem of opposites in HH 1 to Nietzsche’s interpretation of Heraclitus and Parmenides in Philosophy in the Tragic Age and, specifically, the historical philosophy of HH 1 to Nietzsche’s understanding of Heraclitus.³¹⁹ Heller opens his analysis of Human, All Too Human with the claim that Nietzsche remains faithful to Heraclitus.³²⁰ To link Heraclitus’ doctrine to the central themes of Human, All Too Human, he turns to Philosophy in the Tragic Age to say more about what the Heraclitean doctrine of becoming might mean. However, because he draws almost exclusively from Philosophy in the Tragic Age to unpack the distinction between historical and metaphysical philosophy, he struggles to understand how Nietzsche could link Heraclitean becoming to the natural sciences of his day in Human, All Too Human. For Heller, Heraclitean becoming is something that Nietzsche wins through intuitive insight – a point drawn from Philosophy in the Tragic Age – , not through the rigors of the natural sciences, as The Pre-Platonic Philosophers suggests. Because of this, Heller thinks that Nietzsche’s doctrine of becoming borders on esotericism.³²¹ On this and other points, Glatzeder offers a superior analysis in her more recent work.³²² Like Heller, she turns to Philosophy in the Tragic Age to interpret the opposition between metaphysical and historical philosophy in HH 1, seeing it in terms of a conflict between Heraclitus’ doctrine of becoming and Parmenides’ doctrine of being. Unlike Heller, she provides an in-depth treatment of Nietzsche’s account of how Western thinking went awry through an “error of reason.”³²³ As previously noted, Glatzeder contends that Nietzsche convicts previous thinkers of “logical anthropomorphism” or the illegitimate application of the categories of human reason to nature. Like all forms of anthropomorphism, Nietzsche rejects this on the grounds that it is unscientific. Nevertheless, what is not anthropomorphic for Nietzsche is his ontology of dynamic relations. This is because the ontology of dynamic relations is a conception of reality that is supported by the discoveries of the natural sciences. It is for this reason that Nietzsche thinks that this ontology is true. However, as History for Life suggests, Nietzsche also thinks that a doctrine like becoming is “deadly” (HL 9). That is, Heraclitus’ ontology makes it impossible to live without falsifying this reality,³²⁴ and it is for this reason that Heraclitus’ ontology is a source of despair.³²⁵ As my reading of Human, All Too Human unfolds, my agreement with Glatzeder’s interpretation will become evident. My hope here is to bring more attention to this way of reading Human, All Too Human and to situate such a reading within a Nietzsche’s denial of the metaphysician’s belief in opposites is a turn to the Heraclitean ontology that they find elsewhere in the text. 319 Glatzeder (2000) and Heller (1972). 320 Heller (1972, p. 5). My translation. 321 Heller (1972, p. 9). 322 Glatzeder (2000). For a condensed version of her argument, see Glatzeder (2003). 323 Glatzeder (2000, pp. 93ff.). 324 Glatzeder (2000, pp. 117ff.). 325 Glatzeder (2000, p. 64).

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larger interpretation of Nietzsche’s mature philosophy and his published works. For as much as Glatzeder is right to emphasize the role that becoming plays in this period of Nietzsche’s philosophy, there needs to be a detailed explanation of the role that it plays in his post-Zarathustra works and how it relates to his theory of perspectivism and the will to power. In chapters four and five, I provide such an explanation. Here, however, I highlight the presence of Heraclitus’ ontology in Human, All Too Human and the way in which it both underwrites the falsification thesis and forms the basis for Nietzsche’s tragic philosophy. It is to this task that I now turn.

3.6 Natural Science and Heraclitean Ontology in Human, All Too Human 1–2 Although there is much rhetoric about methodological rigor and the painstaking labor involved in his detailed scientific investigations (HH 3), Nietzsche begins Human, All Too Human with a sweeping claim designed to put an end to the Western metaphysical tradition and to announce a new form of philosophy based on a Heraclitean ontology. Specifically, Nietzsche begins the first section with the assertion that “almost all of the problems of philosophy once again pose the same form of question as they did two thousand years ago” (HH 1). A skeptical reader might wonder why all the problems of philosophy date back to antiquity. Although he does not support this claim in Human, All Too Human itself, much of Nietzsche’s thinking resulted from his engagement with Lange’s The History of Materialism, and once one takes the general thrust of Lange’s argument into consideration, i.e., that modern science can be understood as a revival of Democritean atomism, one can begin to see why Nietzsche would think that the fundamental questions of philosophy have not changed since antiquity. What the opening of Human, All Too Human shows is that Nietzsche is not concerned to make explicit his reasons for taking the positions he does, a fact that makes interpreting the work a difficult endeavor. Just as troublesome for the interpreter is the additional fact that Nietzsche is not always precise with the claims he makes. For instance, if the first sentence were exact, Nietzsche’s reference to the philosophical problems of two thousand years ago would place his interests in the latter half of the second century BCE. The problem is not only that we do not have much evidence attesting to raging debates concerning the problem of opposites during this time, but also that there is little evidence to suggest that Nietzsche was particularly interested in the philosophy of this period. Because of this, the reader is left to interpret Nietzsche’s claim somewhat liberally, and it is through such a liberal interpretation that one hits upon the debates that animated philosophy in ancient Greece during the sixth, fifth, and fourth centuries BCE. There are three reasons for thinking that Nietzsche is referring back to this time period with the problem of opposites in HH 1. The first is that an independent examination of Greek philosophy shows that this was indeed an important topic for those

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thinkers who followed in the wake of Heraclitus’ philosophy. Indeed, one of these thinkers was Plato, and dialogues such as the Phaedo and the Republic attest to the centrality of the problem of opposites and the related distinction between being and becoming. The second point is that these debates are not only prominent during this time, but Philosophy in the Tragic Age reveals that Nietzsche took a keen interest in them. Finally, one can locate the basic structure of HH 1 in Nietzsche’s reading of the pre-Socratics in Philosophy in the Tragic Age. Whereas Nietzsche’s query as to how something can come from its opposite can be equated with “Anaximander’s problem of becoming” in Philosophy in the Tragic Age (PTAG 5), the so-called historical and metaphysical solutions to the problem of opposites can be linked to the philosophies of Heraclitus and Parmenides, respectively. In tracing the problem of opposites and the related historical and metaphysical solutions back to Philosophy in the Tragic Age, I am following the work of both Heller and Glatzeder. Although a careful reading of HH 1 does show close parallels between the passage and the argument of Philosophy in the Tragic Age, the passage itself does not directly indicate that the rejection of Parmenidean being and the acceptance of Heraclitean becoming are at stake. Indeed, one could defend a more deflationary reading of the section by arguing that Nietzsche simply wants to highlight the fact that something like rationality emerged or evolved from irrationality and therefore deny that anything like reason could entirely free itself from irrational drives. As HH 18 indicates, Nietzsche is undoubtedly interested in arguing just such a point. However, the question concerning the interpretation of HH 1 is whether this is all that Nietzsche wants to argue. I do not think that it is because Nietzsche’s remarks in his 1888 revision of HH 1 make it clear that the clash between being and becoming is precisely what is at stake. In the 1888 revision, Nietzsche preserves much of the original passage, but now contrasts metaphysical philosophy with “eine eigentliche Philosophie des Werdens” or “an actual philosophy of becoming,” one that completely rejects an “in-itself,” “being,” and “appearance” (KSA 14, p. 119). In so doing, Nietzsche claims that the original question of how something can come from its opposite has been incorrectly phrased, and it has been incorrectly phrased because there are no (absolute) opposites (KSA 14, p. 119). The two responses to the problem of opposites are really two ways of rejecting the appropriateness of the question. On the one hand, the metaphysician deals with the problem of something coming from its opposite by denying that this, in fact, occurs. He agrees that there are opposites, but denies that something can come from its opposite. Instead, the metaphysician holds that the more valuable thing is supposed to have “a miraculous source in the very kernel and being of the ‘thing in itself’” (HH 1). On the other hand, the historical philosopher deals with the problem by denying that there are absolute opposites. That is, he deals with the problem by insisting that if there are opposites at all, they are somehow united with and dependent on each other such that there never is a case of one opposite completely replacing or coming to be from another.

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As HH  1 and the sections that follow make clear, Nietzsche sides with the historical philosopher’s claim that “there are no opposites” and so Heraclitean becoming. Here, it is important to note Nietzsche’s reasons for rejecting the metaphysical solution and accepting the historical solution. Specifically, he claims that the metaphysical solution is based on the erroneous assumption that there are opposites, and Nietzsche identifies both language and reason as the twofold source of this error. That is, opposites are only to be found “in the customary exaggeration of popular or metaphysical interpretations” (HH 1). Whereas the “popular” interpretation can be linked to the “people’s metaphysics of language” by way of the 1888 revision of the passage (KSA 14, p. 119), the metaphysical interpretation can be linked to “a mistake in reasoning” that “lies at the bottom of this antithesis” in the original version of the passage (HH 1). The link between the linguistically based metaphysics of the people and the rationalist metaphysics of the philosophers is important because it allows one to see the way in which Nietzsche’s project in Human, All Too Human can be understood as an extension of modern science’s attack on anthropomorphic conceptions of reality. Just as early modern science rejected Aristotle’s belief that everyday language was an adequate starting point for philosophical inquiry, Nietzsche is now rejecting the claim that reason can be used as a means for unpacking the structure of nature. Based on Philosophy in the Tragic Age and Aristotle’s defense of the principle of non-contradiction, one can say that the “mistake in reasoning” Nietzsche is attacking here is not some sort of fallacious inference, but rather Parmenides’ belief that he can appeal to reason to divide reality into opposites and, in turn, understand reality in terms of the distinction between being and non-being (PTAG 9). In contrast to a metaphysical philosophy rooted in the errors of language and reason, Nietzsche commits himself to a “historical philosophy” that “can no longer be separated from the natural sciences” (HH 1). Given that I have just shown how this historical philosophy is, at the same time, an expression of Nietzsche’s commitment to both becoming and a version of the unity of opposites, the next task is to make sense of how these two doctrines are supposed to fit together given the language of HH 1. The unity of opposites provides a starting point. In the first chapter, it was argued that the unity of opposites is a view that entails that everything exists and is what it is only in relation to something else. Here, Nietzsche’s explicit rejection of things-inthemselves in HH 1 actually entails his acceptance of this relational ontology. To see why this is the case, one must recall the three ways of Parmenides discussed in the chapter on Philosophy in the Tragic Age, namely, the way of “it is” or being, “it is and is not” or becoming, and “it is not” or nothingness. The idea is that once one rules out “things-in-themselves,” “beings,” or self-identical entities that have intrinsic properties, one is forced to develop an ontology bereft of such things. Given that the first way in Parmenides’ scheme has been eliminated, only two options remain. That is, either there is nothing (“is not”) or the world somehow “is and is not.” Because experience conflicts with the idea that things are not, the world must somehow both be and not

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be. On my reading, the best way to make sense of this claim is to say that everything has relative existence. That is, things and properties exist, but they do so only insofar as they are related to something that they are not. If this is correct, then once Nietzsche rejects things that exist and have some of the properties they do in virtue of themselves, he must be committed to the view that everything has relative existence. The question that therefore remains is showing how this view relates to the doctrine of becoming that is mentioned in the 1888 reworking of the passage. As Philosophy in the Tragic Age shows, one way to make this connection is by saying that the world is made up of interrelated qualities or forces that are continually affecting or “struggling” with each other. Although this is the version of the unity of opposites and becoming that is found throughout Nietzsche’s late Nachlass fragments, such an understanding of the unity of opposites is not immediately suggested by the language of HH 1. However, there is another way of understanding the relationship between the unity of opposites and becoming in Philosophy in the Tragic Age that does resonate with the language of HH 1. Specifically, in HH 1, Nietzsche speaks of “unegoistic actions” and “disinterested contemplation” as “sublimations,” where “the basic element seems almost to have dispersed and reveals itself only under the most painstaking observation” (HH 1). Although Nietzsche seems to want to reduce things such as selflessness and disinterestedness down to selfish interest, one can also read him as saying that all disinterested or selfless behavior is somehow united with some sort of interested selfishness that has been, in one way or another, sublimated in the relationship. In this sense, one can say that there is a unity of opposites, and the appearance of one opposite in the relationship simply means that the other has been sublimated, just like two “wrestlers where sometimes the one, sometimes the other is on top” (PTAG 5). In terms of becoming, what this means is that, at a particular time, the sublimated element is always “wrestling” with the dominant element and that over time, it is likely that the sublimated element will eventually overthrow the presently dominant element. In this sense, the unity of opposites guarantees that change is an essential feature of nature and therefore is intimately related to becoming. Thus far, I have expended a fair amount of effort showing why HH 1 can be read as an expression of Nietzsche’s commitment to the unity of opposites and Heraclitean becoming. Whereas some version of the unity of opposites is readily evident in the original version of HH 1, it is only Nietzsche’s 1888 revision of the passage that explicitly mentions becoming (KSA 14, p. 119). However, even if there were no recourse to the revised version of HH 1, there is still significant evidence that Nietzsche’s scientific commitments in the first chapter of Human, All Too Human are bound up with a dynamic conception of reality. This is because Nietzsche appeals to becoming to reject the philosopher’s belief in an “aeterna veritas” in the next aphorism (HH 2). In particular, the reader is told that the family failing of philosophers is that they have lacked a historical sense, and this lack of historical sense is evidenced by the fact that they involuntarily think of the human being as something that “remains constant in

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the midst of all flux, as a sure measure of things” (HH 2). According to Nietzsche, the problem with this way of thinking is that it looks at the human being for only a limited period of time. Once one steps outside of this typically narrow view of things, one sees that everything about the human being, including the faculty of cognition, has come from something non-human, something irrational. It is for this reason that the human being is not an aeterna veritas, and what is true of the human being is true of everything else. Thus, Nietzsche concludes the section with the claim that there are no eternal facts, no absolute truths (HH 2). There are two interpretive difficulties that emerge from HH  2. The first is the problem of developing a precise definition of becoming within the context of Human, All Too Human. The second has to do with the potential presence of Nietzsche’s perspectivism in the work. Evidence for the latter point appears at the beginning and the end of the section. On the one hand, Nietzsche refers to the Protagorean doctrine that man is the measure of all things (HH 2). His point, however, is not to refute the Protagorean teaching in toto, but rather to argue that man does not function as a stable, absolute, eternal measure of all things on the grounds that he is fully submersed in the flux of nature. As HH  18 indicates, Nietzsche’s rejection of man as an absolute measure goes hand in hand with his rejection of self-identical entities, as self-identity is a fundamental law of human cognition, not a fundamental law of nature. The idea is that once we join Copernicus and stop thinking of ourselves as the center of the world and the absolute and eternal measures of all things, we will overcome our unscientific and anthropomorphic belief that there are self-identical entities that have a foothold in a mind-independent reality. The other potential expression of perspectivism comes with Nietzsche’s claim that there are no eternal facts, no absolute truths (HH 2). This is because this claim seems to be a shortened version of what many take to be the essence of Nietzsche’s mature perspectivism: “There are no facts, only interpretations” (WP 481; NL, KSA 12, 7[60]; see also BGE 22). Although the claim is less extreme in Human, All Too Human, insofar as it simply denies eternal facts and absolute truths, it is nevertheless close enough to the later formulation to warrant discussion. Here, it is important to note two things. First, I argue in chapter five that Nietzsche’s claim that there are no facts entails the view that everything exists and is what it is only in relation to something else. This means that Nietzsche’s denial of facts is a denial of non-relative facts only, and his denial of non-relative facts goes hand in hand with his acceptance that all facts are relative facts or, what he calls, interpretations. The second point is that Nietzsche grounds his denial of facts in what one, in turn, might call the “fact” of becoming or the “fact” of the unity of opposites. Here, these facts function as secondorder facts about facts. That is, they are facts that entail that there are no non-relative facts. Evidence for such a reading can not only be found in the late Nachlass, where Nietzsche claims that there are no facts because everything is, in fact, in flux (WP 604; NL, KSA  12, 2[82]), but also in HH  2, where Nietzsche claims there are no “eternal facts” and no “absolute truths” because everything has become (HH 2).

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There are two advantages to this reading of Nietzsche’s denial of facts, both in Human, All Too Human and elsewhere. The first is that it explains why Nietzsche believes that there are no facts. In Human, All Too Human, the basic idea is that science reveals a world in which becoming and the unity of opposites are true, and if one accepts these views as true, then one must accept the further claim that there are no non-relational facts. The second advantage to this reading is that it avoids the problem of self-refutation. In denying that there are first-order facts, Nietzsche does not also deny the facts of becoming and the unity of opposites. Instead, it is Nietzsche’s belief in becoming and the unity of opposites that forms the basis for his denial of all claims about the independent existence of things and their non-relational properties. By limiting Nietzsche’s denial of facts in this way, another interpretive difficulty with respect to this understanding of becoming arises. This is because some might argue that Nietzsche’s denial of eternal facts and absolute truths suggests that becoming simply entails the denial of eternal substances that might populate a metaphysical world beyond the senses. So construed, becoming would not entail the rejection of temporarily existing commonsense things. Instead, becoming would simply be the view that all existing entities are subject to generation and corruption. Indeed, such an interpretation of becoming could be supported by a more commonsense reading of the problem of opposites in the first section. Here, one could say that there is rationality in the world, but Nietzsche’s point is simply to remind us that this rationality came to be from non-rational elements. In this instance, it might be said that Nietzsche does not want to undercut our basic ability to think and speak about the empirical world, but rather to disabuse us of our metaphysical beliefs in God, transcendent freedom, immortality, etc. Admittedly, this interpretation cannot be ruled out by a strict reading of HH 1 and HH 2. However, a reading of other key sections from the first chapter of Human, All Too Human shows that Nietzsche does commit himself to a relational ontology that eliminates commonsense things and so establishes a deep division between the structures of thought and language and the structure of the world.

3.7 Heraclitean Ontology and the Falsification Thesis in Human, All Too Human Although Nietzsche undoubtedly targets transcendent metaphysical beliefs in Human, All Too Human, the deflationary reading of the first two sections not only fails to resonate with Nietzsche’s articulation of becoming in Philosophy in the Tragic Age and The Pre-Platonic Philosophers, but also fails to make sense of his critique of language and logic in the other sections of the first chapter of Human, All Too Human. In HH 11, Nietzsche again addresses the issue of eternal truths (aeternae veritates). This time it comes in the context of his attack on the view that language and logic provide knowledge of the world. Whereas people of previous times believed that the creator of language was expressing certain discoveries about nature through his linguistic

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creations, Nietzsche claims that this has proven to be a “tremendous error” (HH 11). As the section continues, the reader learns that this is also the case with logic. Specifically, Nietzsche contends that logic, like language, “depends on presuppositions with which nothing in the real world corresponds” (HH 11). Although it is clear that Nietzsche thinks that language and logic somehow dupe us into adopting false beliefs about reality, he does not articulate the point with much precision in this section. In particular, it is not entirely clear what he means by “depends upon” in the previous claim about logic. The context suggests that Nietzsche’s point is not that we cannot speak or draw logical inferences without these presuppositions, but that in order for logic and language to provide knowledge about the world, the world needs to be structured in a certain way. Here one can say that language and logic can provide knowledge about the world only if there are self-identical entities that correspond to the logical law of identity and function as subjects in the subject-predicate structure of language. In HH 11, Nietzsche does not explicitly deny the existence of such self-identical entities. However, his language is hardly free of ambiguity. What he says is that logic depends on presuppositions such as that “there are identical things, that the same thing is identical at different points of time” (HH 11). Nietzsche’s articulation of the point lacks clarity because “identical things” could mean either “self-identical things” or two numerically distinct but qualitatively identical things. While the latter reading seems to fit best with the text at hand, the former reading does find support in later sections and makes better sense of Nietzsche’s critique of logic. This is because there does not seem to be any reason why the application of logical principles to the world requires the existence of two qualitatively identical things. Indeed, one could argue that the application of logical principles to the world does not even require diachronic self-identity such that one thing remains identical to itself over time. Instead, what the application of logical principles to the world requires is synchronic self-identity, that one thing is identical with itself at any given point in time. Although Nietzsche does not explicitly deny synchronically self-identical entities in HH  11, the passage contains nothing that would commit him to their existence. Moreover, Nietzsche’s remarks in this section indicate that he rejects not only sempiternal entities and entities that exist beyond time, but also entities that remain qualitatively identical from one point in time to the next. What this shows is that Nietzsche is indeed engaged in the project of dissolving our commonsense world into the flux of becoming. Whereas he rejects eternal entities in HH 2, he takes aim at our belief that there are persisting things in HH 11. The issue that remains open, however, is whether he rejects the existence of synchronically self-identical entities. Based on other sections from the first chapter of Human, All Too Human, I argue that he does. For my purposes, the next two sections of significance are HH  16 and HH  18. Important here is the fact that Nietzsche alludes to the “rigorous” and “distinguished” logician Afrikan Spir in each. Recently, Green has argued that Spir’s work is crucial for understanding Nietzsche’s thought more generally and the falsification thesis in

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particular.³²⁶ While I differ with Green on certain points, we agree insofar as he argues not only that Nietzsche follows Spir in establishing a deep antithesis between Parmenidean being and Heraclitean becoming, but also in that the differences between Spir and Nietzsche can be understood in terms of the respective sides they take in this debate. Whereas Spir opts for Parmenidean being or absolutely self-identical substances, Nietzsche turns to Heraclitean becoming or a realm of multiplicity and change that rejects such entities.³²⁷ The title of HH 16 – “appearance and thing-in-itself” – indicates that the issue at hand is the all-important distinction between appearances and things-in-themselves. Much like HH 2, where he attacks the traditional philosopher’s lack of historical sense, Nietzsche begins the passage with a critique of philosophers’ tendency to see the world of life and experience as the appearance of some greater reality. For philosophers who look upon the world in this way, the question that emerges has to do with the relationship between the world of appearance and the world of things-inthemselves. Whereas some – and Nietzsche seems to be thinking of Schopenhauer here – have contended that there is a connection between the two worlds insofar as the latter serves as the sufficient reason for the former, others – and Nietzsche’s reference to “more rigorous logicians” (HH 16) suggests Spir – have disputed any connection between these two worlds. Nietzsche, however, believes that both these thinkers have failed to recognize that the world “has gradually become” and “is indeed still fully in course of becoming” (HH 16). Because of this, Nietzsche contends that one cannot draw any conclusion as to the origins of the world of appearance. Nevertheless, he proceeds to argue that both these parties have failed to see that “it is the human intellect that has made appearance appear and transported its erroneous basic conceptions into things” (HH 16). According to Nietzsche, once one develops a scientific account of the “history of the genesis of thought” (HH 16), these debates will be rendered superfluous. While science is only capable of partially detaching us from the world as idea (Vorstellung) by revealing that it is the outcome of ingrained errors, it can nevertheless “illuminate the history of the genesis of this world as idea [Vorstellung],” and when it does, everyone involved will recognize that the thing-in-itself is “empty of significance” and “worthy of Homeric laughter” (HH 16). Although the details of Nietzsche’s call for a “history of the genesis of thought” are not immediately clear, some light can be shed on the issue by looking back to Philosophy in the Tragic Age and forward to HH 18. With Philosophy in the Tragic Age in mind, one can see how the three positions identified in HH 16 parallel Nietzsche’s earlier interpretations of the philosophies of Anaximander, Parmenides, and Heraclitus. Whereas Schopenhauer and Nietzsche’s Anaximander both believe in a thingin-itself that functions as the cause of and the from-which the world of appearance arises, Spir and Nietzsche’s Parmenides completely detach these two worlds from 326 Green (2002, 2004, and 2005). 327 Green (2004, pp. 178f.).

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each other and declare the true world to be that of absolute being. In contrast to these two positions, Nietzsche and Nietzsche’s Heraclitus reject being and the thing-initself altogether in opting for a philosophy of becoming, a move which not only ends the debate about the relationship between appearance and things-in-themselves, but also entails the rejection of stable, self-identical entities in the world of experience. Although Philosophy in the Tragic Age allows one to associate Nietzsche’s historical philosophy in Human, All Too Human with Heraclitean becoming and interpret becoming in terms of a complete rejection of being or things-in-themselves, the question that remains is how this position relates to his call for a “history of the genesis of thought.” The key here is HH  18, a passage that begins with Nietzsche forecasting the results of this history. Specifically, Nietzsche contends that one day new light will be shed on the following sentence of “a distinguished logician,” i.e., Spir: “The primary universal law of the knowing subject consists in the inner necessity of recognizing every object in itself as being in its own essence something identical with itself, thus self-existent and at bottom always the same and unchanging, in short as a substance” (HH 18). According to Nietzsche, the history of the genesis of thought, a project announced in HH 2, will soon reveal that this “primary universal law” has developed from the inability of lower organisms to detect change in the world. Specifically, Nietzsche contends that the plant cannot detect change because it lacks the ability to sense pleasure and pain, as it is through the experience of pleasure and pain that we become conscious of change in the external world. Because of this inability, Nietzsche claims that to the plant, “all things are usually in repose, eternal, every thing identical with itself” (HH 18). From this example, Nietzsche not only concludes that we have inherited from plants the belief that there are “identical things” (HH 18), he also speculates that “the original belief of everything organic was from the very beginning that all the rest of the world is one and unmoving” (HH 18). Nietzsche’s scientific analysis here borders on parody, and what he is doing is parodying Parmenides’ philosophy by tracing it, via the “rigors” of his evolutionary analysis, back to the plant’s underdeveloped capacity to sense pleasure and pain. At the same time, Nietzsche’s analysis does have a serious point. His goal is not simply to deny the existence of identical things  – as HH  18 indicates, he already assumes that science contradicts this proposition – but rather to articulate the reasons why we have, for so long, populated our ontologies with self-identical things, whether these self-identical things are located in a world beyond the senses or play an essential role in our descriptions of the empirical world. Nietzsche’s claim is not that Spir misunderstood the fundamental laws of the knowing subject, but that these laws have emerged from the irrational underworld of primitive life. Once we recognize the irrational origins of these laws and the way in which the mind is a mechanism that helps us survive, we will no longer be inclined to presuppose that our intellects have been designed for knowledge. That is, we will no longer be inclined to presuppose that there is an isomorphism between thinking and being.

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Before moving to an analysis of HH  19, I want to highlight two more aspects of Spir’s work that are important for my purposes. The first substantiates the link between becoming and the denial of self-identical entities. Specifically, we know from an independent reading of his work that Spir holds that if the world were an “unending flux or change,” the principle of self-identity would not apply.³²⁸ The reason why Spir thinks that a world of unending flux or change violates synchronic self-identity is because anything that is (essentially) changing with respect to itself is not identical with itself.³²⁹ The second point that one can glean from Spir’s work comes in his speculations on what a world of “absolute becoming” would be like. Here, Spir contends that one would have to accept the view defended by Boscovich, one in which the world is made up of centers of force that do not cause change, but rather simply are the power to continue change.³³⁰ Spir’s attempt to connect becoming to Boscovich’s theory of force is important because Nietzsche refers to the scientific reduction of everything material into motions in HH 19. Nietzsche’s claim comes within the context of his reflections on the relationship of numbers to the world. Here, Nietzsche returns to the issue of HH 11, i.e., the existence of things, by opening with the potentially ambiguous claim that the invention of number is based on the erroneous belief that there are identical things, which seems to mean here the existence of two qualitatively identical things. However, as the section continues, Nietzsche does commit himself to the outright denial of things. Not only does he claim that “there is no ‘thing’,” but he also contends that the assumption of plurality depends upon “fabricating beings, unities which do not exist” (HH 19). These passages reveal the way in which Nietzsche’s attacks on things and substances are not limited to the metaphysical worlds of Parmenides and Plato, but also include the substances or things found in the realm of commonsense. As the argument of HH  19 unfolds, Nietzsche attacks not only the things of the commonsense world, but also the atom of mechanistic science. Just as Aristotle mistakenly posited a substance that was the bearer of properties, Nietzsche argues that the materialist feels himself compelled to posit the existence of a ‘thing’ or ‘substratum’ that is moved in the process of change.³³¹ In both cases, we are positing entities that do not exist, and the reason why we know that they do not exist, according to Nietzsche, is that “the whole procedure of science has pursued the task of resolving everything thing-like (material) in motion” (HH 19). It is here that one can see the importance of Lange and Boscovich for Nietzsche’s interpretation of the developments in the natural sciences. Although by no means explicit, Nietzsche’s remark parallels Lange’s analysis of the gradual dissolution of

328 Here I follow Green (2002, pp. 61ff.) in contending that the issue is not merely one of diachronic self-identity, but rather synchronic self-identity. 329 Spir (1877, Vol. 1, pp. 277f.). 330 Spir (1877, Vol. 2, pp. 112ff.). 331 See NL, KSA 8, 23[150].

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the atom in modern science. However, I have also argued that while Nietzsche accepts Lange’s characterization of this development, he nevertheless parts with the conclusions that Lange draws from it. Whereas Lange uses it to argue for his (materio-)idealism, Nietzsche sees such developments as marking the transition from Newton’s mechanistic worldview to the dynamic materialism of Boscovich. Insofar as Nietzsche equates these developments in the natural sciences with Heraclitean becoming, one can read the claim in HH 19 as an attempt to link modern science to the doctrine of becoming implicit in the historical philosophy of HH 1. Nietzsche concludes HH 19 with a significant, yet puzzling claim. It is significant because it raises the issue of the basis of the falsification thesis in Human, All Too Human. It is puzzling because Nietzsche speaks of a “world which is not our idea” (HH  19), and it is not clear whether this world is the metaphysical world of being or the scientific world of becoming. The portion of the passage in question begins with Nietzsche’s appeal to Kant’s claim that we do not draw concepts such as number and self-identity from nature, but rather prescribe such concepts to it. Although he quotes Kant approvingly, Nietzsche nevertheless modifies the point by noting that the “nature” to which we apply our concepts is merely the world as Vorstellung and therefore the world as error. Here the reader is also told that the world as Vorstellung is the summation of a host of errors made by the understanding, errors that have been ingrained in “our being from time immemorial” (HH 19). Nietzsche then compares the world of Vorstellung to a second world and contends that to “a world which is not our idea [Vorstellung] the laws of numbers are wholly inapplicable: these are valid only in the human world” (HH 19). As one can see, the ambiguity of the passage lies in deciphering what other “world” Nietzsche might have in mind here. This is an important issue because it is clear that Nietzsche thinks that the use of numbers and other related concepts, e.g., unity, self-identity, etc., commits us to error, and the reason why these concepts are erroneous is not because they do not apply to the human world, but rather because they do not apply to some other world that implicitly functions as the standard of truth and therefore the basis of the falsification thesis. While Clark has appealed to the final line of HH 19 to argue that it is the possible existence of a metaphysical world that functions as the standard by which our best theories might falsify reality in Human, All Too Human,³³² I am arguing here that it is the scientific world that functions as the standard of truth in this passage and is the basis for Nietzsche’s claims that unity, self-identity, number, etc., do not apply to reality.³³³ There are six reasons that justify my reading. First, Nietzsche’s claim is not that the aforementioned concepts might falsify reality, as Clark contends, but that they do.

332 Clark (1990, p. 96). 333 It should be noted, however, that Clark (1990, p. 97) is aware of the scientific basis of the falsification thesis in Human, All Too Human. However, she argues that Nietzsche still holds that our best empirical theory is radically false because he still believes in the possibility of a metaphysical world. Although Nietzsche does acknowledge a metaphysical world in Human, All Too Human, he does not

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Because of this, Nietzsche needs to be committed to a much stronger belief in a metaphysical world than its mere possibility. The problem is that Human, All Too Human provides, at best, evidence for the mere possibility of a metaphysical world. I say at best here because other than HH 9, where Nietzsche acknowledges the absolute possibility of a metaphysical world,³³⁴ and perhaps HH 20, where Nietzsche thinks that skepticism alone can effectively put an end to metaphysical speculation, the general thrust of the work is the progressive rejection of the metaphysical world through a scientific explanation of how such concepts came to be and a scientific description of a natural world bereft of metaphysical entities. Thus, it seems highly unlikely that Nietzsche would then appeal to a metaphysical world as a standard of truth to reject the commonsense world as erroneous. Indeed, the second reason is that for Nietzsche to claim that our concepts of unity, number, self-identity, etc., do not correspond to the metaphysical world, he would not only have to know that this world exists, but know enough about it to know that such concepts do not apply. Third, if Nietzsche were committed to a metaphysical world and knew something about it, it would be surprising to find that concepts such as unity, number, and self-identity did not apply to it. This is because these are precisely the concepts that metaphysicians like Parmenides and Plato used to construct their metaphysical worlds. Fourth, Nietzsche explicitly appeals in HH 19 to the progress of the sciences and how they have gradually dissolved the atom into motions to justify his position. As a reading of Lange reveals, it is precisely the atom that is the last remnant of the self-identical in the scientific picture, and it is for this reason that Nietzsche’s appeal to a dynamic conception of reality can be seen as going hand in hand with his claim that concepts such as unity, number, and self-identity falsify the world of the natural sciences. Fifth, in both HH 16 and HH 29, Nietzsche implicitly contrasts the world of science with the world of Vorstellung. In the former, we are told that science possesses a limited capacity to free us from the world of Vorstellung. In the latter, Nietzsche claims that science provides knowledge of the true nature of the world (as opposed to the world as Vorstellung). Finally, interpreting HH 19 in this way means that the world of science is opposed to the human world, and I have argued that the opposition between science and commonsense is central to early modern science and I hold that this opposition is central to the argument of Human, All Too Human. To the anti-anthropomorphic scientist, the world of commonsense is nothing more than a host of errors and therefore something human, all-too-human. On this reading, Nietzsche does know enough about reality to be able to use it as a standard by which to adjudicate the truth or falsity of human judgments, and the means by which he comes to know this reality is through the results of scien-

base his claims about the way in which our beliefs tend to falsify reality on his belief in such a metaphysical world. 334 On my reading, the idea expressed in HH 9 is the same idea expressed in WP 555 (NL, KSA 12, 2[154]).

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tific observation. Similar to Nietzsche’s declaration in HH 2 that there are no eternal facts because the world has become, one finds in central passages of the first chapter of Human, All Too Human the claim that concepts such as unity, self-identity, and number do not apply to reality because the sciences have dissolved everything into motion (HH 19). The reason why these concepts do not apply to reality is that motions (or relations) go all the way down, such that there is no self-identical thing that functions as the substratum for movement and change. The problem, however, is that by dissolving the self-identical atom into the flux of becoming, the natural scientists of Nietzsche’s day have discovered a world that cuts against the basic structures of language and thought. It is for this reason that the Heraclitean ontology unpacked in the opening stages of the first book of Human, All Too Human forms the basis for Nietzsche’s claims that error and injustice are necessary features of human existence and that the world is deeply illogical, unintelligible, and unknowable. In this sense, the argument of the first book of Human, All Too Human simply follows the basic point that Plato puts forth at the end of the Cratylus, where the reader is told that if becoming is true, then there can be no knowledge (Crat. 440a–d),³³⁵ and Aristotle’s general strategy of highlighting the “terrible” consequences of the Heraclitean position. The difference, of course, is that Nietzsche remains committed to such an ontology, despite its “deadly” consequences, and he does so because he thinks that this is what an honest and uncompromising pursuit of the truth reveals.

3.8 The Tragic Philosophy of Human, All Too Human Thus far, I have concentrated on the first nineteen sections of Human, All Too Human with a view to explicating Nietzsche’s critique of metaphysics and the way in which his claims that logic and language falsify reality are rooted in a corresponding commitment to Heraclitean ontology. To conclude this analysis, I want to discuss the cultural and existential consequences of these scientific investigations that Nietzsche details in the final fifteen sections of the first chapter of Human, All Too Human. It is here that Nietzsche not only highlights the potentially tragic or life-denying consequences of his scientific investigations, but also stresses the fact that the scientific ethos that he has adopted in Human, All Too Human prevents him from making any immediate inference about the value of life given these newly won insights. The title of HH 20 – “A few steps back” – signals a shift in Nietzsche’s analysis. Until this point, Nietzsche had concentrated on developing arguments that culminated in the conclusion that metaphysics is the science that treats the fundamental errors of mankind as if they were fundamental truths (HH 18). In taking a few steps back, Nietzsche now wants to provide a historical and psychological account of why 335 See Nietzsche’s remarks about the end of Plato’s Cratylus (PPP, p.  84). Also see WP  517; NL, KSA 12, 9[87].

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we came to accept these erroneous ideas. Here Nietzsche claims that such ideas have been primarily responsible for the advancement of the human species. Given the fact that false metaphysical thinking has hitherto contributed to human culture, the new question is what form society will take given its current mistrust of metaphysical explanations (HH 21). While he discusses the cultural consequences of the anti-metaphysical turn in the following sections, I want to focus here on the way in which he staves off the potentially “deadly” effects of becoming in the final sections of the chapter, an effort that begins in HH 28, where Nietzsche commands us to do away “with those overused words optimism and pessimism!” (HH  28). As noted above, Human, All Too Human can be read as a tragic or pessimistic work in that it establishes a deep tension between truth and life. Indeed, Nietzsche claims in HH 20 that much of what has been revealed as false was nevertheless conducive to the advancement of mankind. At the same time, Nietzsche wants to put an end to evaluating nature according to the categories of pessimism and optimism precisely because these distinctions are nowhere found in nature herself. Here again, arguing that the world is either good or evil rests upon the presupposition that the world conforms to these categories. This presupposition, however, is just one more instance of our tendency to project anthropomorphic categories onto nature, and this is precisely what the scientific method of Human, All Too Human enjoins us to avoid. Whereas he calls upon us to refrain from assessing the world according to the alltoo-human categories of optimism and pessimism in HH 28, Nietzsche nevertheless highlights the disappointing consequences of his scientific investigations in HH 29. Here, Nietzsche claims that if we were ever to succeed in fully unveiling the secrets of nature via science, “the nature of the world would produce for all of us the most unpleasant disappointment” (HH 29). Again, the reason for this is that the “errors” of art and religion are what have made “the world as Vorstellung (error)” (HH 29) so profound, so marvelous, and so full of significance. Despite these disappointing consequences, Nietzsche emphasizes that this philosophy of “logical world-denial” can be united with “a practical world-affirmation just as easily as with its opposite” (HH 29). Again, the point is that although the scientific quest for truth shows the wonderful world as idea (Vorstellung) to be an error, such insights leave open the question as to whether one should affirm or deny this world on a practical level. After contending that the free spirit must completely divorce truth from its consequences in HH 30, Nietzsche uses, in the following section, a term that has been associated with the later problem of nihilism, namely, despair (HH 31).³³⁶ Here, the cause of despair is knowledge of a certain fact, namely, that “the illogical is a necessity for mankind, and that much good proceeds from the illogical” (HH 31). In HH 32, Nietzsche makes a similar claim about the falsity or injustice of all our judgments

336 See Reginster (2006).

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and the discomfort that the recognition of this fact causes for the thinker. All our judgments are unjust not only because we will never have complete and exhaustive knowledge of an object, but also because the knowing subject cannot function as a fixed standard for judgment given that he is fully immersed in the flux of nature. Due to this situation, Nietzsche wonders whether we should refrain from judging altogether. The problem, however, is that we could not live without judging and evaluating, and it is this problem that forms the crux of Nietzsche’s tragic philosophy. We are illogical and unjust beings in the sense that we must falsify reality for the purposes of life, and the fact that we “can recognize this” forms “one of the greatest and most irresolvable discords of existence” (HH 32).³³⁷ In the penultimate section, Nietzsche deepens the existential crisis caused by his tragic insights. The section begins with the assertion that “every belief in the value and dignity of life rests on false thinking,” and it continues with the claim that we are able to live only because we have a feebly developed capacity for empathizing with the “suffering of mankind” (HH 33). Nietzsche supports these assertions by showing that even more universally minded thinkers, i.e., those who reflect on existence as such and not just their own, can find value in life only by overlooking the ugly and disharmonic elements of existence. In contrast, if an individual could overcome this myopia and fully participate in the experiences of other beings, he “would have to despair (Verzweifelung) of the value of life” and “collapse with a curse on existence” (HH 33). The reason, according to Nietzsche, is not so much because of the poverty, disease, and war that characterize much of human existence, but rather because “mankind has as a whole no goal” (HH 33). In the final section, Nietzsche explicitly characterizes his efforts as an exercise in tragic philosophy. He opens the section by asking whether his philosophy will not become a tragedy (HH 34). Indeed, he is even more emphatic about the point in the initial version of the section, in which he not only declares that his philosophy will become a tragedy, but he also refers to the recognition that human life is entangled in untruth as “a preparation for a tragic philosophy” (KSA  14, p.  125). To be sure, Nietzsche’s self-proclaimed tragic philosophy is not the same as the tragic affirmation of life that takes center stage in The Birth of Tragedy. Instead, Nietzsche’s tragic philosophy resembles the factual pessimism of the mythical Silenus and the philosophy of Schopenhauer. Both depict the human being as something thrown into a natural world that is hostile to his desires for meaning and happiness. As a result, the quest for knowledge does not lead to a blissful look at a metaphysical heaven, but culminates with a glimpse into the abyss of meaningless suffering. It is for this reason that Nietzsche sees in Oedipus, not Socrates, the paradigmatic man of knowledge and the reason why Nietzsche’s own quest for knowledge in Human, All Too Human culminates with him wandering the desert as a man alone with himself (HH 638).

337 See NL, KSA 8, 9[1], pp. 135ff.

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Despite these tragic reflections on the suffering and meaninglessness of existence, Nietzsche puts a halt to an Oedipus-like tearing out of the eyes or a “philosophy of destruction” in the final section of the chapter (HH 34). Much like the argument of The Birth of Tragedy, where Silenic wisdom does not necessarily culminate in the denial of life, Nietzsche contends here that, “the nature of the after-effect of knowledge is determined by a man’s temperament” (HH 34). According to Nietzsche, it is possible to weaken the passions through the quest for knowledge, with the result that “one would live among men and with oneself as in nature, without praising, blaming, contending, gazing contentedly, as though at a spectacle” (HH 34). To do this, however, one needs to have the good temperament of the theoretical man, “a firm, mild and at bottom cheerful soul” (HH 34). This individual frees himself from the fetters of ordinary life so that he can pursue the knowledge that he cherishes. In so doing, he hovers above men, laws, and customary evaluations of things and takes pleasure in this condition (HH 34). Indeed, it is as this type of free spirit that Nietzsche will continue his scientific investigations and further develop his tragic philosophy in the remaining chapters of Human, All Too Human and the works of the free spirit.

3.9 Human, All Too Human and the Development of the Free Spirit In certain respects, Glatzeder is right to read Human, All Too Human as the key to understanding Nietzsche’s philosophical project.³³⁸ Although he has yet to develop teachings such as the eternal return, the will to power, and perspectivism that play a central role in his later philosophy, Nietzsche has laid out the rudiments of his own Heraclitean ontology and a related tragic philosophy in Human, All Too Human, and he remains true to this picture throughout his career. The reason for thinking that Nietzsche remains committed to this view in his post-Human, All Too Human works stems from the fact that he not only re-articulates the central arguments of Philosophy in the Tragic Age and the first chapter of Human, All Too Human in GS 109–112 and the section “‘Reason’ in Philosophy” from the Twilight of the Idols, but also that he returns to the problem of opposites at the beginning of Beyond Good and Evil. As I contend in chapter five, Nietzsche’s denial of opposites in this passage indicates that he remains committed to a Heraclitean ontology and a corresponding critique of metaphysics in Beyond Good and Evil, and it is his commitment to such an ontology that forms the basis for both his perspectivism and the will to power. At the same time, there is something peculiar about Human, All Too Human and the role that it plays in Nietzsche’s larger corpus. The peculiarity of Human, All Too Human stems not so much from the fact that Nietzsche adopts a positive attitude toward science – for he is already science-friendly in his lectures on pre-Platonic phi-

338 Glatzeder (2003, p. 115).

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losophy – but that he values science more than art in Human, All Too Human, and this view is not to be found elsewhere in his corpus. While hints of his subordination of art to science can already be found in the first chapter of Human, All Too Human (HH 29), Nietzsche dedicates the fourth chapter to showing how the “scientific man is the further evolution of the artistic” (HH 222). In terms of his larger corpus, Nietzsche’s hostility to art in Human, All Too Human is problematic not only because he values science in The Birth of Tragedy insofar as it ultimately leads to a rebirth of tragedy, but also because Nietzsche returns to subordinating science to art in The Gay Science (GS 335), a work that immediately precedes his own tragedy in Zarathustra. The key to dealing with the interpretive puzzle that Human, All Too Human poses is to read it as the first work in a series of texts that concludes with the 1882 edition of The Gay Science (KGB III/1, Bf. 251). So understood, Human, All Too Human is simply the first stage of what will become Nietzsche’s internal critique of Enlightenment science, one that uses science and the values of the Enlightenment to undermine the absolute value of science and truth and therewith give rise to a rebirth of tragedy in Zarathustra. While this self-overcoming of Enlightenment values does include what could be called Nietzsche’s critique of science, it is important to distinguish between criticizing the capacity of science and empirical observation to provide an accurate description of nature and criticizing what I have called the morality of truth and science, one that places an absolute value on truth and enjoins the thinker to avoid the scientific sin of anthropomorphism in the quest to know the world in itself. Because he justifies his belief in a dynamic conception of nature through his appeal to the results of the natural sciences and because he remains committed to this dynamic understanding of reality throughout his later works, Nietzsche remains committed to the view that the natural sciences can provide an approximate description of the way the world is, even if this world is in flux and ultimately resistant to conceptualization and rational comprehension. What Nietzsche attacks as the free spirit develops is therefore not the scientifically grounded Heraclitean ontology in Human, All Too Human, as this very conception is present in his later publications and throughout the late Nachlass, but rather the morality of truth and science, and he does so on scientific grounds. For Nietzsche, science destroys the morality of truth and science because the morality of truth and science is rooted in the unscientific view that attaining a true or de-anthropomorphized understanding of nature is more valuable than life itself. Once one is disabused of unscientific notions such as Plato’s Form of the Good or the God of the Judeo-Christian tradition, one sees that truth has no absolute value in itself (GS 344). Instead, our desires give the world both structure and value, and once it is understood that our desires are the source of the structure and value in the world, there will be no reason why we ought to extirpate our life, will, and subjectivity in a quest to know the world in-itself. Indeed, our life, will, and subjectivity will be recognized as necessary means to creating a determinate world that is worthy of our affirmation and a possible object of knowledge. Here, science will no longer be seen as a duty as it is in Human,

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All Too Human, but as an experiment, and as an experiment, science will unite with life and laughter and ultimately become a gay science (GS 324). What the eventual developments of the free spirit mean is that Nietzsche will soon leave behind the “good temperament” of the scientific inquirer articulated in the final section of the first book of Human, All Too Human (HH 34). What they also mean is that Nietzsche writes Beyond Good and Evil not from the point of view of a spirit engaged in the process of liberating himself from the morality of truth and science, but rather from the point of view of a fully liberated free spirit. As such, he will no longer be seeking to provide a scientific analysis of nature that describes a world that exists independently of human concerns. Instead, he will endeavor to unpack a new project that falls under the rubric of the “philosophy of the future,” and the task of the philosophy of the future is nothing less than the artistic creation of a self and a world that are both justified as aesthetic phenomena. Of course, the self and the world that this philosopherartist creates will not have interpretation-independent footholds in reality, but rather will be relative constructions that ultimately make life and knowledge possible. In chapter five, I contend that the emergence of perspectivism in Beyond Good and Evil goes hand in hand with Nietzsche’s re-ordering of the relationship between truth and life. In Human, All Too Human, Nietzsche’s quest for truth leads to the possible onset of despair about the value of life. While he fends off the denial of life by appealing to the good temperament of the scientific man, Nietzsche nevertheless does not turn to art to affirm life in the text. However, once God dies and his shadow is eliminated through an uncompromising quest for truth in The Gay Science (GS 125), the relationship between life and truth is reversed. Here, the scientific quest for a deanthropomorphized world is replaced by an artistic affirmation of life. However, even in reversing this relationship, Nietzsche nevertheless remains committed to the tragic tension between life and truth, and I argue that he remains committed to this tension because he remains committed to the Heraclitean ontology of Human, All Too Human and Philosophy in the Tragic Age. Because of this, the task of chapter five is to show how Nietzsche can remain committed to such an ontology and develop a doctrine of perspectivism that does not reduce such an ontology to a mere perspective. This is not an easy task, and to establish a theoretical framework for dealing with this issue, I turn to Plato’s Theaetetus in the next chapter to show how the dynamic worldview of Heraclitus relates to a view that has a strong family resemblance to Nietzsche’s perspectivism, namely, Protagoras’ claim that man is the measure of all things.

Chapter Four Heraclitean Becoming and Protagorean Perspectivism in Plato’s Theaetetus If we could not distinguish reality from appearance through thinking, we would have to declare, with Heraclitus and Protagoras, that the apparent world is the real world and therefore that the one real world is not simply this and then that, as it appears differently from each standpoint and for each person, but rather that it, being at the same time constantly different, contradicted itself in every respect, that man, with his sensibility, is therefore the measure of all things, because things always really are just as they appear at that moment to each.  – Gustav Teichmüller, 1882 (Die wirkliche und die scheinbare Welt, p. 184)³³⁹

4.1 Introduction In the first and third chapters, the goal was to highlight the centrality of Heraclitean becoming for Nietzsche’s philosophical project and to show how it is intimately related to the unity of opposites doctrine implicit in the question that he places at the beginning of Human, All Too Human. In the second chapter, I turned to Aristotle’s defense of the principle of non-contradiction (PNC) in Metaphysics IV in order to substantiate the connection between Heraclitean becoming and the unity of opposites and to argue that Nietzsche’s related rejection of an ontological version of PNC amounted to a rejection of an isomorphism between thinking and being. Highlighting this radical disjunction between thought and language, on the one hand, and being or reality, on the other hand, was important not only because it explained Nietzsche’s break with the Western metaphysical tradition, but also because it established the basis for what I have called his tragic philosophy. Specifically, it was argued that the philosophy of Human, All Too Human is tragic not only for philosophy because it underwrites a certain form of skepticism, but also for “life” because it makes it impossible to live according to the truth. For many commentators, Human, All Too Human is the work of a young philosopher who has yet to reach full maturity, and it is for this reason that Nietzsche’s later works are thought to surpass his earlier efforts. Indeed, some might argue that the socalled mature Nietzsche replaces the scientifically grounded, dogmatic philosophy of becoming found in Human, All Too Human with a more refined, self-reflective, and non-dogmatic philosophy of perspectivism in Beyond Good and Evil. The idea here is not so much that Nietzsche completely abandons the Heraclitean ontology of Human,

339 My translation.

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All Too Human, but that he subordinates his ontological views to an even more fundamental commitment to a doctrine of perspectivism which, on such an account, rejects the possibility of any view being objectively true. On this reading, all views are true only for a particular person or group who espouses them, and so Nietzsche’s ontological commitments are only true for him. I devote the next two chapters to working through the complex of problems associated with the emergence of perspectivism in Nietzsche’s later works, arguing that this doctrine does not undermine the objective truth of the Heraclitean ontology established in Human, All Too Human, but rather that perspectivism derives from Nietzsche’s attempt to deal with problems associated with life and value in light of his continued commitment to such an ontology. Whereas I turn to Nietzsche’s Beyond Good and Evil in the next chapter, I devote this chapter to unpacking a model for interpreting Nietzsche’s perspectivism as deriving from a Heraclitean ontology by again turning to sources in ancient Greek philosophy. Specifically, I turn to the opening stages of Plato’s Theaetetus. In this section of the work, there is not only a critical analysis of a position that closely resembles Nietzsche’s perspectivism, namely, the Protagorean thesis that man is the measure of all things or homo mensura, but also an attempt to support this thesis with a Heraclitean flux doctrine that closely resembles the ontology I attribute to Nietzsche in the first and third chapters. Perhaps the most important feature of my analysis of the Theaetetus is that it sheds light on what has been called the paradox of Nietzsche’s perspectivism.³⁴⁰ The paradox is that if perspectivism is the view that all knowledge claims are somehow bound up with the interests and concepts of the knower, it follows that Nietzsche cannot advocate the views in ethics and metaphysics that he presents in his works and even consistently advocate perspectivism itself. So understood, Nietzsche’s perspectivism seems not only to undermine the authority of his other doctrines, but also to be self-refuting. What is striking about the emergence of this problem within Nietzsche scholarship is that worries about self-refutation point back to the Protagorean doctrine articulated in the Theaetetus. This is because the Theaetetus contains what many have taken to be Plato’s attempt to show that Protagorean relativism is self-refuting. Important for my purposes is the fact that Plato’s self-refutation argument only works against a certain version of the doctrine. Specifically, it works when the doctrine both applies to itself and is held to be true for everyone regardless of whether they think it is true. The upshot of Plato’s self-refutation argument is that this version of the Protagorean theory is self-refuting, and therefore the proponent of the view must drop one of the two claims in order to avoid self-refutation. That is, the proponent must either limit the scope of the doctrine such that it does not apply to itself or claim that it is true only for those who believe it. Interestingly, these two solutions to the self-refutation argument parallel the two possible responses that scholars

340 Richardson (1996, pp. 10f.) and Reginster (2001, p. 217).

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have adopted in attempting to deal with the problems associated with Nietzsche’s perspectivism. On the one hand, there is the perspectivist solution, whereby Nietzsche avoids the paradox of perspectivism by entertaining hypotheses or presenting views only valid “for him.” On the other hand, there is the two-level solution, where it is held that perspectivism is not universal in scope and therefore does not apply back to Nietzsche’s central views on ethics, metaphysics, and even perspectivism itself. Whereas I argue for a version of the two-level solution to the paradox of perspectivism in the next chapter, I indirectly respond to a challenge that Reginster issues to those who defend such a solution in this chapter. Specifically, Reginster thinks that the two-level solution is “suspiciously ad hoc,” and therefore a proponent of such a solution “must show why perspectivism, together with its metaphysical underpinnings, does not apply to itself or does not, if it does so apply, generate the worrisome self-referential paradox.”³⁴¹ In my mind, the importance of the Theaetetus for understanding Nietzsche’s project is that it provides some insight into how a view like perspectivism can be linked to a Heraclitean ontology in a non ad hoc way and avoid the aforementioned self-referential paradox. Not only does Plato leave the option open to Protagoras of not applying the doctrine to itself, Plato links the Protagorean position to certain objective or dogmatic claims about the world – in the form of a Heraclitean ontology – throughout the opening stages of the dialogue. What this suggests is that the Protagorean relativism of the Theaetetus is a theory that depends on certain nonrelative truths, and therefore if the doctrine is going to be refuted, it must be shown that these non-relative truths are, in fact, falsehoods. Indeed, recent scholarly work on the Theaetetus provides some important insights into the position that Plato brings in to support the Protagorean doctrine. Specifically, it has often been thought that the “secret” doctrine Protagoras was supposed to have taught privately to his students is simply the Heraclitean flux doctrine in which all things are reduced to active and passive, fast and slow motions or powers. Although this ontology plays an important role in the Theaetetus and directly corresponds to the dynamic ontology that I have attributed to Nietzsche in chapters one and three, more sophisticated readings of the Theaetetus have shown that there is a second, perhaps even more fundamental claim put forth in the exposition of the secret doctrine, namely, that nothing exists and is what it is in itself. The positive formulation of this position is the claim that everything exists and is what it is only in relation to something else, and I have argued that this is the view Nietzsche adopts when he raises and answers the question of how something can come from its opposite at the beginning of both Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil. In the following exposition of the Theaetetus, I focus only on a selected portion of the dialogue (Tht. 151d–186e) and touch upon only those themes relevant to the larger aims of this study. I begin my exegesis of the text by not only showing how

341 Reginster (2001, p. 217).

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the Heraclitean-Protagorean position is bound together by what I call in this chapter the relativity principle (or the view entailed by the unity of opposites that everything exists and is what it is only in relation to something else), but also by noting that Plato links the relativity principle to the empiricist claim that “knowledge is perception.” In the final sections of the chapter, I move through some of the key objections that Plato levels against the position. In so doing, I provide an analysis of the selfrefutation charge leveled against Protagoras’ doctrine and also emphasize the way in which Plato’s claim that a unified soul is a necessary condition for the unity of experience functions as an implicit rejection of the relativity principle. I begin my analysis, however, by providing further justification for turning to the Theaetetus in this context.

4.2 Justifying the Turn to Plato’s Theaetetus Just as it was necessary, in chapter two, to justify the turn to Aristotle’s defense of the principle of non-contradiction in Metaphysics IV, some might worry about the legitimacy of using Plato’s Theaetetus to wrestle with problems associated with Nietzsche’s later philosophy. This is because we do not have, as we do with Aristotle’s defense of PNC, specific passages in which Nietzsche explicitly refers to the Theaetetus in the context of developing his perspectivism. There are, however, a number of points that legitimate a turn to the text at this juncture. The first is the number of parallels that one finds between Nietzsche’s own views and the views that Plato attributes to both Heraclitus and Protagoras in the dialogue. Although establishing such parallels is not easy, the Heraclitean ontology developed in the first and third chapters of this work shares deep affinities with the account of becoming that Plato unpacks in the Theaetetus. Indeed, Plato not only spells out a doctrine of becoming that does away with things by reducing nature to active and passive motions or powers, he also singles out  – as Nietzsche does in Philosophy in the Tragic Age  – Parmenides as the lone philosopher willing to take a stand against an army of flux theorists who have Homer as their general.³⁴² Moreover, commentators such as Leiter have noted Nietzsche’s general affinity with Greek sophists and how certain positions can be rooted in the thought of Protagoras and Heraclitus.³⁴³ Following this interpretive line, Joel Mann has argued in more detail that Protagoras’ homo mensura doctrine is woven into the

342 Nietzsche also cites the Theaetetus in his description of Parmenides’ philosophy in The Pre-Platonic Philosophers (PPP, pp. 85f.). 343 For the general claim about the Sophists, see Leiter (2002, p. 39). For the specific claim about Heraclitus and Protagoras, see Leiter (2002, pp. 105ff.).

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fabric of Nietzsche’s philosophy, even if explicit references to the view are rarely found in his published works.³⁴⁴ Nevertheless, Thomas Brobjer has contended that Nietzsche’s attitude towards Protagoras is more ambivalent than Mann contends. He points out that Nietzsche’s lecture notes on the Theaetetus  – the one piece of evidence we have attesting to Nietzsche’s direct engagement with the text – exhibit little enthusiasm for Protagoras’ homo mensura doctrine.³⁴⁵ Although the objection is significant, the challenge can still be met by gleaning two points from Brobjer’s own work. Specifically, Brobjer claims: In the early 1870s Nietzsche was deeply involved in reading Plato and preparing his lectures about him and his thinking. He discussed and summarized all of the Platonic dialogues for his students and discussed Plato’s life and thinking in detail, but mostly it was the conscientious teacher Nietzsche, not the iconoclastic philosopher, who spoke in these lectures.³⁴⁶

According to Brobjer’s analysis, Nietzsche had immersed himself in the work of Plato, probably more than any other philosopher with the exception of Schopenhauer. As a result, even if there are not explicit references to the Theaetetus in his published works, one can nevertheless be confident that Nietzsche knew the arguments of the work. The second point is that although one might expect Nietzsche to include some praise of the Protagorean position in these lectures if the doctrine is to play such a central role in his own philosophy, the absence of such positive remarks can be explained by the fact that it is the conscientious teacher Nietzsche, not the iconoclastic philosopher, who is speaking in these lecture notes. Although Brobjer is right to note that we lack any explicit evidence immediately connecting Nietzsche’s perspectivism to the Theaetetus, there is one important piece of evidence that solidifies a mediate connection. Specifically, we know that Nietzsche borrowed the term “perspectivism” from Gustav Teichmüller’s Die wirkliche und die scheinbare Welt.³⁴⁷ For my purposes, Teichmüller’s work is important because he explicitly claims, in the passage quoted at the beginning of this chapter, that one will be forced to adopt the Heraclitean-Protagorean position if one rejects the distinction between the real and apparent world.³⁴⁸ Given that Nietzsche differentiates himself from Teichmüller by rejecting precisely this distinction (BGE 10; TI Fable),³⁴⁹ there is good reason to think that when Nietzsche speaks approvingly of “perspectivism” in

344 Mann (2003). See part three of the introduction for further references to those who have associated Nietzsche’s philosophy with that of Protagoras. 345 Brobjer (2005, pp. 266ff.). Also see Brobjer (2001). 346 Brobjer (2008, p. 27). For Nietzsche’s lectures on Plato’s dialogues, see KGW II/4. 347 See Brobjer (2008, p. 28). 348 Teichmüller (1882, p. 184). 349 See Nohl (1913).

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the opening stages of Beyond Good and Evil, he also follows Teichmüller in thinking of his perspectivism in terms of the Heraclitean-Protagorean position. Because I provide an in-depth discussion of Nietzsche’s own perspectivism in the next chapter, the point here is simply to show that there is enough evidence in or surrounding Nietzsche’s texts to motivate a turn to the Heraclitean-Protagorean position articulated in Plato’s Theaetetus. However, I do want to note that the primary point of this exercise is not to identify the historical influences on Nietzsche’s thought or to argue that Nietzsche is consciously reviving views he finds in Plato’s works. Instead, the primary motivation is to show that the Theaetetus provides both a model for thinking about Nietzsche’s perspectivism and its relation to his other ontological commitments and a resource for reflecting on the various philosophical challenges that confront Nietzsche in adopting this view.

4.3 Knowledge is Perception and the Four Theses The section of the Theaetetus (Tht. 151d–187a) to which I now turn begins with Theaetetus’ first attempt to define knowledge as perception and contains Socrates’ refutation of the Heraclitean-Protagorean position that is brought in to support it. The section concludes with a direct refutation of Theaetetus’ first definition and is marked off by Theaetetus’ renewed attempt to define knowledge as true belief (187b). The section itself can be divided into two halves. Whereas the first half runs from 151d to 160e and contains the exposition of the Heraclitean-Protagorean position that is initially designed to support Theaetetus’ definition, the second half runs from 160e to 187a and contains a critique of the various positions that Socrates develops to support Theaetetus’ initial claim. The latter section can be roughly divided into three further subsections. The first subsection (160e–171d) contains a series of arguments against Protagoras’ homo mensura doctrine and Theaetetus’ definition that knowledge is perception. For my purposes, the highpoint of this section is Plato’s much-discussed peritropê or table-turning argument against Protagoras’ homo mensura doctrine. The second subsection (171d–177c) is a digression in which Plato has Socrates contrast the life of the philosopher with those non-philosophers who waste their time in law courts. The final subsection (177c–187a) consists of a brief argument against Protagoras and then two arguments that are important for my analysis. The first of these is the claim that the Heraclitean position results in the breakdown of language and therefore fails to support Theaetetus’ definition of knowledge. The second consists of a final and direct refutation of Theaetetus’ claim that knowledge is perception. The final refutation is significant not only because it results in Theaetetus abandoning his first definition of knowledge, but also because Plato has Socrates appeal to a soul that is one, functions itself by itself, and has the power to grasp non-empirical entities such as being and non-being, likeness and unlikeness, sameness and difference (185c–d).

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On the reading presented here, Socrates’ introduction of a soul that is one and functions itself by itself is significant because it implicitly rejects the relativity principle (RP) that is brought in to support the view that knowledge is perception. Surprisingly, the relativity principle has, at times, fallen into the background of scholarly commentary because it is typically thought that there are three theses at work in Socrates’ analysis of Theaetetus’ first definition of knowledge:³⁵⁰ (1) Theaetetus’ claim that (T) knowledge is perception (151e1–3); (2) Protagoras’ claim that (P) man is the measure of all things (152a2–4); and (3) Heraclitus’ claim that (H) everything is motion (156a5).³⁵¹ On the three-theses reading, (RP) is typically subsumed under (H), as it is presented along with (H) as part of a “secret” doctrine that Protagoras allegedly taught to his students. Admittedly, subsuming (RP) under (H) does make some sense, especially because (RP) can, on my reading, be associated with Heraclitus’ unity of opposites doctrine. However, because (RP) is perhaps the most important feature of the secret teaching as it effectively links (H) and (P) together, I argue that there are four theses at work in Theaetetus’ first attempt to define knowledge. Unfortunately, the existence of a fourth thesis only complicates an already complicated picture. This is because there has been much debate about how we should understand each thesis in its own right and about how these theses might relate to each other. Perhaps the most urgent question is whether there is some sort of entailment relationship between what many have taken to be three theses. As a proponent of the entailment relationship, Myles Burnyeat has argued not only that (T) entails (P) and (P) entails (H), but also that (H) entails (P) and (P) entails (T).³⁵² In other words, Burnyeat thinks that these three theses are equivalent. If one is true, all are true, and if one is false, then all are false. For Burnyeat, the most significant piece of support for this reading comes at 160d–e, in which we are first told that these three theses coincide or fall together into the same thing and that because of (P) and (H) holding thusly, (T) must be considered true. So understood, all Plato has to do is refute one of these arguments and all of them are refuted together. According to Burnyeat, Plato rejects Theaetetus’ definition of knowledge by way of a reductio ad absurdum in which (H) is rejected on the grounds that it leads to the impossibility of language. Since (H) is a necessary consequence of (P) and (P) is a necessary consequence of (T), the rejection of (H) entails the rejection of (P) and (T) by modus tollens. There are reasons to worry about Burnyeat’s construal of the three theses and their relationships. One reason is that Plato never has Socrates refute (H), but rather 350 Burnyeat (1990, pp.  10ff.) and Fine (1994, p.  211). For important exceptions to this point, see Dancy (1987, pp. 72ff.), who refers to (RP) as the juncture claim because it is said to bind the Heraclitean and Protagorean positions together, and Lee (2005, p. 77), who refers to it as the “relativist principle that nothing is anything in itself, but is whatever it is relative to something else.” 351 There is some variation on the Heraclitean position. It can also be read as the view that everything is in motion. However, I argue that the best reading of the position, at least for my purposes, is the one stated above, i.e., that everything is motion. 352 Burnyeat (1990, pp. 7–19).

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has him show that (H) does not in fact support (and therefore does not entail) (T) on the grounds that it makes definitions impossible. Moreover, I argue that there is little reason why a defender of (P) is necessarily committed to the ontology in (H). Instead, (H) is brought in because it provides the defender of (P) with an ontology that best supports the position. Thus, even if (H) were refuted, the refutation of (H) would not entail the rejection of (P), but rather show that (H), as an untenable position in its own right, does not support (P). For these and other reasons, others have not only denied that there is an entailment relationship, but also questioned whether the various theses do in fact support each other. Indeed, Dancy has argued that while (H) is intended to support (P) by explaining how the world can be so arranged that (P) is true, (H) actually ends up contradicting (P).³⁵³ The reason, according to Dancy, is that (P) tells us that there is no saying what the world is like, but (H) tells us that (P) is true because the world is in constant flux.³⁵⁴ More recently, Lee has raised similar worries about the entailment relationship and the potential inconsistencies in the strategy of appealing to (H) in order to support (P). Specifically, she rightly notes that there does not seem to be any reason why the claim that everything is in motion should support Protagoras’ view that “reality is radically perceiver-dependent.”³⁵⁵ While she refrains from arguing, as Dancy does, that (P) and (H) contradict each other, she does contend that (P) decidedly does not entail (H). Indeed, she goes on to argue that the principle of the secret doctrine that ultimately supports (P) is not (H), but (RP).³⁵⁶ I will avoid the temptation of holding that the relationships between the various theses must all be of one kind and instead argue that in some cases there is an entailment relationship and in others it is a case of one thesis simply supporting the other. Specifically, (P) is a reformulation of (T) that is designed to cope with the problem of conflicting appearances. I also argue that (P) entails (RP) and that (RP) functions as what Dancy has called a juncture claim,³⁵⁷ insofar as it is the principle that binds (H) and (P) together. Although (RP) does not entail (H), as we could think of a world in which (RP) holds and (H) does not, (H) provides an ontology that conforms to (RP). In this sense, (H) provides the ontological backdrop for a theory of perception that ultimately supports (P). Nevertheless, (H) can be interpreted either as (H1) everything is in motion or (H2) everything is motion, and it is the latter formulation, rather than the former, that best supports (P) and (T). Indeed, (H2) entails (RP), (RP) is entailed by

353 Dancy (1987, p. 62 and p. 74). 354 Dancy (1987, pp. 95f.). 355 Lee (2005, p. 90). 356 See Lee (2005, p. 93). I have slightly modified her formulation of the principle for the purposes of consistency. Although I follow Lee on a number of points, I differ with her in thinking that the secret doctrine is a “vague cluster of ideas in the air” at the time (2005, p. 117). 357 Dancy (1987, p. 72).

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(P), and (P) is supposed to entail (T). However, Plato argues that (P) does not entail (T) because perception cannot attain knowledge in a world in which (RP) is true.

4.4 Knowledge is Perception Although a central motivation for turning to the Theaetetus in this context is explaining how a Protagorean relativism can relate to a Heraclitean ontology, Plato introduces the theories of Protagoras and Heraclitus by way of Theaetetus’ first attempt to define knowledge as perception. What this indicates is that Plato wants to link the Protagorean and Heraclitean theories to an empiricism characteristic of many preSocratic philosophers. Such a move not only parallels Aristotle’s attribution of a strict empiricism and an ontological naturalism to his pre-Socratic opponents, but also explains how Nietzsche’s own philosophy could combine naturalist and empiricist commitments with a Heraclitean ontology and a Protagorean perspectivism. There are three notable features about Theaetetus’ claim that knowledge is perception in the context of the Theaetetus (151e2–3). The first is that this decidedly empiricist thesis is placed in the mouth of Theaetetus, a student of geometry. This is notable because Plato in the Republic lists geometry as one of the disciplines that turns the soul away from the realm of sense experience (Rep. 523ff.). Not only does Theaetetus study geometry, he studies under Theodorus, who also teaches subjects such as astronomy and arithmetic (Tht. 145c–d). Like geometry, these are disciplines that, according to the Republic, are also designed to turn the soul away from the realm of sense experience. Thus, by way of his association with Theodorus, Theaetetus has engaged in a number of the studies that should turn the student away from empiricist commitments. However, his first definition of knowledge shows that he has yet to recognize that these studies can liberate the soul from the empirical realm of becoming and turn it toward being. The second striking feature of Theaetetus’ first definition is that it fails to capture any of the technê, e.g., geometry and cobblery, that function as examples of knowledge in his failed response to Socrates’ initial demand for a definition (146c–d). This is because the claim that knowledge is perception makes perception a necessary condition of knowledge. Since we do not actually perceive the various technê that Theaetetus lists, the definition that he provides excludes the aforementioned examples of knowledge. Applied to Theaetetus’ studies, the definition that he has provided makes it impossible for him to attain knowledge through the study of geometry. The most striking result of Theaetetus’ definition is that it makes perception a sufficient condition for knowledge. Although the claim that knowledge is perception might seem like a crude attempt to articulate the commonsense idea that what you see is what you get, Theaetetus’ failure to qualify the kind of perception that one needs to have for it to count as knowledge quickly leads him into a web of philosophical difficulties. This is because the definition implies that perception is infallible since

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every perception counts as knowledge, and it is the infallibility of perception that forces Theaetetus into accepting much of the Heraclitean-Protagorean account that Socrates brings in to support the view.

4.5 From Knowledge is Perception to Protagoras’ Homo Mensura Another surprising feature of Theaetetus’ first definition is the rapidity with which Socrates translates it into the language of Protagoras’ homo mensura doctrine. The link between (T) and (P) is established as soon as Socrates restates Theaetetus’ claim. Here, Socrates notes that what Theaetetus is saying is nothing trivial (logon ou phaulon) because it is the same thing as Protagoras’ claim that “man is the measure of all things: of the things which are, that they are, and of the things which are not, that they are not” (152a2–4).³⁵⁸ Having secured Theaetetus’ agreement that the two positions are equivalent, Socrates proceeds to reformulate the Protagorean theory. Specifically, he contends that by “man is the measure of all things,” Protagoras means that each thing just is the sort of thing it appears to be to each individual perceiver (152a).³⁵⁹ Socrates’ next move is to provide justification for the doctrine so formulated and the related transition from (T) to (P), and he does this by appealing to a problem that has enjoyed a long philosophical life after the Theaetetus, namely, the problem of conflicting appearances.³⁶⁰ This problem arises because two different perceivers often have conflicting perceptions of what seems to be one and the same object. When what seems to be the same wind blows, some perceivers get really cold, others only slightly, and still others not at all. In trying to determine what these conflicting appearances say about the real quality of the wind, a number of answers present themselves. First, one can argue that one perceiver is correct while the others are wrong. Second, one can embrace a form of contradictionism and say that both perceptions are correct insofar as the wind is both (F), where (F) stands for the relevant property, and (not-F). Third, one could follow the Pyrrhonian skeptic and suspend judgment about the properties that belong to the wind itself. Fourth, one could strip the wind of the relevant property by contending that it, in itself, lacks (F) if some perceiver also perceives it to be (not-F). Fifth, one could follow the previous position, but nevertheless claim that the wind is (F) and (not-F) only in relation to some perceiver. Finally, one could say that

358 Similar to chapter two, I supply the Greek text when the translation may affect my argument: “πάντων χρημάτων μέτρον” ἄνθρωπον εἶναι, “τῶν μὲν ὄντων ὡς ἔστι, τῶν δὲ μὴ ὄντων ὡς οὐκ ἔστιν.” 359 In my mind, this reformulation of the doctrine indicates that homo mensura cannot mean that man qua species is the measure of all things, but rather that each individual man or perceiver is the measure of all things. See McDowell (1973, p. 118). 360 See Burnyeat (1979), to which my discussion here is indebted.

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not only the properties of the wind exist in relation to some perceiver, but also that the wind, i.e., the object bearing the properties, exists only in relation to the perceiver. At this point in the argument, it is clear that Protagoras’ measure doctrine is meant to express one of the latter two solutions to the problem of conflicting appearances. However, it is not specified just how deep Protagorean relativism is supposed to go. That is, it is not clear whether Protagoras’ doctrine is designed to relativize properties only or to relativize properties and the objects that supposedly bear these properties. I argue for the latter, and in so doing, I show how a problem concerning the potential co-presence of opposites ultimately leads to (RP). Having laid out the argument for the position, Socrates now sets out to explain the move from Theaetetus’ initial claim that knowledge is perception to the reformulated Protagorean claim that things are for somebody the way they appear to that person. To make this transition possible, Socrates first gets Theaetetus to agree that to appear (phainesthai) is the same as to perceive (aisthanesthai) (152b12).³⁶¹ According to Socrates, the justification for this move stems from the fact that phantasia³⁶² and perception (aisthêsis) are the same thing with respect to perceptual experiences, and as a result, things are for each person such as he or she perceives them to be (152b). In getting Theaetetus to equate perception with phantasia, Socrates is securing the point that perception is neither the mere perception of a given quality, e.g., seeing red, nor the perception of a thing independently of its qualities, e.g., seeing a rock. Instead, perception includes perceiving a quality as belonging to something. In other words, Socrates is arguing that for Theaetetus to be committed to his initial definition of knowledge, he also needs to be committed to the view that perceiving is perceiving something as something, e.g., the wind as cold. With perception understood in terms of appearances that take on a propositional form, we can now speak of perception in terms of a subject (a) perceiving some object (x) as having some property (F), and understanding perception in this way makes possible the transition from the claim that (a) perceives (x) to be (F) to the claim that (x) is (F) to (a). This transition is made possible by two moves. The first can be simply seen as a retranslation of perception into the language of appearance, made possible by Theaetetus’ agreement that perceiving and appearing are the same. In this sense, if (a) perceives (x) to be (F), then (x) appears to be (F) to (a) (152c1–2). The second move is secured by the principle derived from the Protagorean resolution to the problem of conflicting appearances, where things are for each the way they appear to each. Thus, we can now say that if (x) appears as (F) to (a), then (x) is (F) to (a) (152c2–3). Taken together, if (a) perceives (x) to be (F), then (x) is (F) to (a). Having secured the principle that things are the way a given perceiver perceives them to be, Socrates can now move on to the claim that perception is knowledge. 361 See Lee (2005, p. 153) and Burnyeat (1990, p. 11) for further discussion. 362 As in chapter two, I leave this term untranslated, noting its deep association with phainesthai at Tht. 152b12.

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Interesting here, however, is the fact that Socrates tests the claim by implicitly identifying two necessary and sufficient conditions for knowledge. For something to be knowledge, it must be infallible and be of the things that are (152c5–6).³⁶³ Perception, so understood, meets these two criteria because things are unerringly perceived exactly as they are. Perception never errs because things are the way they are perceived to be. Perception is of the things that are because, according to the preceding argument, things just are the way they appear to be. Although Plato will have Socrates object to this latter claim on the grounds that perception decidedly does not grasp being or ousia (186c–d), sufficient justification for Theaetetus’ claim that knowledge is perception has been provided at this stage of the argument.

4.6 From Homo Mensura to the Secret Doctrines of Heraclitus Thus far, I have attempted to detail the transition from (T) to (P). In so doing, I have detailed the way in which the Protagorean position eliminates the very appearancereality distinction that Nietzsche himself rejects. In this section, I discuss another aspect of the Theaetetus that is crucial for understanding Nietzsche’s own project. Specifically, I explain how Plato has Socrates appeal to a Heraclitean ontology to support (P) and the related denial of the distinction between appearance and reality. Although some commentators have found it hard to take seriously Plato’s attempt to attribute to Protagoras a secret Heraclitean doctrine in which everything is flux,³⁶⁴ I argue that (RP) is the key that links these two positions together. If Plato were to have Socrates move directly from (T) and (P) to a Heraclitean flux doctrine, it would be nearly impossible to make any sense of how or why Protagoras would teach his students such principles as support for homo mensura. After all, what does a doctrine of change have to do with a denial of the appearance-reality distinction and the related claim that man is the measure of all things? Here, however, it is important to note that the secret doctrine also includes (RP) or the view, negatively stated, that “nothing is one in and of itself” (152d2–3).³⁶⁵ As noted above, Lee rightly holds (RP) to be the most important element of the secret doctrine because it ultimately provides support for the Protagorean principle that some (x) is (F) to a perceiver (a) only if (x) seems (F) to (a).³⁶⁶

363 αἴσθησις ἄρα τοῦ ὄντος ἀεί ἐστιν καὶ ἀψευδὲς ὡς ἐπιστήμη οὖσα. 364 For a discussion of this, see Chappell (2005, p. 63). Also see Dancy (1987, p. 61) for an expression of just how difficult it is to grasp the relationship between (P) and (H). Sedley (2004, p. 39) suggests that it might be the most surprising move of the whole dialogue. 365 ἕν μὲν αὐτό καθ’ αὐτὸ οὐδὲν ἐστιν. 366 Lee (2005, p. 93).

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Although I differ from Lee in that I see (RP) as a central feature of Heraclitus’ thought and so directly related to his theory of becoming,³⁶⁷ I still follow her in explaining why (RP) is introduced at this point in the dialogue. Although one might agree with Protagoras that if some (x) appears to (a) as (F), then (x) is (F) for (a), one still might wonder about the status of (x) if it does not appear to any perceiver at all. Specifically, one might wonder if (x) exists and has some of its properties independently of being perceived.³⁶⁸ In my mind, the introduction and application of (RP) to the perceptual sphere eliminates this possibility, thereby making man the measure of things that are and those that are not. Since everything exists and is what it is only in relationship to something else, which, at this juncture in the argument, means standing in relation to some perceiver, (x) must appear to some (a) in order for it to exist and have the properties it does. By expanding (RP) to include the existence of things in the perceptual sphere, e.g., wine and wind, and not just their properties, e.g., red and cold, my reading runs the risk of committing Protagoras to a Berkeley-like idealism about material objects. Although Berkeley found deep affinities between his own philosophy and the position articulated in the Theaetetus,³⁶⁹ Plato has Socrates introduce the ontology of Heraclitean flux precisely because he wants to avoid such a reading.³⁷⁰ That is, once we relativize the existence of perceptual objects to perceiving subjects, we are left with the possibility that nothing exists independently of perceivers and therefore idealism. Any worries one might have about idealism are exacerbated by the fact that there are no thinking substances in the Protagorean picture. Thus, the Protagorean theory on its own terms leaves one with what might be called a mindless idealism. However, one cannot avoid this mindless idealism by simply introducing minds or mind-independent things that have the properties they do in virtue of themselves, as this would generate an appearance-reality distinction that would, in turn, undermine Theaetetus’ definition of knowledge. Thus, if this sort of idealism is to be avoided and Theaetetus’ definition preserved, a realist ontology that conforms to (RP) needs to be developed. On my reading, (H) is introduced to fill precisely this need. In presenting the relationship between the various theses in this way, I am effectively arguing that (P) does not entail (H). Instead, (P) entails (RP), and (RP) places restrictions on the kind of ontology that the Protagorean can have – assuming he has 367 As noted above, I argue that (RP) is entailed by Heraclitus’ unity of opposites doctrine, and so both (H) and (RP) can be attributed to Heraclitus. In contrast, Lee (2005, p. 117) argues that, “the metaphysical principles which make up the Secret Doctrine were among a cluster of vague ideas in the air.” 368 See Matthen (1985) for a reading of the Protagorean position that holds there are public or nonrelative objects such as wind and wine. 369 See Burnyeat (1982). 370 This claim provides an implicit response to Matthen’s (1985, p. 37) worry that without mind-independent objects, there can be no “parents” to give birth to offspring in the theory of perception that will soon be encountered. On my account, there are parents, but these parents are not ordinary objects like wind and wine, but rather collections of interrelated motions.

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any at all. Therefore, although (RP) does not entail (H), as one could think of an alternative ontology that conforms to (RP), (H) is introduced as the best available ontology that conforms to the principle. In fact, (H) not only does not violate (RP), but entails it. So construed, (H) entails (RP) and (RP) is entailed by (P). This, then, is the reason why Dancy is right to interpret what I have called (RP) as the juncture claim and why Lee is right to argue that it is the most important principle of the secret doctrine.³⁷¹ Even though I have developed an understanding of the relationship between the four theses, there are a host of details associated with each position that still need to be worked out. One problem, for instance, is that Lee has argued that (RP) is a moving target in that it is expressed in a variety of ways.³⁷² In response to such worries, I read the secret doctrine as fundamentally denying one principle, namely, that of self-identity or self-relation captured in the phrase itself according to itself (auto kath’ hauto) as it is applied to three different features of beings. Here self-identity or self-relation simply stands in contrast to other-relation (pros ti or pros alla or pros allêla), and the first position of the secret doctrine that Socrates puts forth is that there is nothing that is one (hen) in relation to itself (152d2–3). This is not to reject the notion of oneness or unity altogether.³⁷³ This is because the position does maintain that there is unity insofar as one understands that all unity is a unity between two or more things each of which stand in relation to something other than themselves. In other words, all unity is a unity of multiplicity. The secret doctrine also denies that things are a definite something in relation to themselves (152d6).³⁷⁴ In other words, not only is it the case that nothing constitutes a unity in relation to itself, but also that nothing exists or has any determinate properties in relation to itself. Here, the secret teaching not only insists that things can only have the properties they do by standing in relationship to something else, but also that things only exist in relation to other things. On this view, nothing is capable of independent existence. Although some might be uneasy with the complete relativity of existence, such that there are no relata independent of their relations, the remainder of the passage makes it clear that this is what is at stake. This is because immediately after we are told that nothing is one, a determinate something, or any sort of thing in relation to itself, we learn instead that, “the things of which we naturally say that they ‘are,’ are in process of coming to be, as the result of movement and change and blending with one another” (152d7–e1),³⁷⁵ and it is for this reason that the theory ultimately holds

371 Dancy (1987, pp. 72ff.) and Lee (2005, p. 93). 372 See Lee (2005, pp. 86ff.). 373 See Polansky (1992, pp. 86ff.) for such a reading. 374 ὡς μηδενὸς ὄντος ἑνὸς μήτε τινὸς μήτε ὁποιουοῦν. 375 ἐκ δὲ δὴ φορᾶς τε καὶ κινήσεως καὶ κράσεως πρὸς ἄλληλα γίγνεται πάντα ἅ δή φαμεν εἶναι, οὐκ ὀρθῶς προσαγορεύοντες.

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that “nothing ever is, but everything is always coming to be” (152e1).³⁷⁶ Although this claim raises the ever-difficult problem of the distinction between being and becoming in Plato,³⁷⁷ one can say that, as the distinction is presented here, it is not so much a difference between stability and change, but a difference between self-relation and other-relation. On this reading, beings are those things that are one, exist, and have determinate properties in virtue of themselves. In contrast, something that always and only becomes is something that is a unity, exists, and has determinate properties only in relation to something other than itself. Another difficulty that arises with the presentation of the secret teaching is the introduction of Heraclitean flux or constant change in this context. While I have suggested that becoming is best understood, at least from this passage, in terms of relations rather than changes, there is no doubt that constant change or flux is a crucial element of the secret doctrine. This is because in addition to the verb gignesthai or becoming, we also learn that things come to be from local motion, motion, and mixture (152d9–e1). Worries about the degree to which the introduction of change in this context can actually support (P) and (T) arise from ambiguities in the presentation of this portion of the Heraclitean doctrine. Specifically, (H) can be interpreted either as the view that (H1) all things are in motion or the view that (H2) everything is motion (kinêsis).³⁷⁸ On the first view, change applies to the things of the commonsense world, and what it says is that these things are changing with respect to one or more of their properties (including the property of being in some place) at any given point in time. On the second view, the world itself is said to be a collection of interrelated motions, and the things of the commonsense world are said to emerge from or come to be as a result of the interaction of these active and passive motions. When worries about the way in which (H) supports (P) arise, it is often because (H) is being interpreted as (H1) rather than (H2). Indeed, the passages that best support the (H1) reading come from Socrates’ later attempt to show that (H) is ultimately incompatible with (T) by applying this construal of the flux theory to perceptions and perceptual qualities (179c–183c). However, insofar as (H) is interpreted as (H2), this ontology not only entails (RP), but also provides the backdrop for a theory of perception designed to support (P). On the reading I advocate, (H), in the sense of (H2), is both a reductionist and an eliminativist position with respect to the basic components of the commonsense world, as it ultimately tries to explain how our qualitative experience emerges from active and passive motions that are not perceived as active and passive motions. Evidence for reading (H) in this way can be found in the passage that introduces the position in the initial formulation of the secret doctrine: “The things which we say ‘are,’ 376 ἔστι μὲν γὰρ οὐδέποτ’ οὐδέν, ἀεὶ δὲ γίγνεται. 377 See Bolton (1975) and Irwin (1977). 378 Here I am exploiting a distinction noted by Bostock (1988, p. 99), Silverman (2000, p. 120), and Lee (2005, p. 112).

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when we are not speaking properly, come to be in relation to each other from movement and motion and mixing” (152d7–e1). This passage makes two important points. First, (H), as it is expressed here, eliminates, in accordance with (RP), self-identical things that exist and persist through time. It does so by replacing them with properties that become only in relation to something else. Second, it identifies the source of this relational coming-to-be. Specifically, it says that the properties of the sensible world come to be from motion. The second passage that supports this reading is found immediately after we are told that all of the ancients, with the exception of Parmenides, were proponents of this view – it is an army, Socrates claims, with Homer as its general (152d–153a). Specifically, Socrates claims that there is sufficient evidence for this view because motion (kinêsis) makes or produces becoming and the things that seem to be (153a6–7). To make sense of this, Socrates puts forth three claims: (1) Heat and fire give birth to and are the guardians of everything; (2) heat and fire are themselves born from movement (phora) and friction (tripsis); and (3) these latter two are both types of motion (kinêsis) (153a). In other words, all the stuffs of the material world are born from heat and fire, and heat and fire are ultimately reducible to types of motion. Thus, on this reading, (H) is not primarily a claim stating that the things of the sensible world are changing at all times with respect to one or more of their properties (although this may be a consequence of the view), rather it is a view that explains how the things of the perceptible world are born from more fundamental interactions between active and passive motions. In the next two sections, I argue that what immediately emerges from the interactions of these motions are perceptions and perceptual qualities, and it is from these perceptions and perceptual qualities that the subjects and objects of the sensible world are constructed. In terms of my reading of Nietzsche, this is important because it shows how a Heraclitean ontology can be combined with the view that everyday objects are collections of properties that the knowing subject creates by bundling perceived properties together.

4.7 A Preliminary Account of Perception and a Puzzle Admittedly, the reader is not immediately introduced to the claim that the things of the sensible world, e.g., wind and wine, are mere collections of perceptual qualities. Instead, in what McDowell has called the “preliminary account of perception,”³⁷⁹ the reader is only introduced to the relativity of perceptual properties, in which the ontological status of things is left untouched. Socrates introduces the perceptual theory by first noting the fact that what we typically call white has no existence independently of the eyes (153d–e). Nevertheless, such a color cannot be said to be in the eye, just

379 McDowell (1973, p. 30).

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as it cannot be said to be in an object external to the eye. Indeed, it cannot be in any place at all. The alleged reason for this requirement is that if the color were in some fixed place, it would remain stationary, and if it remained stationary, it would not be coming to be.³⁸⁰ Because Theaetetus is surprised by the claim, Socrates elaborates further. First, he reminds Theaetetus of the guiding principle of the discussion: Nothing is one in and of itself (153e4–5). As a result, there is a need to construct a theory of perception that does not violate this principle, thereby ensuring that it conforms to (RP). So construed, a perceptual quality like white must be something relational. According to Socrates, a perceptual quality like white can be understood as relational by construing it as coming to be from the interaction between an eye and an impacting motion, so that what we call color is neither the impacting motion nor the motion that is impacted, but rather something that comes to be between the two and therefore is private (idios) to each particular interaction (153e–154a). Even though Socrates has just introduced Theaetetus to the seemingly shocking notion of the relativity of perceptual properties, this is just the beginning of his attempt to unpack the consequences of the secret teaching. Specifically, Socrates’ next move is to show Theaetetus how his commitment to the secret doctrine that things come to be (F) when someone perceives them to be (F) is incompatible with the commonsense view that things are intrinsically (F) or (not-F). This is made plain when Socrates claims that if things had intrinsic properties, they would not come to have those properties simply by entering into a new relationship without a corresponding change in the things themselves (154b1–3). In other words, the claim that (x) becomes (F) when it enters into some relation with (a) without any corresponding change in (x) requires that we reject the claim that (x) is also intrinsically (F). The problem for commentators has been that Socrates makes his point by presenting Theaetetus with a puzzle that has no explicitly stated purpose (154c–155c).³⁸¹ Although this puzzle is ultimately designed to expand upon the consequences of the Protagorean position by forcing Theaetetus to deny intrinsic properties, there is reason to think that Plato has nevertheless embedded within the puzzle a subtle critique of (RP) and therefore the entire secret doctrine. To present the puzzle, Socrates asks Theaetetus to compare sets of four, six, and twelve dice. When we compare the six dice with the twelve, we should say that the six dice are less than twelve. However, when we compare the six dice with the four, we should say that they are more than the four. The question that Socrates puts to Theaetetus is whether something, in this case the six dice, can become bigger without increasing in number. Here Theaetetus is puzzled. When he thinks about this very question, i.e., whether six dice can become bigger without becoming some greater number of dice, he thinks that it cannot.

380 Here is an instance where becoming is being applied to things in the sense of (H1). 381 See Chappell (2005, pp. 69ff.) for a summary of the various approaches to the puzzles discussed here.

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However, when he thinks about the six dice in relation to the various other sets of dice, he thinks that this is indeed possible (154d). In response to this difficulty, some might say that this puzzle simply shows the need to introduce a distinction between intrinsic and extrinsic properties and the corresponding distinction between real change, i.e., a change in intrinsic properties, and what might be called a mere Cambridge change, i.e., a change in extrinsic properties.³⁸² Indeed, Plato’s appeal to quantities here and Theaetetus’ subsequent state of philosophical wonder (to thaumazein) highlights the fact that Plato also wants to move in this direction (155d). Specifically, the puzzles to which Socrates has introduced Theaetetus run parallel to the kinds of puzzles that are described in Republic VII, where Socrates highlights the fact that the ring finger can have contrary properties insofar as we try to determine its size in relation to the two fingers adjacent to it (Rep. 523cff.). In Republic VII, these puzzles are supposed to lead the student to the study of the one and number and ultimately the grasp of being through reason. In the Theaetetus, Plato does have Socrates speak of Theaetetus’ state of wonder at these puzzles and the way in which this state of wonder is the beginning of philosophy (Tht. 155d). However, rather than leading him on to the study of self-identical entities via mathematics and other such disciplines, Socrates immediately reminds Theaetetus of his Protagorean commitments and plunges him further into the mysteries of the secret doctrine by revealing an alternative answer to the puzzles. Specifically, the unPlatonic answer to these puzzles consists not in distinguishing between intrinsic and extrinsic properties, but in denying that things have any intrinsic properties whatsoever. In other words, the Protagorean solution is to insist that nothing exists and is what it is in relation to itself but everything exists and is what it is only in relation to something else. In this sense, the secret doctrine denies that the lessons of number and even geometry can be applied to the study of nature on the grounds that, unlike numbers, there is nothing in nature that is identical with or equal to itself.

4.8 Heraclitean Ontology and a Secret Theory of Perception In developing the secret doctrine, Socrates’ next step is to introduce Theaetetus to an invisible world of motions and powers and to contrast this worldview with those who believe that only what is tangible exists. Specifically, Socrates urges Theaetetus to make sure that none of the “uninitiated” is listening as he introduces the secret teaching. The uninitiated are those who “think that nothing exists but what they can grasp with both hands; people who refuse to admit that actions and processes and the

382 See Fine (1996, pp. 122ff.) for more on the distinction and how it might relate to these puzzles.

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invisible world in general have any place in reality” (155e4–7).³⁸³ Having made sure that they are now speaking in private, Socrates explains the teaching to Theaetetus: These mysteries begin from the principle on which all that we have just been saying also depends, namely, that everything is really motion, and there is nothing but motion. Motion has two forms, each an infinite multitude, but distinguished by their powers, the one being active and the other passive. And through the intercourse and mutual friction of these two there comes to be an offspring infinite in multitude but always twin births, on the one hand what is perceived, on the other, the perception of it, the perception in every case being generated together with what is perceived and emerging along with it. (156a3–b2)

In terms of Nietzsche’s philosophy, there are two important points here. On the one hand, we are introduced to what can be called a dynamic worldview that closely resembles Nietzsche’s ontology. Not only is motion (kinêsis) the fundamental principle (archê) of nature, such that everything is motion and nothing besides (H2), these motions can be further reduced to the interplay of active and passive powers (dunameis) (156a6).³⁸⁴ On the other hand, this dynamic conception of nature is contrasted with a cruder form of materialism that emphasizes touch. This cruder form of materialism bears a striking resemblance to the atomistic materialism of early modern philosophy, and this is precisely the view that Nietzsche’s ontology of dynamic relations is designed to replace.³⁸⁵ In the passage now under examination (156a–c), the precise relationship between motion and power is left unspecified. However, I want to engage in a bit of speculation on this issue and say that the relation between motion (kinêsis) and power (dunamis) is one of actuality and potentiality.³⁸⁶ That is, a motion just is an actualized power, such that these powers are actualized when they are affecting and being affected by other powers. According to such an ontology, the world at its most fundamental level is one of indeterminate powers or potentialities. However, in accordance with (RP), these powers can only exist and have the properties they do insofar as they are affecting or being affected by other powers. In other words, these powers can only exist as actualized motions, and as actualized motions they must always stand in some relationship to other powers or motions. Because of this, the world, in itself, is radically indeterminate and so it is, much like an irrational number, unintelligible.³⁸⁷ However, 383 εἰσίν δὲ οὗτοι οἱ οὐδὲν ἄλλο οἰόμενοι εἶναι ἤ οὗ ἄν δύνωνται ἀπρὶξ τοῖν χεροῖν λαβέσθαι, πράξεις δὲ καὶ γενέσεις καὶ πᾶν τὸ ἀόρατον οὐκ ἀποδεχόμενοι ὡς ἐν οὐσίας μέρει. 384 For more on dunamis, see Cornford (1935, pp. 234ff.) 385 Polansky (1992, p. 96) speculates that Plato has Democritean atomists in mind here. If this is correct, it further establishes the parallel to early modern science. 386 My admittedly speculative position here is drawn in part from Jansen (2002), who details the relationship between kinêsis and dunamis in Aristotle and Aristotle’s reference to Protagoras’ theory of perception in his discussion of Megarian actualism in Metaphysics IX (Met. 1047a4–10). 387 See Sayre (1969, pp. 57ff.) on the way the language of powers in the initial discussion of mathematics (Tht. 147d8–9) foreshadows key concepts of the Heraclitean ontology sketched here. In par-

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because these indeterminate powers can only exist as actualized motions, motion or change is an essential feature of a world so construed. The other issue that requires a bit of speculation is trying to understand how this “secret” world of powers and motions relates to the qualitative world of perceptions and perceived qualities. Here, one might think that the interactions of these motions cause perceptions. This is suggested when we are told that it is through the intercourse and friction that an infinite multitude of offspring come to be in relation to each other (156a7–b2). At the same time, it is important to note that the perception (aisthêsis) and the perceived property (to aisthêton) just are (fast) motions.³⁸⁸ More specifically, perceived properties just are motions now understood from a first-person point of view, i.e., from a standpoint within the perceptual interaction. This point is important because it explains the transition from the Heraclitean realm of motions to the Protagorean realm of perception and ultimately the world of commonsense.³⁸⁹ Although the text does not provide direct evidence for these two speculative points, it does provide a further explanation of what Socrates means when he speaks of perceptions and perceived properties. The reader is told that perceptions in this case include seeings, hearings, smellings, chillings, burnings, pleasurings, painings, desirings, fearings, and an infinite number of others that do not have names. On the other hand, examples of perceived properties are colors that are the objects of seeings, sounds that are the objects of hearings, and pains that are the objects of painings (156b–c). Socrates’ account here is important for my purposes because it provides evidence for reducing ordinary objects such as wind and wine to collections of perceived properties. For what we start with at the perceptual level are not preexisting selves and independently existing objects, but active and passive motions, and what we get from these motions are not things, but perceptions and perceived properties that always come to be in relation to each other. After connecting each perception to a perceived quality, Socrates reminds Theaetetus of their agreement that all things are moving (156c8), and he proceeds to explain how the various elements found in perception can be understood in terms not only of active and passive motions, but also fast and slow motions (156c8–9). Slow motions remain relatively stable in that they are able to maintain their position in space, and when they come into contact with other slow motions in their vicinity, they give birth to fast motions that move between the two slow motions. These fast motions are of two kinds, and they correspond to the previous distinction between the perception and the perceived property. In the example that Socrates provides here, it is the interaction of what is now referred to as the eye and an object corresponding to

ticular, Sayre (1969, p. 61) notes that the powers of the Heraclitean theory are “in themselves totally irrational, and can be ‘given an account’ only from the vantage point of a higher context.” 388 As Lee (2000, p. 73) notes, Plato does not speak of qualities or properties until Tht. 182a9–b1. Here, to aisthêton simply means, “what is perceived.” 389 Here I am roughly following Burnyeat (1982, p. 13).

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it, which are both slow motions, that produces seeing and whiteness (fast motions) (156d). With these fast motions moving between the respective slow motions, the eye is filled with sight and becomes a seeing eye and the thing being seen, such as a stick or a stone, becomes not whiteness, but white. With the introduction of slow motions into the account, we encounter a theory of perception that roughly corresponds to the subject-predicate structure of language and a doer-deed distinction that Nietzsche wants to reject. Thus, this theory of perception might seem to oppose my attempt to use Plato’s analysis of the Heraclitean-Protagorean position in the Theaetetus as a model for understanding Nietzsche’s philosophy. This theory of perception seems to outline such an ontology because although the fast motions just are perceptions and perceptual properties, slow motions seem to be things that cause the interaction of these fast motions and therefore they seem to play the role of a thing that bears certain properties and exists independently of the perceptual interaction. In response to this concern, there are two points to keep in mind. First, even if eyes and sticks exist as slow motions that cause the perceptual interaction, it is not the case that these objects have the properties they do prior to the perceptual interaction. Instead, these things come to be white or cold only when they are seen or touched, just as the eye or the hand only become a seeing eye or a feeling hand insofar as each is perceiving. This is an important point not only because it reduces our commonsense world to a collection of motions that only have determinate natures in relation to other motions, but also because it forces one to abandon the question as to whether our perceptions do or do not correspond to the nature of things independently of the perceptual event. Whereas the first point is designed to undercut the idea of objects having the properties they do independently of perceptual transactions, the second point calls attention to the relational existence of both the fast and the slow motions.³⁹⁰ As the account progresses, we also learn that these slow motions only exist and have the properties they do in relation to other motions. To make this point, Plato has Socrates repeat a general version of the secret doctrine, namely, that nothing is anything in itself (156e9), but everything comes to be in association with each other as the result of motion (157a1–2). Then he has Socrates apply this teaching to the motions themselves, and this is where (H), construed here as (H2), reveals its conformity to (RP). Specifically, Socrates contends that it is impossible to think these active and passive motions as one (157a2–4).³⁹¹ Just as perceptions and perceptual properties are always born in tandem, the active and passive motions have neither existence nor determinate qualities prior to the interaction. Unlike the way in which we think of wine, wind, 390 Although I am contrasting my argument with Matthen (1985), I do agree that there is a world beyond the private worlds of perceptions. However, as the next point makes clear, I contend that what Matthen calls “public objects” are actually motions that only have relational existence. 391 τὸ ποιῦν εἶναι τι καὶ τὸ πάσχον αὐτῶν ἐπὶ ἑνὸς νοῆσαι, ὥς φασιν, οὐκ εἶναι παγίως.

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and eyes as unities capable of independent existence and having some of the properties they do in virtue of themselves, these motions can only exist insofar as they are affecting other motions and therefore they only take on the qualities that they have, e.g., fast, slow, active, passive, insofar as they stand in this relation. As a result, what is an active motion in one relationship can be a passive motion in another and vice versa (157a). Here, it is important to note two further points. First, Lee has argued that the central component of the secret teaching is not so much the flux doctrine, but (RP). Specifically, it is this doctrine that places strictures on the kind of ontology that can be used to support (P). Thus, it is not that (RP) entails (H), but rather that (H), as (H2), has to conform to (RP). What this means is that (H2) is an ontology in which the fundamental stuffs of nature, in this case powers or motions, exist only in relation to each other. Second, it is this position that underwrites an eliminativism about the supposedly self-identical entities of the common sense world, and this, in turn, underwrites what I will call, in line with my reading of Nietzsche, a version of the falsification thesis that appears in the next part of Socrates’ exposition of the secret doctrine. To recall, the falsification thesis is the view that the structures of language and thought seduce one into adopting false beliefs about the way the world is. As noted above, the motions of the Heraclitean world are construed in such a way that thought cannot properly grasp them as unities – and therefore, one might add, that thought cannot properly grasp them at all. What we now encounter in Socrates’ articulation of the doctrine is the view that much of our language fails to capture the true nature of these motions. To make the point, Socrates begins with a restatement of (RP), this time emphasizing the denial of unity or oneness, and he proceeds to argue that we must therefore purge language of all forms of “to be” (to einai), even though we might be driven by habit and lack of culture to continue using the verb (157b1). For if we want to speak according to nature (kata phusin), we should expunge words such as “something” or “of something” or “mine” or “this” or “that” or any other name that makes things stand still (157b4–5). Instead, we are told that we should speak of “becoming,” “being produced,” “passing away,” and “changing” (157b6–7). This brings me to a second point. Socrates argues that this principle of not making things stand still applies equally to what he calls the parts (kata meros) and to the aggregates (peri pollôn hathroisthentôn) (157b8–c3). Although this passage has been the source of some controversy,³⁹² on the reading I favor, the parts here are the individual qualities that are perceived, e.g., colors, sounds, smells, etc., whereas the aggregates are combinations of these perceived qualities that, when bundled together, make up the objects of ordinary experience, e.g., rocks, tables, cows, and human beings. What this suggests is that if this theory acknowledges the existence of

392 See Day (1997, pp. 60f.). For an alternative reading, see Brown (1993, pp. 207f.) and Matthen (1985).

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commonsense objects at all, it is as bundles of perceived qualities. Taken in combination with the earlier claim that things such as eyes and stones are really slow motions, the Theaetetus offers a twofold account of things that is in line with Nietzsche’s own position. On the one hand, there is a scientific account of things as complexes of interrelated powers or motions. On the other hand, we can account for the things that populate the commonsense world in terms of bundles of perceived properties. What is common to both accounts is that they do away with the notion of things that exist and are what they are in themselves and explain everything in terms of entities that only have relational existence.³⁹³

4.9 The Final Stage of the Secret Doctrine In the final segment of Socrates’ exposition of the secret doctrine (157c4–160e5), not only are the ordinary objects that we take to populate the commonsense world further dissolved into the individual qualities of each perception, but the perceiving subject is also divided into a series of distinct perceptual states, thereby allowing each perceptual state to be tied to a perceived quality. In other words, it is here that we get a full-blown statement of the relational ontology that exhibits deep parallels to Nietzsche’s positions. Although some commentators have understood this final section of the secret doctrine to be an argument for the view that what we ordinarily think of as a single persistent perceiver is actually a series or a collection of short-lived perceptual states,³⁹⁴ Lee has rightly noted that the primary purpose of this section is to show that all perceptions, even in cases of sickness and madness, are infallible by articulating a view of perception in which each qualitative experience is bound to a particular perception.³⁹⁵ This is not to say that the argument of this section does not also show that what we take to be the person of Socrates is really a bundle of distinct perceptions, but rather it is to say that the primary aim is to argue for the relativity of both the perception and the perceived property such that it guarantees the truth of each perception. To recall, the Protagorean conflation between appearance and reality was motivated by the desire to preserve the definition of knowledge that Theaetetus provided in the face of conflicting appearances. Each person was said to know the things that he or she perceives because what each person perceives only exists for that person. The problem that has now emerged is that this solution also allows for the inscrutability of the visions and opinions of dreamers and madmen. Again, if Theaetetus holds

393 Here again I follow Burnyeat’s (1982) general view that Plato is only gradually revealing the theory of perception, one that continually whittles away at our belief in independently existing properties, objects, and subjects, so that in the end one is left with only relational entities. 394 Bostock (1988, p. 71). Also see Chappell (2005, pp. 79ff.) 395 Lee (2005, p. 109).

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that perception, without any kind of qualification or restriction, is knowledge, then dreams and mad visions, as forms of perception that include phantasia and judgments, must also be forms of knowledge.³⁹⁶ Rather than urging Theaetetus to modify his original definition of knowledge in light of this potential consequence, Socrates tries to alleviate any worries Theaetetus might have by reminding him of just how difficult it is to distinguish between waking and dream states (157e–158a). Here, Socrates contends that insofar as we spend half our lives awake and half our lives asleep and that we grant equal conviction to both waking and dream states when we are in those states, we live in two separate worlds (158d). According to Socrates, a similar argument holds for disease and madness (158e). Since there is no proper criterion for determining who is mad and who is not – if most of us were what we now call mad, we would think the now sane were in fact the mad ones – and we assent to the perceptions that we have when we are in a state of madness, we must grant that the perceptions of mad and sick individuals are indeed forms of knowledge according to Theaetetus’ definition. To further the case, Socrates launches into a line of argumentation that has not been easy for commentators to decipher and has resulted in complaints that Socrates is appealing to principles that are “blatantly false.”³⁹⁷ Although I share similar worries about the passage, sense of the argument can be made by keeping in mind the relational ontology at work in the background. The most crucial premise of the argument is that if something (x) comes to be (gignesthai) qualitatively unlike (anomoion) something else (y), then these two things are also completely different (heteron) (159a), where different here suggests, at a minimum, numerical distinctness. In terms of the example provided in the text, if a healthy Socrates becomes qualitatively unlike a sick Socrates, the healthy Socrates and the sick Socrates will also be numerically different. We are now told that if some (x) such as wine mixes with a healthy Socrates (y) and then at a later time with a sick Socrates (z), the first combination (x–y) will produce offspring that are numerically and qualitatively distinct from the second combination (x–z) (159a–c). More specifically, when the healthy Socrates mixes with the wine, it gives birth to a perception of sweetness and a perceived sweetness. Thus, the tongue of Socrates becomes a tongue that perceives sweetness in relation to the wine and the wine becomes a sweet wine in relation to the tongue of Socrates. In contrast, if the wine were to approach the sick Socrates, it would be approaching something qualitatively different, and since it is approaching something qualitatively different it will generate qualitatively different offspring. In this case, the perception of bitter and a perceived bitterness will be produced, where the wine is now bitter and the tongue of Socrates will now be a tongue that is perceiving bitterness.

396 It is interesting to note the introduction of doxa or belief at this point (Tht. 158b2). 397 Brown (1993, p. 208). Also see McDowell (1973, pp. 148ff.), Dancy (1987, pp. 88ff.), and Bostock (1988, pp. 71ff.).

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Socrates employs these principles and this example to generalize over all other instances of perception, and what results from this argument is the eventual linking of each perception to its perceived quality and vice versa. If the active and passive forces that combine to give birth to the perception are in any way qualitatively unlike, then both the perception and the quality perceived will be qualitatively unlike and numerically distinct. Thus, the passive powers that make up the perceiving Socrates could never mix with anything else and get the same perception. Similarly, the active powers that constitute the thing perceived could never mix with another set of passive powers and produce the same perception and perceived quality (159e–160b). Since I am, qua perceiver, a result of this interaction, I will never be the same as I am now – that is, assuming that this exact constellation of powers never returns to the same state that it is now (160a). This is also true for the thing perceived; it will never exist as precisely the same quality that it is now perceived to be. At this point, one might grant that while I, qua perceiver, may never have the exact same perception as I have had in the past, just as the wine may never have the exact quality of sweetness or bitterness that it was once perceived to have, I nevertheless persist as a perceiver through time, just as the wine continues to exist as a thing perceived. However, such a view is not available to the proponent of the secret doctrine. This is because it would posit the existence of some thing that exists independently of each perceptual encounter, and so it would violate the fundamental teaching of the secret doctrine, namely, (RP). Indeed, the primary purpose of the final stage of the exposition of the secret doctrine is to argue that perceptions and perceptual qualities exist and are what they are only in relation to each other. This, of course, is precisely the view that Socrates is trying to support when he contends that all perceptions must be perceptions of something, just as all perceptual qualities must be perceived as a part of perception (160a–b). Because of this, Socrates contends that our being, i.e., each perceptual act, is necessarily tied to a specific partner, and it will never be bound to anything else, not even itself (160a6–7). In fact, Socrates claims that it does not really matter if we use the language of becoming or being here, as the truly important point is that all things exist in relation to something else, and it is because all things exist only in relation to other things that we should never speak of anything or anyone either being or becoming itself of itself (160b10). Instead, we should always speak of things as being for something or of something or relative to something (160b9). This, then, is the true meaning of the secret doctrine (160c1–2). Having established the relational character of all elements at the perceptual level, Socrates now returns to the three theses and briefly shows how (RP) provides the necessary support for at least two of them. By tying each perception to a perceiver, each perceiver becomes the judge of the things that are and the things that are not (P) (160c). Moreover, since what a perceiver perceives is literally generated with each perception, a perceiver can never misperceive, even in cases of dreams and madness, and since a perceiver can never misperceive, a perceiver must always perceive correctly.

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Therefore, all perceptions are true, and since all perceptions are true, each perceiver can be said to know everything that he or she perceives (T) (160d). What this final argument shows is that through the application of (RP) to perceivers and perceptual qualities (P) and (T) are secured. In contrast, (H2) or the view that everything is motion is left hovering in the background. Nevertheless, Socrates brings in (H) when he concludes by listing the three theories and stating that they fall together into the same thing (160d6). The first theory is that of Homer, Heraclitus, and the other members of this band who hold that all things move like streams (H) (160d8). The second is Protagoras’ claim that man is the measure of all things (P) (160d9–10), and the third is Theaetetus’ claim that knowledge is perception (T) (160e1–2). Socrates’ final summation of the position does suggest that there are only three, rather than four, doctrines at work in the argument ((T), (P), and (H)). However, I think enough evidence has been given to show that (RP) is a central feature of the Heraclitean-Protagorean position, even if it is not explicitly mentioned in these final remarks. Socrates’ final summation of the position also suggests that these three doctrines are equivalent. Although the claim that these three positions fall together into the same thing does suggest such a view (160d6), it does not, however, provide unambiguous evidence for it. Perhaps the best evidence of an entailment relation between any of the three theses can be found in Socrates’ claim that because (P) and (H) are true, (T) must be true as well (160e1). Of course, this only supports the entailment relation in one direction, and it again does so only ambiguously. This is because it is not clear whether (T) is true because both (P) and (H) are true or because (P) and (H) each provide independent support for the truth of (T), so that either (P) or (H) could be true and (T) would nevertheless be the case. On my reading, the truth of (P) is, at this point in the dialogue, held to be enough to secure the truth of (T), and (H) adds indirect support for (T) by way of providing an ontology and a related theory of perception that supports (P). In particular, what (H) does is provide an understanding of nature in which (RP) holds, and (RP) is entailed by both (P) and (H).

4.10 Some Preliminary Objections to Protagoras’ Homo Mensura In the next section of the dialogue, Plato has Socrates launch into twelve different arguments against Theaetetus’ initial definition of knowledge and the HeracliteanProtagorean view that is brought in to support it.³⁹⁸ Many of these attacks are what Socrates acknowledges to be arguments acceptable to the mob (162e). That is, they are rhetorical ploys meant to persuade not by proving the falsity of the view in question, but by highlighting its unsavory consequences, a strategy that parallels the second leg

398 See Chappell (2005, pp. 86ff.) for an analysis of these twelve arguments.

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of Aristotle’s defense of PNC. Nevertheless, I want to focus on two criticisms that Plato has Socrates level against Protagoras’ homo mensura doctrine prior to the peritropê argument. This is because these criticisms illuminate the nature of the Protagorean position as it is presented in the dialogue and so establish a framework for interpreting the peritropê argument in the next section. In particular, these criticisms show that the Protagorean position is designed to be true for everyone, including those who disagree with it, and so the Protagorean position is both a claim that can be subjected to Socratic examination and refutation and a claim about which one can be mistaken. The first of these objections is that if homo mensura is true, no one perceiver will be more knowledgeable or a better measure than any other, and because of this, humans, animals, and gods will all be equal with respect to wisdom (161c–d). Since perceivers cannot go wrong with respect to what they perceive to be the case, no one individual can be more of an authority than any other. This is a particular problem for Protagoras because he often presents himself as being wiser than others insofar as he takes on the role of a teacher and demands great fees for his services (161e1). The second objection is that the Protagorean position renders Socrates’ own technê of midwifery pointless, one that includes philosophical discussion (dialegesthai) and the examination (episkopein) and refutation (elenchein) of each other’s appearances (phantasiai) and judgments (doxai) (161e–162a). Since the appearances and judgments of each are true, there is no reason to subject them to critical examination and refutation. In this way, the Protagorean position entails the end of philosophy, at least as Plato’s Socrates understands the activity. These objections are important not so much because the objections themselves undermine the Protagorean position, but because they begin to force Protagoras to clarify his position so as to escape the force of each objection. The first objection states that there is an incompatibility between Protagoras’ doctrine and the fact that Protagoras teaches and does so for a fee. To escape the objection, Protagoras must either give up his activity as a teacher or acknowledge that some individuals are indeed wiser than others in at least some respects. In terms of the homo mensura doctrine, Protagoras can either relinquish his claim to be a teacher of the doctrine, acknowledging that each individual is a measure of the doctrine itself, or he can continue teaching by insisting that he knows something that others do not, namely, the truth of homo mensura. In terms of Nietzsche’s own philosophy, the two alternatives open to the Protagorean correspond to the two different readings of Nietzsche’s perspectivism that have been discussed in the secondary literature. On the one hand, the perspectivist reading says that Nietzsche’s perspectivism is simply true for him, and so this reading corresponds to Protagoras renouncing any claim to being wise in a way that others are not and abandoning his related role as a teacher. This is because this reading denies that Nietzsche presents any of his views in a way that others should accept them as true, and so Nietzsche is not, in his works, trying to teach us something we do not know. On the other hand, the two-level reading of Nietzsche’s perspectivism

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states that Nietzsche’s perspectivism is exempt from perspectivism itself. Applied to the Theaetetus, this reading corresponds to Protagoras acknowledging that he knows something others do not, namely, the truth of homo mensura, and so preserving his status as a teacher of wisdom. In the next chapter, I argue that a version of the two-level solution best captures the nature of Nietzsche’s perspectivism. In this section, I contend that Plato has Socrates attribute to Protagoras a similar understanding of homo mensura in the Theaetetus. This is because Protagoras is presented as a wise man insofar as he knows the truth of homo mensura, whereas others do not. This is evidenced by the fact that Socrates has Protagoras say that each of us must put up with being a measure whether we like it or not (167d3–4).³⁹⁹ Just as Nietzsche chides philosophers of the past in Beyond Good and Evil for being deceived about the perspectival nature of their own truth claims, the Protagoras of the Theaetetus thinks that he can indeed take Socrates to task for not recognizing the truth of homo mensura. The second objection provides further evidence for reading the doctrine in this way. This is because the objection establishes the incompatibility between the truth of homo mensura and the Socratic activity of discussion (dialegesthai) and the examination (episkopein) and refutation (elenchein) of each other’s appearances (phantasiai) and judgments (doxai) (161e–162a). That is, for any belief to which homo mensura is applied, that belief cannot be subjected to examination and refutation because it is necessarily true. The question, then, is whether homo mensura is a belief to which homo mensura is applied. If it is, then it cannot be subjected to examination and refutation. The reason for thinking that homo mensura is not applied to itself in the dialogue is that Plato repeatedly uses the terms elenchein (162a6, 166b1, and 166c4), skopein and episkopein (166a7, 168b4, and 168b6–7), and dialegesthai (167e5 and e7) in referring to Socrates’ investigation of Protagoras’ doctrine. Since Socrates could not engage in such activity with respect to the truth of homo mensura if the doctrine were simply true for Protagoras, it must be the case that homo mensura, as it is presented in the Theaetetus, does not apply to itself, and so the doctrine is not presented as being true simply for Protagoras, but rather true for everyone whether one believes it or not. Reading homo mensura in this way is important for understanding the peritropê argument because the peritropê argument creates a tension between Protagoras’ claim that everyone is the measure with respect to his or her appearances and beliefs and Protagoras’ claim that the doctrine is true for everyone, even for those who disagree with it. This is because the first claim entails that all beliefs are true. The second claim, however, implies that some people hold at least one false belief. That is, some people like Socrates falsely believe that homo mensura is false. In the next section, I show how this tension is a central feature of Plato’s table-turning argument against Protagoras’ homo mensura doctrine and how this argument again forces Protagoras

399 See Lee (2005, p. 54) for a discussion of this point.

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either to limit the scope of homo mensura such that the doctrine does not apply to itself or to abandon the claim that everyone is a measure whether they agree with it or not.

4.11 Protagoras’ Homo Mensura and the Problem of Self-Refutation I now turn to one of the most famous passages in the Theaetetus and one of the most important aspects of Plato’s text for grappling with Nietzsche’s perspectivism and the problems associated with it (168c–171d). It is the peritropê or table-turning argument against Protagoras’ homo mensura doctrine, an argument designed to show that the doctrine is self-refuting. There are a number of reasons for its importance and fame. In terms of the text, this argument is presented as being more important than what are dismissed as the seemingly childish objections that Socrates levels against the equation of knowledge and perception in his conversation with Theaetetus from 160e to 168c. This point is highlighted not only by the fact that the peritropê argument comes immediately after Socrates has given a lecture on Protagoras’ behalf on the proper way to refute the homo mensura doctrine (167d4–168c2), but also by the fact that Socrates drags the older Theodorous into the conversation, insisting that he, rather than the younger Theaetetus, should defend his friend from Socrates’ criticisms (168c2–169d2). One of the reasons why the passage has enjoyed such fame is that the argument also appears in other ancient writers.⁴⁰⁰ Most notably, Sextus Empiricus believed the self-refutation argument to be successful. On this reading, what Plato shows is that if Protagoras’ doctrine is false, then it is false, and if the doctrine is true, then it is also false; thus, in all cases, it is false. Sextus’ position is significant because if it is correct, it means that Plato has provided a knockdown argument against the founding father of relativism and therefore a substantive roadblock to anyone who wants to revive such a position.⁴⁰¹ More recently, the argument has become the focal point of much discussion among Plato scholars because Myles Burnyeat has taken issue with Sextus’ interpretation of the Protagorean position as it is presented in the Theaetetus, and this in turn has led to a debate about the precise content of the claim that Plato is trying to refute.⁴⁰² Specifically, Burnyeat has argued that Sextus misinterpreted the Protagorean position because Sextus held it to be a form of what Burnyeat calls subjectivism or the view that every belief is true simpliciter. According to Burnyeat, the Protagorean position that is being attacked in the Theaetetus is not the subjectivist thesis so 400 See Burnyeat (1976a and 1976b). 401 See Meiland (1979). 402 Burnyeat (1976c).

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defined, but the truth-relative view that “every judgment is true for (in relation to) the person whose judgment it is.”⁴⁰³ This distinction becomes important once it is applied to the self-refutation argument. If Protagoras’ opponents believe the doctrine is false, then it is, by virtue of Protagoras’ theory, false only for them, rather than false absolutely, and if it is false only for them, then it does not seem to be immediately obvious that Protagoras must agree that it is also false for him. Therefore, this reading sheds some initial doubt on the success of the self-refutation argument. While he endeavors to show that Plato’s argument does in fact work against the Protagorean position so construed, Burnyeat’s interpretive proposal has generated a number of responses. Some have agreed that Burnyeat properly construes the Protagorean position in terms of truth-relativity, but have disagreed with some of the details of the critique itself and ultimately whether it is successful against the position so interpreted.⁴⁰⁴ Others, however, have argued that Burnyeat misconstrues the position. Most notably, Gail Fine has contended that Protagoras is portrayed in the Theaetetus not as a truth relativist, but rather as an infallibilist, such that Protagoras’ homo mensura doctrine amounts to the view that all beliefs are true absolutely or simpliciter.⁴⁰⁵ Perhaps the reason why so much debate has swirled around the self-refutation argument is that there is some tension between the claims put forth in the original exposition of the Protagorean position and the claims that are put forth as the selfrefutation argument unfolds. As we are told throughout Plato’s unpacking of the view and in the phase leading up to the self-refutation argument, the Protagorean position amounts to the claim that “things are for every man what they seem to be” (170a3–4).⁴⁰⁶ This can be reformulated as the claim that if (x) appears as or seems to be (F) to (a), then (x) is (F) to (a). However, there are two points left untouched by this formulation. First, it says nothing explicit about truth.⁴⁰⁷ Instead, one is left to infer the consequences this formulation has for thinking about truth. What is clear is that if (a) asserts that, “x is F in relation to a,” then his belief will be true absolutely because (x) is (F) to (a). What is not so clear is what happens when (a) simply asserts that “x is F.” On the one hand, one might claim that all such assertions are necessarily false. On this reading, the bald claim that “x is F” implies that there is some perceiverindependent reality in virtue of which (x) is (F). Since there is no such reality, “x is F” is false. On another reading, one might say, with Burnyeat, that “x is F” is true for (a). The problem, however, is that an analysis of the “for” relation is needed, and this is

403 Burnyeat (1976c, p. 172). 404 Meiland (1979) and Emilsson (1994). 405 Fine (1994, 1996, 1998a, and 1998b). Also see Bett (1989) and Ketchum (1992). 406 The Greek is: τὸ δοκοῦν ἑκάστῳ τοῦτο καὶ εἶναι φησί που ᾧ δοκεῖ. Other formulations occur at (Tht. 152a6–8), (160c7–9), (161d6–7), and (167a7–8). See Lee (2005, p. 49). 407 Unless, of course, one reads the “to be” veridically, thereby insisting that truth is built into the formulation.

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where Burnyeat’s account is somewhat ambiguous. On the one hand, he claims that the Protagorean doctrine amounts to a theory of relative truth. On the other hand, he analyzes the position in such a way that he (rightly) commits Protagoras to a relativism of fact.⁴⁰⁸ Perhaps the best way to explain the difference between these two positions is by noting how contemporary truth-relativists often think of truth as being a threeterm, rather than a two-term, relation. For the non-relativist, it is typically thought that truth is a two-term relation that expresses a certain correspondence between beliefs and the world. In contrast, the truth-relativist insists that this relation must be viewed from or mediated by some third thing such as a person, set of principles, or worldview.⁴⁰⁹ While the relativist does bear the burden of saying more about this third factor, the point is that by introducing this third factor, one cannot determine the truth of a belief simply by comparing it to a certain fact. Instead, assessing this truth relation will always take place from a particular point of view and will inevitably vary according to varying subjective conditions, whether these are specific to an individual, some culturally determined semantic framework, other beliefs, etc. Hence, on this view, one cannot speak of an absolute truth that is independent of such conditions, but one must always tie truth to a third term and therefore speak of beliefs as being true for or relative to something or someone. From this analysis, it is clear that if this is what relative truth is, the Protagorean position in the Theaetetus cannot be understood as a doctrine of relative truth.⁴¹⁰ Based on the argument of the Theaetetus, the reason why homo mensura does not amount to truth relativism is that truth is understood as a two-term relationship. That is, truth is constituted by a relationship between a certain belief and the way things are. Nevertheless, the Protagorean position is more complicated than this because it asserts that there is more than one way that things are, as each fact or set of facts is tied to a particular perceiver.⁴¹¹ Because of this, even though Protagorean relativism is not a version of truth relativism, it is a relativism of sorts, namely, what Lee has dubbed a “relativism of fact,” where properties or states of affairs are relativized or tied to particular perceivers.⁴¹² On this model, beliefs are not true simply because they are believed. Instead, beliefs are true because beliefs create facts that are relative to the believer and these facts, in turn, function as the standard by which a given belief is said to be true. Thus, if some (a) believes that “x is F,” then (a)’s belief that “x is F” 408 Burnyeat (1976c, p. 181). For his use of “simpliciter,” see Burnyeat (1976c, pp. 186f.) and Burnyeat (1976b, p. 46). 409 Meiland (1977, pp. 571f.). 410 Indeed, Lee (2005, p. 34) has argued that truth relativism is a fairly recent notion. Much of my analysis here is indebted to Lee’s discussion. See Welshon (2009, pp. 35ff.) for an attempt to attribute truth relativism to Nietzsche. 411 On this point, I agree with much of Burnyeat’s (1976c) analysis. 412 Lee (2005, p. 46) and Waterlow (1977, p. 32). See Giannopoulou (2011) for a reading that attributes to Protagoras a relativism of both fact and truth.

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generates a world relative to (a) in which (x) is (F), and this generated state of affairs, in turn, guarantees that the belief “x is F” is true. Thus, the upshot of the Protagorean position is not three-term truth relativity, but a relativism of fact, and it is this relativism of fact that generates multiple standards of truth. If the world generated by my beliefs functions as the standard of truth, then my beliefs in the form of “x is F” for me will all be true, and they will be true absolutely insofar as they stand in relation to the world created by my beliefs. Moreover, on this model, potentially contradictory beliefs are avoided by emphasizing that each truth claim is about a private world. Thus, if I claim that the wind is warm and you insist that it is cold, what we discover through the Protagorean doctrine is that we can both be right without contradicting each other because we are actually talking about two different winds, each existing only in relation to our perceptions or beliefs. One of the difficulties with the self-refutation argument is that it seems to ignore this very point. In eliminating the possibility of contradiction by privatizing the objects of judgment, the Protagorean model also eliminates the possibility of genuine disagreement. The problem, however, is that the self-refutation argument takes for granted the possibility and reality of disagreement and uses this as a key premise in getting Protagoras to reject his own position. This is one of the most confusing features of the self-refutation argument and therefore stands in need of further explanation. Although the premise that people disagree runs throughout the argument, it is most explicit when Socrates asks Theodorus if people agree with him whenever he expresses his judgment (170d8–9). Here, Theodorus responds by noting that thousands of people rise up against him whenever he presses his point (170e1–3). This passage is significant not only because it rhetorically exaggerates the degree of opposition that confronts Theodorus, but also because Plato seems to qualify Theodorus’ beliefs by the use of the relevant pronoun to indicate that his beliefs are, in some sense, true for him and, perhaps, true for him alone (170d5). This latter point is important because it is often thought that for Plato to argue properly against the Protagorean position, he must include qualifiers that tie the truth of each belief to a particular believer, and the fact that he sometimes fails to do so, especially in the self-refutation argument, suggests that he is being unfair to Protagoras.⁴¹³ The idea, then, is that in the instances in which he does use qualifiers, he is usually being true to the Protagorean position that things are for everyone exactly as they seem to be to each (170a3–4). The problem with this line of reasoning is that Plato’s use of the dative pronoun (soi) at 170d5 cannot mean that Theodorus’ belief is true for him either in the sense of being tied to a private world of relativized facts or in the sense of truth relativity. Instead, it is simply, as Fine has argued, a dative of person judging.⁴¹⁴ The

413 This argument can be found as far back as Grote (1867, Vol. II, pp. 347ff.). 414 Fine (1998a, p. 219).

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reason for preferring this reading of the pronoun is that the former two renderings of the qualifier do not make sense of the passage. At the heart of the passage is the claim that people like Theodorus live in a world in which, at the very least, people believe in genuine disagreement and so genuinely conflicting beliefs. If one were to read the dative pronoun at 170d5 as indicating that Theodorus’ belief is true for him or true in his private world, then what his opponents would be disputing is some fact that is only true for Theodorus (truth relativism) or true of Theodorus’ private world (relativism of fact). While one could imagine someone disputing the way things seem to another perceiver, this is not what Theodorus and Theodorus’ opponents are disputing. Instead, what they are disputing is a claim such as “x is F” put forth in a non-Protagorean way, namely, as true simpliciter about a non-relative fact. Thus, when the argument concludes with the claim that Theodorus is judging what is true for Theodorus, but false for the tens of thousands who oppose him, what we are being told is that “x is F” is true (simpliciter) because Theodorus judges it to be so and “x is F” is false (simpliciter) because his opponents judge it to be so (170e4–5). If it is right to read the qualifiers here this way, the problem that Plato seems to face is that of ignoratio elenchi.⁴¹⁵ That is, he is arguing against a view that Protagoras or even the Protagoras of Plato’s Theaetetus does not hold. This, of course, would be odd given that Plato has Socrates carefully develop the Protagorean claim in the earlier portion of the dialogue and give a lecture on the proper way to refute the position. To make sense of this, it is important to note that in the self-refutation argument we are not confronted with committed Protagoreans, but individuals who either reject or are ignorant of the Protagorean thesis. Thus, they hold that the beliefs of others can be and even are false and that genuine disagreement is possible. Given this, we might think that Protagoras could overcome the worries raised by the reality of disagreement by simply reminding the disputing parties that, in fact, there are no genuine disputes because every claim in the form of “x is F” needs to be reformulated in the language of “x is F for a.” Once this is done, each statement will be about a private set of facts and therefore no genuine disputes will be possible, unless someone wants to dispute the way things are in the private world of another. The problem with such a response is that it implicitly commits Protagoras to the view that there are false beliefs. On this view, people like Theodorus and his opponents have false beliefs about beliefs, i.e., second-order beliefs.⁴¹⁶ This is a problem for Protagoras because, as the homo mensura doctrine currently stands, he is committed to the view that there are no false beliefs, not even second-order beliefs. Thus, he cannot correct the second-order beliefs of non-Protagoreans because this would imply that there are, in fact, false beliefs and therefore amount to an implicit refutation of his position. 415 Bostock (1988, p. 90). 416 I adopt the language of second-order beliefs from Lee (2005, pp. 45ff.).

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The idea, then, is that if Protagoras is committed to the view that there are no false beliefs, i.e., not even second-order false beliefs, he must accept the beliefs of non-Protagoreans in the way that non-Protagoreans take them to be, namely, as straightforward assertions that are neither truth-relative nor tied to a relativized set of facts. Once one examines the arguments in this light, then Plato is successful in showing that the homo mensura doctrine is self-refuting as it is currently understood. That is, it is self-refuting if the doctrine is held to be true for everyone, i.e., even nonProtagoreans, and is said to be true of all beliefs, including second-order beliefs and therefore homo mensura itself. With these considerations in mind, I now turn to the argument. While there is some dispute about how to portion out the various steps in the arguments, one can say that Plato levels two broad attacks. The first runs from 170a6 to 170e6 and is designed to show that there are, contrary to what Protagoras’ doctrine entails, false beliefs. The second stretch of text runs from 170e7 to 171c7 and is designed to show that even Protagoras must admit that there are false beliefs and therefore that the doctrine is self-refuting. The first argument begins with the claim that everyone thinks that he is wiser than others in some matters, while others are wiser than he in other matters (170a8– 9). In the next step, wisdom and ignorance are explicitly tied to having true and false beliefs, where wisdom is having true thoughts and ignorance is making false judgments (170b8–9). Given that at least one person believes that others judge falsely, the argument is structured to show that it must be the case that there are false judgments. If the second-order judgment that others judge falsely is true, then others judge falsely and therefore there are false judgments. If the second-order judgment that others judge falsely is false, then again there are false judgments. Thus, insofar as people think that there are false judgments, it is the case that humans do not always render true judgments, but rather judgments that are true and false (170c4–5). Therefore, the view entailed by Protagoras’ homo mensura doctrine, namely, that all judgments are true, is false. In what seems to be a continuation of the same point (170d4–e6), Socrates then appeals to the fact that people often disagree with Theodorus whenever he renders a judgment. As noted above, this passage only makes sense if we read Theodorus as making judgments in the form of “x is F,” not in the relativized sense of “x is F for a.” This is because we are told that it is not only possible for others to criticize Theodorus’ judgments, but that others do in fact criticize them. In so doing, they claim that Theodorus’ judgment is false. Now if Protagoras’ doctrine is correct, then Theodorus’ judgment must be both true, because Theodorus believes it, and false, because others believe that it is false (170e4–5). Therefore, Theodorus’ judgment must be both true and false simpliciter. A question that arises from the interpretation put forth here has to do with the conclusion that one is supposed to draw from the fact that Theodorus’ judgment is now both true and false. Is one supposed to stop at this point, concluding that it is

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true and false? Or is one supposed to conclude that it is false either because Theodorus’ opponents outnumber Theodorus or because a belief that it is both true and false violates the principle of bivalence or perhaps PNC and is therefore false? Thus far, the text itself does not say. However, judging from the arguments that follow, it seems that Plato wants the reader to draw the conclusion that Theodorus’ belief is, at the very least, more false than true because it is opposed by a greater number of people. Plato now applies the same logic to Protagoras’ doctrine to show that, in its current form, Protagoras must admit that the doctrine will not be true for anyone at all, not even himself (170e7–171d7). The first part of the argument begins with a simple disjunction: On the one hand, if neither Protagoras nor anyone else believes the doctrine, then his book, Truth, will be true for no one (170e7–171a1); on the other hand, if Protagoras believes the doctrine but the many do not, then the doctrine will be not (true) more than be (true) (171a3).⁴¹⁷ While the reasoning in the first part of the disjunction is straightforward, the reasoning in the second part deserves some discussion. The idea is that since many people believe that the doctrine is false, the doctrine will be false even if Protagoras holds it to be true. Following the same pattern of reasoning in the first argument, the homo mensura doctrine as it is now understood renders beliefs about beliefs true, and therefore if someone believes that the homo mensura doctrine is false, then it is true that it is false and therefore the doctrine is false. Since Protagoras also believes that it is true and it is true because Protagoras believes it, the doctrine is, like Theodorus’ belief above, both true and false, and Plato has Socrates move on to conclude that the doctrine is-not more than is, which I take to mean, interpreting “to be” veridically, more not-true than true.⁴¹⁸ Having shown how Protagoras’ belief in his own doctrine will conflict with and be overthrown by the true beliefs of others who think it is false, Plato now has Socrates make what is supposed to be a most exquisite point (171a6), namely, that Protagoras, in a moment of intrapersonal conflict, must dispute the truth of his own doctrine (171a6–b2). Socrates begins by noting that Protagoras must admit that the belief of his opponents that his doctrine is false is true (171a6–9), and in so doing, Protagoras will be admitting that his own opinion is false (171b1–2). At this point, if the argument were presented in terms of private worlds, there would not be much of a problem for Protagoras. In Protagoras’ world, homo mensura would be true, and in the respective worlds of his opponents it would be false. The problem with this reading is that it not only eliminates the possibility of genuine disagreement, but also that it does not fit with the conclusion that Socrates then puts forth. The fact that there is genuine disagreement is suggested when Protagoras’ opponents refuse to admit that they are wrong, presumably resisting Protagoras’ claim that they are wrong and therefore 417 μᾶλλον οὐκ ἔστιν ἤ ἔστιν. 418 See Ketchum (1992, p.  100) for some considerations concerning the veridical interpretation of this passage.

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that they should change their beliefs accordingly (171b4–5).⁴¹⁹ Here, Protagoras must admit that his opponent’s judgment is true in the way his opponent takes it to be true, namely, true simpliciter, and therefore he will be forced to admit that neither a dog nor any other man is the measure of all things (171b10–c3). Since Protagoras and any like-minded follower must now dispute the doctrine, the doctrine will be disputed by everyone, and since it will be disputed by everyone, it will not be true for anyone at all, not even Protagoras (171c5–7). For reasons I will not discuss in detail here, I do not think that the self-refutation argument would work if Protagoras held a doctrine of relative truth and applied it to his own teaching, so that homo mensura would be true only for Protagoras and other like-minded individuals. Although this is an option open to the contemporary truthrelativist, it is not an option that Plato genuinely considers for Protagoras. Instead, the option that Plato does consider is limiting Protagoras’ doctrine to make room for distinctions between the wise and ignorant and the corresponding possibility of false beliefs. Such a reading is supported by the fact that Socrates not only suggests that Protagoras is wiser than they and therefore that he would likely be able to defend himself if he were still alive (171c11), but also by the fact that Socrates indicates that the upshot of the previous argument is that some men are wiser than others (171d6–7). In particular, one can say that the self-refutation argument shows that if homo mensura is true, then Protagoras must admit that he is wiser than Socrates insofar as he holds the true belief that all first-order beliefs are true, as opposed to Socrates who thinks that first-order beliefs are both true and false. In other words, Protagoras must admit that if homo mensura is correct, then there is at least one point about which he can be wiser than others and about which others like Socrates can get it wrong, namely, the measure doctrine itself. Reading the self-refutation argument as a strategy in limiting the scope of the Protagorean thesis and not an outright rejection of the view is also supported by Socrates’ claims in a passage immediately following the peritropê argument. Specifically, it is noted that although homo mensura might not fare so well when it comes to matters of health, it might very well be true of immediately perceived qualities such as warm, dry, and sweet (171e). Indeed, Socrates repeats this very point after arguing that the Protagorean thesis also fails in matters relating to future benefit (179a). There he claims that it is more difficult, if not impossible, to convict the Protagorean theory of being untrue “so long as we keep within the limits of that immediate present experience of the individual which gives rise to perceptions and to perceptual judgments” (179c2–5).⁴²⁰ In fact, because the Protagorean doctrine is more resistant in such matters, Socrates claims that if they are going to show that the deliverances of the senses are not always forms of knowledge, they will have to return to the first prin419 Also see Tht. 171b12, where Socrates refers to Protagoras’ opponent as one who contradicts him. 420 περὶ δὲ τὸ παρὸν ἑκάστῳ πάθος, ἐξ ὧν αἱ αἰσθήσεις καὶ αἱ κατὰ ταύτας δόξαι γίγνονται, χαλεπώτερον ἑλεῖν ὡς οὐκ ἀληθεῖς.

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ciple of the secret teaching and test Heraclitus’ doctrine of moving being, subjecting it to critical examination (179d3).

4.12 The Incompatibility of Heraclitean Ontology and Knowledge is Perception For the purposes of thinking about Nietzsche’s own understanding of becoming and its relationship to both language and knowledge, there are two features of Plato’s critical examination of Heraclitus’ flux doctrine that stand out. The first is that the initial distinction made between (H1) “everything is in motion” and (H2) “everything is motion” goes unacknowledged, and Plato directs his critique exclusively at the former formulation.⁴²¹ The second is that the primary goal of the passage is not to refute the former formulation of the doctrine. Instead, it is to show that Heraclitus’ flux doctrine does not, in fact, support Theaetetus’ definition of knowledge. This is because the flux doctrine, as Plato construes it here, leads to the complete breakdown of language, and the complete breakdown of language prevents Theaetetus from saying anything about anything, including knowledge. As commentators have also noted, the breakdown of language also entails the impossibility of stating the flux thesis itself, and while some have thought that this functions as a reductio ad absurdum of the theory, it is better to say that if this argument is to be understood as a refutation of the Heraclitean theory at all, it is better understood as what Allan Silverman has called an “operational self-refutation.”⁴²² The impossibility of stating the Heraclitean thesis is, of course, a familiar theme from Aristotle’s defense of PNC in Metaphysics IV. There we are told that Heraclitus denies the ontological formulation of PNC, and in so doing, he makes significant speech impossible. As a result, the Heraclitean position results in Cratylean silence and so the impossibility of explicitly stating the denial of PNC. In the Theaetetus, the conclusion is similar, but the means are quite different. Specifically, what Plato has Socrates do is respond to Theodorus’ complaints about the difficulty of getting the followers of Heraclitus to say anything definite by encouraging him to study the matter like a problem in geometry (180c6). According to Socrates, the proper starting point is motion (181c1), and here we are told that there are two types of motion, namely, local movement (phora), which includes turning around in the same place, and alteration or qualitative change (alloiôsis) (181d6). Socrates then gets Theodorus to admit that the Heracliteans will be committed to the view that all things are always undergoing both types of change. The reason is that otherwise there will be a kind of standing still, a possibility that the Heracliteans must reject (181d–e).

421 See Bostock (1988, p. 99) and Silverman (2000, p. 120). 422 See Silverman (2000, p. 150). Chappell (2005, pp. 133ff.) presents a similar reading.

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At this point, Socrates brings in the theory of perception that was developed earlier in the dialogue as part of the secret teaching. The strategy is to show that once the principle of change is applied to the twins involved in perception, the thesis that knowledge is perception becomes unintelligible. Specifically, we are told that warmth and whiteness are generated as they move between the active and passive factors, where the passive factor becomes a perceiver and the active factor becomes a certain sort of thing, e.g., warm or white, that is perceived (182a–b). At this point, the key principle of the secret doctrine is repeated, namely, that nothing, including the active and passive factors, is in itself just one thing (182b4), and this is followed by the related assertion that perceptions and perceptual qualities come to be in association with each other. Here the active factor becomes a certain sort of thing, while the passive factor becomes percipient (182b4–7).⁴²³ Having laid out these preliminaries, Socrates initiates his critique, and he does so, first, by pointing out that the Heraclitean principle of universal change entails that everything undergoes both local motion and qualitative change (182c6–7). The problem that this generates is that since everything is undergoing qualitative change at any time, one can never say what sort of thing the local motion is while it is flowing (182c9–11). As a result, one cannot say that the whiteness generated between the passive and active factors flows white precisely because it must be changing into something else at all times, and because it is always changing into something else, it is impossible to speak properly about it at all (182d4–5). Although one might think that one cannot speak about these things because they are flowing too fast, perhaps the best explanation of why one cannot speak about them is that when they are changing, they are just as much what they are changing from as what they are changing to. As a result, qualities such as white, on this view, are equally not-white, and therefore they are not anything definite, and since they are not anything definite, one cannot properly say what they are.⁴²⁴ It is from this example that Theodorus introduces the general principle that if anything is flowing in the way that was just described, one cannot speak properly about that thing, and Socrates proceeds to apply this principle to the perceptions themselves, namely, seeings, hearings, etc. (182d–3). In so doing, Socrates claims that one may not call any perception a seeing rather than a not-seeing nor can one call anything a perception rather than not-perception (182e4–6). Thus, if one defines knowledge in terms of perception, the Heraclitean doctrine actually forces one to admit that knowledge is also not-perception. Here, one might think that these two contradictory answers should both be considered false, but we are first told that if one follows the Heraclitean doctrine of putting everything in motion, then one ends up making every 423 ἕν μηδὲν αὐτὸ καθ’ αὑτὸ εἶναι, μηδ’ αὖ τὸ ποιοῦν ἤ πάσχον, ἀλλ’ ἐξ ἀμφοτέρων πρὸς ἄλληλα συγγιγνομένων τὰς αἰσθήσεις καὶ τὰ αἰσθητὰ ἀποτίκτοντα τὰ μέν ποι’ ἄττα γίγνεσθαι, τὰ δὲ αἰσθανόμενα. 424 Here I follow Denyer (1990, p. 104).

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answer correct, as everything both is (or becomes) thus and is (or becomes) not thus (183a). This, however, is quickly corrected by Socrates when he notes that even using “thus” and “not thus” would fix or stabilize things in a way that would be contrary to the Heraclitean principle of moving being. Indeed, it is for this reason that the Heracliteans either need to establish some other language that is consistent with their principle of moving being or content themselves with saying “not thus” in a manner that is indefinite (apeiron) (183a5). For Burnyeat, this argument is supposed to function as a refutation not only of the Heraclitean position, but the entire secret doctrine.⁴²⁵ He argues this because he thinks there is an entailment relationship between the three theses from Theaetetus’ definition of knowledge (T), to Protagoras’ measure doctrine (P), to Heraclitus’ flux doctrine (H), and so once it is shown that Heraclitus’ flux doctrine is false because it entails the breakdown of language, the other two theses will be false as well by modus tollens. The problem with Burnyeat’s argument is twofold. The first is that it is questionable that the argument put forth in the passage amounts to a refutation of the Heraclitean thesis. The second is that Plato’s primary intention is not to show how the Heraclitean position is self-refuting, but to disassociate the doctrine from Theaetetus’ claim that knowledge is perception. Thus, the argument implies that Theaetetus’ position not only does not entail the doctrine, but that it even fails to support it. The reason why Plato’s argument does not constitute a straightforward refutation of the Heraclitean position is because even if he establishes that the position entails the breakdown of language, there is no corresponding argument to establish the denial of the consequent. While one might think it obvious that significant speech is possible, the Heraclitean could turn the argument into a modus ponens and argue that because constant motion is true, one must give up the commonsense belief in significant speech. In light of this fact, perhaps the best defense of the view that the Heraclitean position is refuted comes from Silverman, who contends that the argument should be read as an operational self-refutation, where the doctrine is not shown to be false, but rather unpresentable.⁴²⁶ The worry with Silverman’s proposal, however, is that Plato does suggest that proponents of the Heraclitean view might establish some other language to present their doctrine.⁴²⁷ While there is some hint of irony here, it is important to note that the critique of the Heraclitean position began with Theodorus issuing complaints about how the Heracliteans only speak in enigmatic phrases (179e–180b), and therefore these enigmatic phrases could be construed as the

425 Burnyeat (1990, p. 9). 426 Silverman (2000, p. 150). 427 Silverman (2000, p. 149) tries to eliminate the possibility of a language that uses only negations by arguing that even negative statements are themselves definite. While I agree with Silverman that negative statements are definite, I disagree that the Heraclitean has to abandon these as well on the grounds that the Heraclitean of the sort that Plato portrays here is only committed to the indeterminacy of nature, not the indeterminacy of statements.

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Heraclitean attempt to articulate the doctrine in an alternative language or to indicate that the doctrine itself is radically incompatible with significant speech. In any case, the main thrust of Plato’s argument is not to refute the Heraclitean position, but to show that the Heraclitean position does not support Theaetetus’ initial definition.⁴²⁸ Indeed, the Heraclitean position is not only incompatible with Theaetetus’ initial definition of knowledge, but with any definition of knowledge, and it is not only incompatible with any definition of knowledge, but with any definition whatsoever. Thus, what the argument shows is that the Heraclitean position is radically incompatible with the Socratic search for definitions, and what this means is not that the Heraclitean position must be rejected, but that one cannot be committed to both. Since the argument offers no explicit rejection of the Heraclitean thesis and Plato wants to preserve the quest for Socratic definitions, it remains to be seen if the Heraclitean position is, in the end, refuted, and it is with this question in mind that I turn to Socrates’ direct examination of Theaetetus’ original claim that knowledge is perception.

4.13 The Refutation of Knowledge is Perception Plato’s direct refutation of Theaetetus’ initial definition of knowledge occurs in the final stretch of text covered here (184–187). For grappling with Nietzsche’s views, this section of the text is important because it lays out the requirement that knowledge in the traditional sense of epistêmê must be of being or ousia and so we can identify the historical background for Nietzsche’s claim that an ontology of becoming, one which denies being or ousia, makes knowledge of this sort impossible (WP 517; NL, KSA 12, 9[89]). The refutation appears to be short and simple. As I noted at the beginning of my analysis, two criteria for what counts as knowledge have already been provided by Socrates: Knowledge must be of what is (ousia) and it must be unerring (apseudos) (Tht. 152c5–6). Plato rejects Theaetetus’ definition because perception is now said to fail to grasp being and truth, and since perception fails to grasp being and truth, perception cannot, given these two criteria, be knowledge (186c). The swiftness of Plato’s refutation cannot but leave the reader bewildered in at least two related respects. The first issue is that if this argument is successful in the way that both Socrates and Theaetetus take it to be, then why was it not introduced as an immediate objection to Theaetetus’ definition? That is, if we know that the senses cannot grasp being and truth, and grasping being and truth are necessary conditions for knowing anything at all, there does not seem to be any obvious reason why Socrates should have to move Theaetetus through the entire Protagorean-Heraclitean teaching and the various objections leveled against it in order to disprove Theaetetus’

428 In this, I follow Lee (2005, pp. 114f.).

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position. Instead, Socrates could simply bypass these points, insist that the senses cannot grasp being and truth, and conclude that knowledge is not perception. This raises a second question: Why does Socrates reject what he seems to grant at an early stage in the dialogue, namely, the claim that perception grasps what is (152c5–6)? The answers to these two questions are by no means clear, and this portion of the dialogue has given commentators just as much trouble as the peritropê argument.⁴²⁹ However, there is good reason to think that the answer to both questions can be found in the introduction of the “secret” teaching brought in to support Theaetetus’ initial definition. This is because although the secret teaching eliminates error by making everything in the perceptual realm relative to the perceiver, it does so by sacrificing being or things that exist in and for themselves. Thus, if one is committed to the view that epistêmê necessarily involves grasping being or ousia, the Heraclitean-Protagorean position, by doing away with beings or things that are, necessarily leads to a denial of knowledge so construed. In this sense, the Theaetetus provides an extended account of the point made at the end of the Cratylus, in which it is said that if Heraclitus is right, there can be no knowledge (gnôsis) (Crat. 440a). On this reading of the Theaetetus, the reason why it takes Socrates so long to raise this “fatal” objection to Theaetetus’ position is that he first needs to unpack the implications of the secret teaching that is brought in to ensure that all appearances are true, and one of the implications is that it denies being. In this sense, Plato is using the HeracliteanProtagorean view, as applied to the sensible world, to refute Theaetetus’ claim that knowledge is perception. If it seems strange that Plato should employ the Heraclitean-Protagorean understanding of the sensible world to refute Theaetetus’ definition, one should not forget that Plato has Socrates acknowledge on two occasions that the Protagorean theory is much more difficult to convict, if it can be convicted at all, insofar as it is restricted to the realm of immediate sense perception (171e and 179c). Thus, the argument of the Theaetetus is that if there is going to be knowledge, which, for Plato, must be of being or things that are, there must be something more than the world revealed in immediate sense perception. In other Platonic dialogues such as the Phaedo and the Republic, the world that transcends what is available to sense perception is the world of the Forms, and these are beings that can be known not through the senses, but by reason itself. In this way, one can say that the Theaetetus shows how the strict empiricism of Theaetetus leads to skepticism. At the same time, the dialogue opens up the possibility that the senses are not the only means to knowledge and the possibility

429 More recent debates begin with Cooper’s (1970) response to Cornford’s (1935) view that the argument indirectly shows that one can only have knowledge of the Forms. Since then, a number of authors have sought to address this and other issues in the passage. See Bostock (1988), Burnyeat (1976a), M. Frede (1987), Kahn (1981), Kanayama (1987), Lee (2005), McCabe (1994), McDowell (1973), Modrak (1981), Polansky (1992), Shea (1985), and Silverman (1990). I cannot pretend to do justice to these debates here.

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that there are entities other than perceptible things that can be objects of knowledge. If this is right, then this section of the Theaetetus provides a dramatic exposition of the thought processes that, according to Aristotle, led Plato to develop his doctrine of the Forms (Met. 987a32–987b15).⁴³⁰ Although there is textual evidence in the Theaetetus to suggest that Plato does have the Forms in mind in his refutation of Theaetetus’ view that knowledge is perception, it would be a mistake to read the passage as Plato’s attempt to convince the reader of the existence of Forms based on the skepticism that results from Theaetetus’ strict empiricism. Not only is such an argument absent from the text, it would be insufficient if it were present. This is because one cannot infer from the demands of knowledge that there are beings that somehow conform to these demands. In other words, skepticism is always a genuine possibility. Nevertheless, even though Plato does not provide a full-blown account of the Forms in the dialogue and supplement this account with arguments as to why they exist, the reader does get an argument for something that is, in the language of the Cratylus, not at all like the flowings or motions of the Heraclitean world (Crat. 440b4–c1). Specifically, one gets an argument for the existence of the “that which knows” (to gignôskon) (Crat. 440b5). In the language of the Theaetetus, one gets an argument for the existence of some single form that is called the soul (psuchê) (Tht. 184d3). The idea that I am putting forth here is that although the presence of Form-like language at this juncture in the Theaetetus is certainly a matter of controversy, one should not underestimate the significance of Plato’s claim that a unified entity like the soul is necessary, first, to explain the unity of experience (184d1–5) and, second, to explain how one can engage in the process of examining the common features of sense experience (185b–e). Regarding the first point, Socrates argues that if our eyes were what did the seeing and our ears were what did the hearing rather than having one thing that sees and hears through the eyes and the ears, respectively, nothing would unify the data that the various senses provide.⁴³¹ In other words, Plato’s argument is that a unified entity like the soul is a necessary condition of the unity of experience. Regarding the second point, Socrates introduces the principle that it is not possible for a particular sense to grasp what is common to more than one sense (185b8–9), and since we can grasp what is common to more than one sense, there must be more involved in this process than the senses. In particular, he argues that

430 In putting forth this controversial claim, I am roughly following Cornford’s (1935, p. 7) general position that the point of the Theaetetus is to show that one cannot get along without the Forms. Where I differ from Cornford is that I think a good case can be made for dating the Theaetetus prior to works like the Republic and the Phaedo. For a direct response to Cornford’s reading, see Robinson (1950). Also see Hackforth (1957) and Sedley (1996). 431 See Burnyeat (1976a).

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“in investigating the common features of everything the soul functions itself through itself” (185d8–e2).⁴³² On the one hand, Plato’s argument here is important because it involves the denaturalization of the knowing subject and therefore an indirect attack on what Aristotle identifies as the general mental outlook of the pre-Socratics that equates all being with what is perceived (Met. 1010a2–3).⁴³³ On the other hand, even though this argument is embedded within Socrates’ rejection of Theaetetus’ claim that knowledge is perception, it nevertheless functions as a direct refutation of what I have identified as the fundamental principle of the Heraclitean-Protagorean position, namely, (RP). That is, the identification of the soul as something that is one and functions itself by itself is a rejection of the claim that there is nothing that is one and exists itself by itself. What is interesting to note about this argument is that it is the only one that directly refutes the Heraclitean-Protagorean position as an accurate and exhaustive account of what there is. This is because the final argument against (T) simply shows that knowledge is not perception because perception does not, first and foremost, grasp being or ousia and so cannot provide knowledge. It says nothing about (H), (P), or (RP), and the argument actually seems to depend on a restricted application of these views. Similarly, the peritropê argument against (P) ultimately shows that Protagoras must admit that at least some judgments admit of truth and falsity. It does not, however, say that (P) is false in all its forms. Finally, the argument against (H) does not show that it is false, but rather that it does not support (T) because it makes definitions impossible. For these reasons, Plato’s greatest challenge to the relational ontology that he has outlined here is that of explaining certain features of our mental life without recourse to a soul that is one and functions itself by itself.

4.14 Some Concluding Remarks The primary purpose of providing this exposition of the Theaetetus has been to develop a framework for thinking about Nietzsche’s own perspectivism and its potential relationship to his Heraclitean commitments. Because this is the focus of the next chapter, it will be helpful to summarize the results. The first point is that the Heraclitean-Protagorean position in the Theaetetus is developed in response to certain problems that emerge from careful observation of the empirical world. In a move that parallels Aristotle’s claim that forms of naturalism and empiricism in pre-Socratic philosophizing led to the theories of change and perception proposed by Heraclitus and Protagoras, respectively, the Heraclitean-Protagorean position in the Theaetetus emerges from the empiricism implicit in Theaetetus’ first definition of knowledge. 432 The full passage of the Greek, part of which I have translated, reads: ἀλλ’ αὐτὴ δι’ αὑτῆς ἡ ψυχὴ τὰ κοινά μοι φαίνεται περὶ πάντων ἐπισκοπεῖν. 433 See sections 2.7 and 2.9 for an explication of Aristotle’s argument.

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Applied to Nietzsche’s philosophy, one should therefore not be surprised to find that his naturalist and empiricist commitments are compatible with both a Heraclitean ontology that reduces everything to interrelated powers and a perspectivism that resembles Protagoras’ homo mensura doctrine. To preserve the claim that knowledge is perception in light of the problem of conflicting appearances, Socrates encourages Theaetetus to make every appearance relative to a particular perceiver, thereby making each perceiver the measure of what is and what is not. Although the problem of conflicting appearances relates only peripherally to Nietzsche’s project, appearing briefly in “On Truth and Lie,” it results in two doctrines that are central to his philosophical program. Specifically, the problem of conflicting appearances is resolved by rejecting the existence of things-in-themselves, and this leads not only to the denial of an appearance-reality distinction, but also to an ontology in which everything exists and is what it is only in relation to something else. Not only is the denial of the appearance-reality distinction a much-discussed aspect of Nietzsche’s philosophy, the idea that everything has only relative existence is the cornerstone of Nietzsche’s tragic worldview. In developing a Heraclitean ontology that conforms to the demand that all reality is relational, Plato has Socrates present a world in which indeterminate powers (dunameis) are the fundamental constituents of reality. Although they are fundamental in the sense that reality cannot be analyzed any further, they are not things-inthemselves. They are not things-in-themselves because they exist only insofar as they are affecting other powers, and so this ontology of indeterminate powers conforms to the relativity principle. Moreover, these powers are indeterminate because they only become what they are insofar as they are affecting and so standing in relation to other entities. However, because this ontology renders the world indeterminate, it is not fully intelligible, much like the irrational numbers discussed at the beginning of the Theaetetus. In this way, the Heraclitean ontology described here leads to the paradoxical skepticism found in both Aristotle’s defense of PNC in Metaphysics IV and Nietzsche’s own philosophical project. The Theaetetus also provides an account of the way in which commonsense worlds of everyday objects are constructed from a reality that is reduced to indeterminate powers. Here, the commonsense world is not one of independently existing selves and things, but one in which both selves and things are explained either in terms of interrelated slow motions or reduced to bundles of interrelated perceptions and perceived qualities, respectively. As I argue in the next chapter, these are roughly the two ways that Nietzsche invites us to think about commonsense objects (and selves) and how they relate to the dynamic ontology he endorses. That is, we can think of objects (and selves) as constellations of wills to power or we can think of objects as relatively existing bundles of perceived properties that are constructed in the processes of perception and cognition. Additionally, the peritropê argument does not lead to a refutation of the homo mensura doctrine, but rather forces the defender of the Protagorean theory to

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acknowledge that there is at least one thing of which man is not the measure, namely, the measure doctrine itself. In other words, the Protagorean theory as presented in the Theaetetus is meant to be true for everyone on account of its objective authority, and it is linked to a Heraclitean ontology of interrelated powers that is also meant to be true for everyone on account of its objective authority. So understood, Plato’s analysis of the Heraclitean-Protagorean position in the Theaetetus shows that the view is not a relativism of truth, but a relativism of fact, and it is this relativism of fact that Plato’s Heraclitus and Plato’s Protagoras take to be absolutely true. As such, it can serve, as it does for Nietzsche, as a standard by which to reject, as false, understandings of reality that deny the truth of this view. Finally, although the Protagorean thesis initially entails that all beliefs are true, these first-order beliefs are true only insofar as they refer to the private worlds that they generate. However, insofar as such first-order beliefs purport to be about some perceiver-independent reality, they can be deemed false. Although Plato does not commit Protagoras to such a view, one can see how Nietzsche’s falsification thesis could follow from a relativism of fact. That is, one can see how Nietzsche might claim that most of our beliefs are false precisely because our beliefs often assert the existence of non-relative entities. Moreover, Plato does associate a falsification thesis with the Heraclitean ontology that is brought in to support Theaetetus’ definition of knowledge. Not only is it argued that language cannot adequately express this ontology, it is also argued that it is incompatible with the kinds of definitions that Socrates demands from his interlocutors. Such a critique of language, logic, and the Socratic quest for definitions is a central feature of Nietzsche’s own philosophy, and I argue that it derives from his belief that a Heraclitean ontology similar to the one unpacked in the Theaetetus is true. In the next chapter, I contend that Nietzsche remains committed to such an ontology in Beyond Good and Evil, but because he is interested in escaping what he thinks are the skeptical and even life-denying consequences of such a view, he develops a Protagorean perspectivism that allows for the construction of relatively existing selves and worlds that make life and even perspectival knowledge possible.

Chapter Five Heraclitean Becoming, Protagorean Perspectivism, and the Will to Power in Beyond Good and Evil The Greek culture of the Sophists had developed out of all the Greek instincts; it belongs to the culture of the Periclean age as necessarily as Plato does not: it has its predecessors in Heraclitus, in Democritus, in the scientific types of the old philosophy; it finds expression in, e.g., the high culture of Thucydides. And – it has ultimately shown itself to be right: every advance in epistemological and moral knowledge has reinstated the Sophists – Our contemporary way of thinking is to a great extent Heraclitean, Democritean, and Protagorean: it suffices to say it is Protagorean, because Protagoras represented a synthesis of Heraclitus and Democritus.  – Nietzsche, 1888 (WP 428; NL, KSA 13, 14[116])

5.1 Introduction In the first three chapters, attention was focused on Nietzsche’s Heraclitean ontology and how this ontology forms the basis for the falsification thesis and, more generally, what I have called Nietzsche’s tragic philosophy. Although there are a number of facets to Nietzsche’s tragic philosophy, perhaps the most important is the tension that it generates between truth and life. In the analysis of Human, All Too Human, it was shown how Nietzsche adopts the values of the Enlightenment in dedicating his life to the pursuit of truth. In turning to Beyond Good and Evil, one finds that Nietzsche has reversed this relationship by subordinating truth to the demands of life. Now that God has died at the hands of the scientific program and the related critique of moral prejudices carried out in the works of the free spirit, there is no metaphysical grounding for what I have called the morality of truth and science (GS 344). As a result, Nietzsche, now writing qua free spirit, is at liberty to make life and the promotion of life the standard for assessing judgments, and this is what he does in Beyond Good and Evil. Nietzsche’s turn to life in Beyond Good and Evil disrupts any straightforward reading of his published works. This is because one can find him attacking the morality of truth and science, i.e., the very position upheld in Human, All Too Human, in early works such as “On Truth and Lie” and History for Life. In “On Truth and Lie,” Nietzsche argues that the drive for truth is not a moral imperative deriving from the absolute value of truth, but emerges from a more fundamental desire for self-preservation, and that the so-called truths that most people desire are actually conventions or fictions that have pleasant and beneficial consequences (TL 1). In History for Life, truth is presented as something hostile to life (HL 9), and Nietzsche argues that the quest for truth at any cost must therefore be subordinated to the demands of culture and life. Consequently, history should not be pursued as an objective science, but

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rather as an art form that promotes culture and serves life. Because Human, All Too Human is a rejection of these positions but Beyond Good and Evil constitutes a return to them, it would seem that Nietzsche’s own thought on such matters is in continual flux. It is in response to these interpretive difficulties that I have developed the reading of Nietzsche’s texts that I outlined in the introduction and say more about in the epilogue. Specifically, what Nietzsche is doing in Human, All Too Human and the other works of the free spirit is starting with the basic principles of the Enlightenment project and walking himself and his reader through a series of reflections designed to show how this project self-destructs, in which the drive for truth undermines the absolute value of truth and ultimately makes possible the rebirth of tragic art in Zarathustra.⁴³⁴ On this reading, Beyond Good and Evil is a further step in this development and marks a full-fledged return to Nietzsche’s original position in “On Truth and Lie” and History for Life. That is, just as he argues in History for Life that history should not be a science serving the demands of truth but rather an art form that serves the demands of life, Nietzsche outlines a philosophy of the future in Beyond Good and Evil in which judgments are assessed not according to their truth or falsity but according to the way in which they promote and enhance life (BGE 4). The argument of History for Life is also important because Nietzsche identifies the need to construct “horizons” or limited and defined life-worlds in response to the deadly truth of Heraclitean becoming (HL 1 and 9). This is important not only because there is reason for seeing his early talk of horizons as a predecessor to his later notion of perspectives,⁴³⁵ but also because Nietzsche’s talk of horizons in History for Life and his perspectivism in Beyond Good and Evil both develop as a response to his commitment to Heraclitus’ deadly ontology. In this sense, Beyond Good and Evil continues Nietzsche’s commitment to the Heraclitean ontology expressed in both History for Life and Human, All Too Human, but reverses the relationship between life and truth expressed in Human, All Too Human. Thus, Beyond Good and Evil marks a return to the view already present in History for Life, and it is in returning to the view already present in History for Life that Nietzsche develops a perspectivism in Beyond Good and Evil that resembles his concept of horizons in History for Life. In this chapter, I expand upon and provide evidence for this way of understanding the emergence of perspectivism in Nietzsche’s post-Zarathustra publications. The argument is that Nietzsche’s perspectivism not only does not undermine what seems to be a dogmatic commitment to a Heraclitean ontology, but actually derives from and responds to it. In other words, Nietzsche’s perspectivism does not undermine the objective validity of his tragic philosophy or worldview; instead, it is just one important feature of such a worldview. In the previous chapter, I turned to 434 See GM III 27 for Nietzsche’s description of this process in terms of the self-overcoming of Christian morality. 435 See NL, KSA 12, 2[108], where Nietzsche uses horizons and perspectives interchangeably.

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Plato’s Theaetetus to develop a model for understanding how a Protagorean perspectivism can be embedded within a Heraclitean ontology by analyzing Plato’s account of Protagoras’ homo mensura doctrine and its relationship to the Heraclitean ontology unpacked in the dialogue. In so doing, I also argued that Plato’s famous self-refutation argument did not prove the falsity of Protagoras’ position, but rather forced its defender to limit the scope of the doctrine, thereby admitting that there was at least one thing of which man was not the measure, namely, the measure doctrine itself. Thus people like Socrates can be wrong in denying the truth of homo mensura, just as they can be wrong in denying the truth of the Heraclitean ontology brought in to support the doctrine, and this is because such ideas are presented as objective descriptions of the world that are meant to be true for everyone, even for those who do not believe them. One of the main reasons for thinking of Nietzsche’s perspectivism as one aspect of a larger philosophical worldview as opposed to a guiding principle that embraces all his other positions is that his published works offer very little straightforward exposition of what the doctrine means. Of course, this makes it extremely difficult to develop a proper understanding of perspectivism, and it explains why commentators have offered such a wide range of interpretations of the position. However, one can get a better understanding of Nietzsche’s perspectivism by turning to his source for the term, namely, Teichmüller’s Die wirkliche und die scheinbare Welt. This is because Teichmüller’s work provides evidence for thinking that Nietzsche’s own perspectivism can be tied to the Heraclitean-Protagorean position articulated in the Theaetetus and a fairly detailed description of what perspectivism is and how it contrasts with dogmatism. For Teichmüller, a dogmatist is not someone who believes that his views should be accepted by everyone on account of their objective validity; instead, a dogmatist believes that the objects of knowledge are genuine substances or, in Nietzsche’s language, things-in-themselves. What the dogmatist fails to recognize is that these objects are ultimately projections of or perspectival entities created by the knowing subject. This, then, is part of what perspectivism means for Teichmüller: The knowing subject constructs a world of intelligible objects by projecting categories such as unity and self-identity onto what can be called the chaos of sensations. One of the difficulties that Teichmüller’s account of perspectivism poses for my reading is that he also understands scientific claims to be merely perspectival projections. This fact, coupled with Nietzsche’s apparent criticisms of the natural sciences in Beyond Good and Evil, poses a problem for my reading because I have argued thus far that Nietzsche justifies his commitment to a Heraclitean ontology by appealing to the authority of the natural sciences. If Nietzsche follows Teichmüller on this point, then one must think of Nietzsche’s ontology of dynamic relations as just another perspectival projection of the knowing subject and therefore hold that, in his post-Zarathustra writings, perspectivism is indeed the dominant teaching that encompasses all his other positions. To defend my reading, I first argue that both Teichmüller’s claims and Nietzsche’s attacks on science are directed primarily at a mechanistic

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understanding of nature that includes a self-identical entity in the form of the atom. I then argue that Nietzsche’s broader attack on science, objectivity, and the will to truth does not amount to a rejection of a scientifically justified Heraclitean ontology, but rather a rejection of the morality of truth and science. That is, Nietzsche rejects the idea that we ought to seek the truth at all costs and try to live according to a maximally de-anthropomorphized conception of reality. In contrast, the purpose of Beyond Good and Evil is to outline a philosophy of the future where the will to power supplants the will to truth and where the task of this philosophy is not to discover a pre-given world of things-in-themselves but to create order and value that make life possible and the world intelligible. With the introduction of the will to power, another challenge to my reading emerges because Nietzsche characterizes the teaching as interpretation rather than fact or text (BGE  22). Insofar as the will to power can be understood as expressing Nietzsche’s commitment to an ontology of dynamic relations, it would seem that this ontology is therefore interpretation and not text or fact. My response to this requires a distinction that my efforts thus far have made possible. In particular, I have shown that Nietzsche is committed to an ontology of dynamic relations long before the development of the will to power and, in Human, All Too Human, he articulates his commitment to this view in the language of the natural sciences. The will to power, therefore, is more than this Heraclitean ontology and can be understood as something that “completes” the scientific concept of force. In particular, I contend that Nietzsche’s will to power is a doctrine that characterizes the world in such a way that allows for an explanation of a wide variety of phenomena in terms of some fundamental or essential fact and therefore makes knowledge possible. In characterizing the world as such, Nietzsche leaves behind the strict methodology of Human, All Too Human that bans any form of anthropomorphism by consciously interpreting, simplifying, and even falsifying nature through the analogy of man. In what follows, I begin with a brief overview of the readings of Nietzsche’s perspectivism that have been developed over the past few decades in the secondary literature. I then turn to Teichmüller’s account of perspectivism in order to provide a backdrop for my own reading of the position. Next, I develop a framework for understanding Nietzsche’s perspectivism, one that resonates with both my reading of Protagoras’ homo mensura doctrine from the Theaetetus and Teichmüller’s account of perspectivism, by turning to three sections from the published works – GS 354, GS 374, and GM III 12 – in which Nietzsche discusses perspectivism. With this understanding of the view in hand, I provide a reading of the opening sections of Beyond Good and Evil that emphasizes the way in which Nietzsche is still committed to a Heraclitean ontology that, in turn, grounds his perspectivism. In the final sections, I examine selected passages from Beyond Good and Evil to develop a reading of the will to power that is compatible with Nietzsche’s Heraclitean ontology and Protagorean epistemology, and I conclude with some suggestions as to how the will to power can be associated with ancient Greek notions of pleonexia and eros.

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5.2 Nietzsche’s Perspectivism in the Secondary Literature The fact that a chapter devoted to Beyond Good and Evil begins with an extended discussion of Nietzsche’s perspectivism is due not so much to the central role that the concept plays in the work, but rather to the significance it has taken on in recent secondary literature. On the one hand, Nietzsche refers to perspectivism, along with the related language of interpretation, just enough to warrant serious discussion of the view and to justify the claim that he has something that could be called a doctrine of perspectivism. On the other hand, references to the doctrine are limited and obscure enough so as to leave scholars not only at a loss as to how the doctrine should be defined, but also wondering about how to deal with the various theoretical difficulties that emerge once it is defined. In German scholarship, two general approaches to Nietzsche’s perspectivism and the related language of interpretation can be traced through the secondary literature. First, there is a roughly Kantian reading that tends to speak more of perspectivism than interpretation. This reading emphasizes the limits of our ability to theorize about and know a world that lies beyond our consciousness. Second, there is what I call a Heraclitean reading that emphasizes Nietzsche’s talk of interpretation and embeds such talk in a Heraclitean ontology of dynamic relations.⁴³⁶ I treat these approaches in turn. One of the first exponents of the Kantian reading of Nietzsche’s perspectivism is Hans Vaihinger, who understands a perspective as “a necessary deception which remains even after we have recognized its falsity.”⁴³⁷ The idea that illusions are necessary for life is, for Vaihinger, a Kantian view that Nietzsche likely took from Lange.⁴³⁸ After citing numerous passages to argue that Nietzsche sees both philosophy and the natural sciences as useful illusions,⁴³⁹ Vaihinger concludes that one can therefore find in Nietzsche’s work the beginnings of his own “as-if” philosophy.⁴⁴⁰ Similar to Vaihinger, Jaspers has argued that “the fundamental principles of [Nietzsche’s] metaphysics were fashioned from a transformation of Kant’s critical philosophy,” and so Nietzsche’s claim that the world is will to power must be understood as an interpretation, rather than dogmatic metaphysics.⁴⁴¹ More recently and in much more detail, Friedrich Kaulbach has associated Nietzsche with a series of thinkers (Kant and Hegel) who developed a philosophy of perspectivism, where perspectivism is the idea that the truth about our world 436 Arguably, these two approaches to the issue can be traced back to the two competing strands in Nietzsche’s thought between the skeptical-Kantian framework laid out in “On Truth and Lie” and the Heraclitean framework that Nietzsche articulates as early as Philosophy in the Tragic Age. 437 Vaihinger (1952, p. 352). 438 Vaihinger (1952, p. 342). 439 Vaihinger (1952, p. 341). 440 Vaihinger (1952, p. 359). 441 Jaspers (1997, p. 287).

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depends on the stance (Stellung) we take toward being (Sein).⁴⁴² According to Kaulbach’s reading of Nietzsche, individuals can choose standpoints from which to interpret and so give meaning (Sinn) to the world, but no one interpretation, including the interpretations of the natural sciences⁴⁴³ and Nietzsche’s doctrine of the will to power,⁴⁴⁴ can be said to achieve objective truth.⁴⁴⁵ As a student of Kaulbach, Gerhardt also reads Nietzsche’s perspectivism in Kantian terms, understanding it as the view that every being grasps only a particular segment (Ausschnitt) of reality.⁴⁴⁶ Because perspectivism is an inescapable fact for everyone, including Nietzsche, doctrines such as the eternal return and the will to power cannot make claims to objectivity. Instead, Nietzsche can only present claims about what the world means (bedeutet) to him.⁴⁴⁷ Finally, Stegmaier has argued in his reading of GS 374 that Nietzsche’s perspectivism cannot be based on any sort of ontology because he remains in a tradition of Kantian criticism and so when Nietzsche makes ontological claims in the published works, he indicates to the reader that he is conscious of the fact that he can only do this from the perspective of his own consciousness.⁴⁴⁸ Although early works such as “On Truth and Lie” and “On the Pathos of Truth” provide a framework for reading Nietzsche’s later perspectivism in this way, there are two problems with such a reading. The first is that it seems to depend on an appearance-reality distinction that Nietzsche comes to reject. This is because talk of “conscious illusions” or a “stance toward being” or a “segment of reality” or “being trapped in one’s consciousness” all have difficultly avoiding the implication that there is a world that appears to consciousness and an inaccessible and unknowable world beyond consciousness. The second is that although he presents the will to power (BGE 22 and 36) and his related claim that all existence is engaged in interpretation as his interpretation of the world, Nietzsche does make rather straightforward claims in the published works about the nature of the world that seem to transcend the limits established by Kantian criticism. For instance, he claims in The Gay Science that, “the total character of the world, however, is in all eternity chaos” (GS 109). Similarly, he claims in Beyond Good and Evil that nature is “wasteful beyond measure, indifferent beyond measure, without purposes and consideration, without mercy and justice, fertile and desolate and uncertain at the same time” (BGE 9). Because Nietzsche does make positive ontological claims in the published works, I think it is better to try to develop a reading of Nietzsche’s perspectivism and his theory of interpretation that incorporates his ontological views, and this is what the Heracli-

442 Kaulbach (1990, p. 2). 443 Kaulbach (1990, p. 258). Also see Kaulbach (1980, p. 64). 444 Kaulbach (1990, p. 266). 445 Kaulbach (1990, p. 221). 446 Gerhardt (1989, p. 263). 447 Gerhardt (1985, p. 17). 448 Stegmaier (2012, pp. 413f.).

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tean reading tries to do. Here, the emphasis is on Nietzsche’s talk of interpretation,⁴⁴⁹ and it is an approach that presupposes a Heraclitean theory of becoming and details the way in which Nietzsche builds a notion of interpretation into such an ontology. Perhaps paradoxically, one of the first articulations of this approach can be found in Jasper’s work, where he argues that Nietzsche’s interpretation of the world as will to power is “actually an interpretation of interpreting.”⁴⁵⁰ Müller-Lauter follows Jaspers in linking the notion of interpretation to the will to power, stressing Nietzsche’s claim that “interpretation is itself a means of becoming master over something” (WP 643; NL, KSA 12, 2[149]).⁴⁵¹ Both Figl and Abel continue the work of Müller-Lauter by making interpretation a fundamental principle of Nietzsche’s philosophy, showing how it is rooted in and derives from a fundamental ontology of becoming as will to power.⁴⁵² Whereas Figl places Nietzsche’s ontology of interpretation in conversation with a hermeneutical tradition,⁴⁵³ Abel shows how Nietzsche develops the will to power from Leibniz’s understanding of force⁴⁵⁴ and the re-discovery of a Heraclitean worldview by the natural sciences.⁴⁵⁵ However, based on Nietzsche’s remarks in GM II 12, Abel moves beyond an ontological reading of Nietzsche by arguing that the will to power is fundamentally interpretation, such that every action, knowing, and event is essentially an interpretation.⁴⁵⁶ Thus, Nietzsche’s ultimate view is that “truth is interpretation,” a statement that, according to Abel, in no way proclaims a new absolute truth.⁴⁵⁷ Although I follow both Figl and Abel in linking Nietzsche’s perspectivism and his talk of interpretation to a dynamic view of reality, Abel thinks that a number of destructive consequences emerge once Nietzsche interprets the world as will to power, thereby making interpretation a fundamental part of his philosophy, and it is here that my reading of Nietzsche diverges from that of Abel.⁴⁵⁸ Whereas Abel claims that Nietzsche’s theory eliminates the idea of objective truth,⁴⁵⁹ I hold that, for Nietzsche, it is objectively true that the world is essentially relationships. Whereas Abel claims that concepts such as subject, thing, substance, number, etc., cannot be deemed false because this would presuppose a metaphysical in-itself,⁴⁶⁰ I hold that

449 Heit (2009) points to Benne’s (2005) argument that Nietzsche adopted the notion from philology. 450 Jaspers (1997, p. 295). 451 Müller-Lauter (1999a, p. 149) 452 Figl (1982, pp. 75ff.) and Abel (1998). 453 Hofman (1994) follows Figl (1982) in this respect. 454 Abel (1998, pp. 15ff.). 455 Abel (1998, p. 88). 456 Abel (1998, pp. 139ff.). 457 Abel (1998, p. 155). My translation. 458 See Bittner (1987, pp. 84ff.) for an alternative critique of Abel’s position. 459 See Abel (1998, p. 143) for references to the rejection of knowledge of objective truth and the ideal of objectivity in modern science and (p. 172) for a reference to leaving behind the idea of an objective truth. 460 Abel (1998, p. 153).

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Nietzsche, in both Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil, claims that these concepts falsify a reality that is essentially one of relationships. Whereas Abel claims that Nietzsche is not replacing one truth with another,⁴⁶¹ I claim that Nietzsche is simply replacing an ontology that includes things-in-themselves with an ontology of dynamic relations. Whereas Abel claims that the correspondence theory of truth selfdestructs,⁴⁶² I argue that Nietzsche’s continued commitment to a falsification thesis presupposes a correspondence theory of truth.⁴⁶³ Finally, whereas Abel attributes to Nietzsche an interpretive circle,⁴⁶⁴ I locate Nietzsche’s relational ontology as well as his doctrine of perspectivism outside the circle of interpretation that his rendering of the world as will to power creates. As one can see, the issues surrounding Nietzsche’s views on perspectivism and interpretation are subtle, yet significant. What is interesting to note is that both the Kantian and the Heraclitean readings of these views in German scholarship often embrace what they see as the circular and self-referential character of the view. In contrast, Anglo-American scholars have often acknowledged the potentially circular and self-referential character of Nietzsche’s views, but have usually endeavored to show that Nietzsche escapes what they see as the self-refuting consequences of such characterizations.⁴⁶⁵ To a large extent, it was Danto who first highlighted the selfreferential character of Nietzsche’s perspectivism and so made the doctrine a central part of the discussion surrounding Nietzsche’s philosophy in Anglo-American scholarship.⁴⁶⁶ Not only does he devote an entire chapter to the topic, Danto also argues that the doctrine, much like Protagoras’ homo mensura, looks to be self-refuting. Specifically, Danto asks: “Does Perspectivism entail that Perspectivism itself is but a perspective, so that the truth of this doctrine entails that it is false?”⁴⁶⁷ Although Danto hesitates to answer, he eventually claims that Nietzsche asks that we judge his theories according to a pragmatic criterion of whether they work in life.⁴⁶⁸ For Nehamas, Nietzsche’s perspectivism takes on an even more pronounced role, so much so that he begins his study with a discussion of the doctrine and the paradoxes it tends to generate. According to Nehamas, perspectivism is “Nietzsche’s famous insistence that every view is only one among many possible interpretations,

461 Abel (1998, p. 154). 462 Abel (1998, pp. 153f.). 463 In response to Abel’s claim that Nietzsche understands truth as an increase in power (WP 543), I argue that Nietzsche is talking here of “truths,” not truth, and so he is talking of the life-affirming errors (in the sense of failing to correspond to reality) that he mentions in BGE 4 and WP 493 (NL, KSA 11, 34[253]). 464 Abel (1998, pp. 162ff.). 465 See Hales and Welshon (2000, pp. 21ff.) and Anderson (1998). 466 Kaufmann (1974, pp. 204ff.) does however briefly address the issue. 467 Danto (1965, p. 80). 468 Danto (1965, p. 230).

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his own views, particularly this very one, included.”⁴⁶⁹ For Nehamas, perspectivism is opposed to dogmatism or the presentation of views that “should be accepted by everyone on account of their rational, objective, and unconditional authority.”⁴⁷⁰ On the one hand, Nehamas argues that Nietzsche escapes the danger of dogmatically presenting and insisting on the objective truth of his own views by employing a variety of literary styles that continually call attention to his activity as an author and therefore the fact that his views are just that, his views.⁴⁷¹ On the other hand, Nehamas argues that Nietzsche’s perspectivism can avoid the problem of self-refutation once we recognize that Nietzsche’s emphasis on the interpretive character of all views, including perspectivism itself, does not amount to the claim that these views are false. Instead, Nietzsche is simply claiming that his views, as interpretations, may be false. Thus, in emphasizing the interpretive character of perspectivism, Nietzsche is telling us that perspectivism may be false, not that it is in fact false. In this way, Nietzsche’s perspectivism avoids the problem of self-refutation.⁴⁷² Similar to Nehamas, Alan Schrift believes that Nietzsche’s perspectivism is designed to avoid the Scylla of dogmatism, again defined as the view that one has a correct and definitive understanding of reality, and the Charybdis of an unmitigated relativism, where any view is just as good as any other. According to Schrift, Nietzsche does this by situating his philosophy between perspectivism, i.e., the view that there are no uninterpreted facts or truths,⁴⁷³ and philology, a discipline that provides Nietzsche with the tools to adjudicate between competing interpretations.⁴⁷⁴ In developing his reading, Schrift contends that perspectivism is not an ontological but an epistemological position about what we can know,⁴⁷⁵ where perspectives are a result of human finitude. According to Schrift, “because human beings are situated bodily at a particular point in space, time, and history, their capacity for knowledge is inevitably limited.”⁴⁷⁶ It is this “empirical” insight into human situatedness – physiological, instinctual, and socio-historical  – that plays a crucial role in Nietzsche’s deconstruction of the traditional objects of epistemology. Because knowledge is perspectival, Nietzsche can now deny the existence or reject the privileged status of epistemic objects such as “fact,” “truth,” “meaning,” and “reality.” The general approach of Danto, Nehamas, and Schrift has generated some critical responses, most notably in the work of Clark and Leiter.⁴⁷⁷ Clark sets out to reject the notion that Nietzsche’s perspectivism entails that knowledge somehow distorts or 469 Nehamas (1985, p. 1). 470 Nehamas (1985, p. 4). 471 Nehamas (1985, pp. 4f.). 472 Nehamas (1985, p. 66). 473 Schrift (1987, p. 82). 474 Schrift (1987, p. 91). 475 Schrift (1987, p. 92). 476 Schrift (1987, p. 93). 477 Also see Wilcox (1974) and Schacht (1983).

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falsifies reality,⁴⁷⁸ and she does this by focusing on what she takes to be Nietzsche’s mature account of perspectivism articulated in GM III 12. In so doing, Clark argues that Nietzsche uses the metaphor of perspectivism to reject Cartesian foundationalism.⁴⁷⁹ Specifically, Nietzsche’s perspectivism is a claim about how we justify our beliefs, and it is designed to show that just as we always see things from a particular point of view, we always justify our beliefs by referencing other beliefs and therefore we always come to know things with a certain set of beliefs already at work. Since foundationalism holds that there are some self-justifying beliefs and therefore that we can acquire some knowledge independently of other beliefs, Nietzsche’s perspectivism constitutes a rejection of foundationalism. Leiter follows Clark in attacking what he calls the “received view” (RV) of Nietzsche’s perspectivism, a position promoted by the likes of Danto, Nehamas, and Schrift that consists of the following four claims: (1) The world has no determinate nature or structure; (2) our concepts and theories do not describe or correspond to the world because it has no determinate character; (3) our concepts and theories are “mere” interpretations or “mere” perspectives, usually said to reflect our pragmatic needs; (4) no perspective can enjoy any epistemic privilege over any other.⁴⁸⁰ According to Leiter, the RV fails to account for the fact that Nietzsche criticizes other views on their epistemic merits and privileges his own views on these grounds. In particular, Nietzsche privileges those views that best correspond with the data provided by sense experience and those explanations of phenomena that are derived from natural facts, most notably those gained through psychological investigations. Moreover, the RV generates an appearance/reality (A/R) distinction that Nietzsche adamantly rejects. This is because proponents of the RV attribute to Nietzsche, on the one hand, some

478 Clark (1990, p. 127). 479 Clark (1990, p. 130). 480 Leiter’s characterization of the RV is helpful for situating my own understanding of Nietzsche’s perspectivism in relation to the RV. As an initial point, it is interesting to note the incompatibility between (1) and (2–4). This is because (1) makes a claim about the way the world is, whereas (2–4) seem to deny that we can make any claim about the way the world is. The reading I have been defending is that (1) is true, and it is justified by the results of the natural sciences (Aristotle also links empirical investigations to the Protagorean view that the world is indeterminate in his exposition of pre-Socratic philosophy in Metaphysics IV). To avoid inconsistency, I must hold that either (4) is false or that natural science is not a perspective. I pursue the latter option, distinguishing between science and the scientific image, on the one hand, and perspectives or manifest images, on the other hand, and I argue that Nietzsche does privilege science for its ability to describe (although not explain) the world. Furthermore, because I highlight the disjunction between thinking and language, on the one hand, and a world of dynamic relations, on the other hand, I endorse a version of (2). However, science can provide an approximate description of the world in terms of relations of force, even if we cannot adequately think a world in which relata do not exist independently of their relations. Regarding (3), I hold that this is true of the “folk” concepts and theories we construct for everyday life, but also note that scientific theories reveal the falsity of these “folk” concepts and theories by reducing the world to dynamic relations.

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indefinite, unknowable, and perhaps even transcendent world as it really is, and, on the other, a multiplicity of perspectives that falsify this very world.⁴⁸¹ Having shown the problems with the RV, Leiter proceeds to sketch his alternative reading of perspectivism, and following Clark’s developmental scheme, he turns to GM III 12 for a sustained discussion of Nietzsche’s mature views to develop what I call the “point of view” reading of Nietzsche’s perspectivism.⁴⁸² According to Leiter, the passage establishes an analogy between seeing and knowing, and using this analogy he defends two points: (1) All knowledge presupposes some interest or affect and therefore can never be disinterested; (2) knowledge is perspectival precisely because it presupposes such interests. In explaining (2), Leiter has us think of knowing objects in much the same way that we see everyday objects such as a chair.⁴⁸³ Even though we necessarily see a chair from a particular point of view, we can nevertheless acquire greater objective knowledge of the chair by viewing it from an infinite variety of perspectives, all the while establishing a visual hierarchy in which some perspectives provide us better insight into the “real visible nature of the object” than others.⁴⁸⁴ In developing (1), Leiter worries about the way in which having knowledge mediated by our interests and needs might undermine the capacity of the world to place epistemic constraints on our interpretations of it, as without such constraints, it would be hard to make sense of the idea that various interpretations have different epistemic merits. Responding to this concern, Leiter claims that Nietzsche is simply urging us to give up the demand that we see reality as independent of all human interests. At the same time, Nietzsche is not endorsing the idealist claim that reality just is whatever our interests take it to be. To make sense of his position, Leiter seems to borrow a distinction introduced by Clark between a thing-in-itself and a thing-itself.⁴⁸⁵ Whereas the former has definite qualities and a nature or essence independently of any mind or representation, the latter has only mind-independent existence.⁴⁸⁶ The thing-itself, therefore, allows Nietzsche to avoid an idealism in which objects are constituted by our interests and nevertheless argue that our interests are necessary conditions of knowing any object whatsoever. In this way, we can aspire to a modest objectivity about non-transcendent objects and be guided by these interests in focusing on particular features of the objects that we come to know.⁴⁸⁷

481 Leiter (1994, pp. 334ff.). 482 Another example of the point of view reading of perspectivism can be found in Magnus (1988a, pp. 152f.). 483 Leiter (1994, p. 355, fn. 23). In a similar account, Leiter (2002, p. 273) uses the example of seeing a door from the front or back sides and speaks of perspectivism as a sort of map-making, where our interests guide the kind of map that we ultimately make. 484 Leiter (1994, p. 345). 485 Leiter (1994, p. 350). 486 Clark (1990, p. 82 and p. 136). 487 Leiter (1994, p. 351).

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In developing the analogy between seeing and knowing, one of the points Leiter assumes is that both seers and things that are seen exist prior to and independently of the perceptual experience. This model, however, is hard to square with Nietzsche’s repeated denials of objects and subjects that exist independently of the perceptual or knowing relation, and it is for this reason that Cox has appealed to Nietzsche’s Heraclitean ontology to criticize the readings of Clark and Leiter.⁴⁸⁸ Although I agree with his strategy, Cox does not see such an ontology as the basis for Nietzsche’s perspectivism in the way that I argue here.⁴⁸⁹ Instead, he contends that perspectivism and Nietzsche’s related talk of interpretation resist any attempt to attribute to Nietzsche the view that the natural sciences justify his commitment to a Heraclitean ontology,⁴⁹⁰ contrary to what I argued in my analysis of Human, All Too Human. Like Schrift, Cox argues that Nietzsche wants to navigate between relativism and dogmatic scientific realism,⁴⁹¹ and Nietzsche finds dogmatism objectionable because it “cuts off all further inquiry and questioning.”⁴⁹² For this reason, Nietzsche develops his perspectivism, a doctrine that is designed to undermine the tendency to present one’s views as the absolute and final truth. In casting Nietzsche’s ontological commitments in this way, Cox effectively revives the idea that Nehamas makes so central to his reading and that Clark and Leiter reject, namely, that Nietzsche is an anti-dogmatist who avoids presenting any of his views as those that should be accepted by everyone on account of their objective validity. This cursory snapshot of recent scholarship shows that Nietzsche’s perspectivism and his related theory of interpretation have been construed in a variety of different ways.⁴⁹³ As I see it, the diversity of interpretations is due in part to the relative neglect of a key source for understanding Nietzsche’s perspectivism by German and AngloAmerican scholars alike, namely, Teichmüller’s Die wirkliche und die scheinbare Welt. Because Nietzsche never explicitly defines perspectivism (or interpretation), it only makes sense, first, to turn to Die wirkliche und die scheinbare Welt to unpack Teichmüller’s understanding of perspectivism and then to see if this understanding resonates with what Nietzsche says about perspectivism in his published works and his unpublished notes. In what follows, I develop a reading of Nietzsche’s perspectivism that is

488 Cox (1999, pp. 120ff. and pp. 148ff.). 489 Mittelman (1984) presents a reading most similar to my own. 490 Welshon (2009, p. 32) also contends that Nietzsche does not privilege science over other kinds of knowledge. 491 Cox (1999, p. 3). 492 Cox (1999, p. 51). 493 Hales and Welshon (2000) continue this tradition of reading Nietzsche as a truth-relativist. That is, they see Nietzsche’s perspectivism as opposing a dogmatism understood as a form of truth absolutism. In contrast, Berry (2005 and 2010) has followed Leiter in developing a “point of view” reading of Nietzsche’s perspectivism by way of a close reading of GM III 12, but in so doing she argues that Nietzsche’s perspectivism can be understood as a skeptical epistemological thesis that “undermines the attempt to secure justification” for all metaphysical theses (2005, p. 20).

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compatible with a Heraclitean ontology of relations, that helps Nietzsche avoid the charge of self-refutation, that makes sense of the neo-Kantian aspects of the view, and that acknowledges the interpretive status of his claim that the world is will to power.

5.3 Perspectivism in Gustav Teichmüller’s Die wirkliche und die scheinbare Welt The general influence of Teichmüller on Nietzsche’s work and, in particular, his doctrine of perspectivism has long been recognized. In 1913, Hermann Nohl wrote a brief article identifying Teichmüller’s Die wirkliche und die scheinbare Welt as the source of Nietzsche’s perspectivism,⁴⁹⁴ showing that the work is the immediate target of many of Nietzsche’s criticisms in the opening stages of Beyond Good and Evil. Although Nohl’s article has exerted some influence on later scholarship,⁴⁹⁵ Teichmüller has yet to play a major role in contemporary discussions of Nietzsche’s perspectivism.⁴⁹⁶ This is unfortunate because a brief look at Teichmüller’s work can help clear up much of the confusion surrounding Nietzsche’s perspectivism and provide some needed constraints on how one should and should not understand the view. One reason for turning to Teichmüller in this context is that he offers an understanding of perspectivism that avoids the paradoxes often associated with it. The paradox of perspectivism largely arises once the doctrine is understood as opposing a dogmatism defined in terms of a truth absolutism that is then applied to all of Nietzsche’s views, including perspectivism. Teichmüller does contrast perspectivism with dogmatism,⁴⁹⁷ just as Nietzsche does at the beginning of Beyond Good and Evil, but he defines dogmatism and perspectivism in a way that are not immediately concerned with worries about presenting doctrines that are true for everyone on account of their objective authority. Specifically, Teichmüller understands a dogmatist to be someone who believes that the objects of knowledge are not projections of the knowing subject. That is, Teichmüller’s dogmatist is essentially a realist about intelligible substances or things that, in turn, function as possible objects of knowledge. In contrast, Teichmüller’s perspectivism consists of two claims: First, basic sensations are not of things-in-themselves, but rather what Teichmüller calls relational points; 494 Nohl (1913). 495 Dickopp (1970), Stack (1983, p. 69), Small (2001), Holub (2002), Emden (2005, pp. 140f.), Riccardi (2009), and Stegmaier (2012, p. 283, fn. 421) all refer to Teichmüller. 496 Nehamas (1983, p. 474) does mention Teichmüller, but proceeds to offer a definition of perspectivism both in his article (1983) and in his book (1985) that has little to do with Teichmüller’s understanding of perspectivism. Hussain (2004) also mentions Teichmüller, but focuses more on the potential relationship between Nietzsche and Ernst Mach. Green (2002) cites Teichmüller as a source for Nietzsche’s thinking, but focuses on the influence of Spir. Clark and Dudrick (2012) follow Green in this respect. Riccardi (2009, pp. 207–212) marks an exception to this trend. 497 Teichmüller (1882, p. xvii).

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second, objects of knowledge are ultimately projections of a knowing subject, where the latter is the genuine substance in Teichmüller’s system.⁴⁹⁸ To get a better understanding of how the knowing subject projects certain categories onto the chaos of sensations, a closer look at Teichmüller’s exposition of the theory is needed. To begin, one can say that Teichmüller implicitly provides us with a two-level solution to the paradox of perspectivism. This is because Teichmüller’s perspectivism is situated within a series of what Nehamas would call dogmatic claims about the nature of sense perception, the knowing subject, and the world. On the one hand, Teichmüller holds that it is objectively true that knowing subjects project certain attributes onto sense experience and thereby create worlds that they come to know. On the other hand, Teichmüller also claims that there is a genuine distinction between appearance and reality. According to Teichmüller, the distinction between the real and apparent world is made possible by what he calls an intellectual intuition of the knowing subject as the only genuine substance,⁴⁹⁹ and it is through our understanding of this genuine substance that we obtain the concept of being. Teichmüller’s perspectivism is one aspect of this larger argument because he uses it to reject the claims of previous thinkers who purport to have discovered beings that exist and are what they are independently of the knowing subject. For Teichmüller, Aristotelian substances, Platonic Forms, and Democritean atoms are all projections or perspectival images of the knowing subject.⁵⁰⁰ For understanding Nietzsche’s perspectivism, Teichmüller’s exposition offers two more important insights. First, one can say that Nietzsche’s attacks on the distinction between the true and apparent world are directed primarily against Teichmüller’s knowing subject and more generally against the Parmenidean-Platonic tradition in which Teichmüller’s work finds its home. This is important because both Cox and Leiter have used Nietzsche’s denial of the appearance/reality (A/R) distinction to reject readings of perspectivism that attribute any version of the A/R distinction to Nietzsche, including a distinction between commonsense and scientific descriptions of the world. Second, because Teichmüller dedicates the latter half of his work to describing the apparent world, one can get some sense of what the world is like once one follows Nietzsche in abolishing the so-called real world of Parmenides, Plato,

498 For an alternative critique of Nehamas’ reading of dogmatism, see Clark and Dudrick (2012, pp. 16ff.). Clark and Dudrick, however, turn to Kant and Spir to claim that the dogmatist “is a metaphysician, an a priori system builder in the pre-Kantian mode” (2012, p. 18). Although I endorse the turn to Nietzsche’s sources and his historical context to define terms that he himself does not define, I see no reason not to rely almost exclusively on Teichmüller in this case, especially since the distinction in Kant and Spir is between dogmatism and critical philosophy, not, as it is for Teichmüller (1882, p. xviii) and Nietzsche, between dogmatism and perspectivism (contrasting dogmatism with empiricism, as Clark and Dudrick (2012, p. 22) ultimately do, only removes us more from the contrast that appears in Nietzsche’s work). 499 Teichmüller (1882, pp. 32ff.). 500 Teichmüller (1882, p. xvi).

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and Teichmüller. Specifically, Teichmüller thinks that if the A/R distinction is denied, the world is best captured by a Heraclitean-Protagorean position that is presumably found in the Theaetetus – in other words, the very position that was detailed in the previous chapter.⁵⁰¹ In explaining what the apparent world is like, Teichmüller speaks of it as nothing more than “a perspectival image.”⁵⁰² In so doing, he provides us with two descriptions of what he means by calling the apparent world something perspectival. The first employs the notion of a particular “standpoint,” and it highlights the way in which things appear differently from different points of view. Although this idea can be grasped through a visual metaphor, it is not limited to it. Specifically, Teichmüller provides three different examples of perspectivism in this sense: (1) Depending on whether we are standing on the sun or the earth, the senses provide evidence for either the Copernican or the Ptolemaic systems, respectively; (2) a mouse will squeal when it is caught by the cat, but the cat will rejoice in its catch; (3) progressive politicians praise a piece of presumably progressive legislation, while conservatives scorn it.⁵⁰³ Although these examples of conflicting appearances might suggest the aforementioned “point of view” reading of perspectivism, Teichmüller uses them to introduce the already familiar point from the Theaetetus that the apparent world is composed of relational points (Beziehungspunkte) and forms (Beziehungsformen) such that nothing in the sensible world exists independently of these relations.⁵⁰⁴ In other words, this basic version of perspectivism is equivalent to the relativity principle applied to empirical objects that is the central teaching of the Heraclitean-Protagorean position in the Theaetetus. Teichmüller adds an additional level to his perspectivism by having us think of it in terms of creating intelligible life-worlds. Teichmüller does this by first noting that our opinions about the sensible world are not about things-in-themselves, but rather about the manifold of sensations that occur in us. Teichmüller then claims that substances or things are not to be found in these sensations. Instead, it is through the activity of the knowing subject that “a perspectival world picture” is constructed from the manifold of sensations, in which space, time, motion, and the abstract notion of a thing are all a priori forms of intuition.⁵⁰⁵ Although Teichmüller provides a section-by-section account of the perspectival nature of space, time, and motion, his detailed discussion of how the knowing subject generates objects of knowledge is the most important for understanding Nietzsche’s perspectivism. According to Teichmüller, commonsense objects such as stones, trees, and dogs – these are Teichmüller’s examples – are not themselves unities, but rather

501 Teichmüller (1882, p. 184). 502 Teichmüller (1882, p. 186). My translation. 503 Teichmüller (1882, p. 185). My translation. 504 Teichmüller (1882, p. 17). 505 Teichmüller (1882, p. 186). My translation.

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complexes of sensations that are grasped by the knowing subject as unities and projected into “so-called real space.”⁵⁰⁶ To explain his claim that unity is not found in the empirical world but rather projected by the knowing subject, Teichmüller appeals to the teachings of Buddhism. Here, he tells the story of the Buddhist sage Nâgasena who held that his name was merely a word, referring to nothing in the world of appearances. This is because when all the appearances of Nâgasena are stripped away, there is nothing real that unites these disparate appearances. In this sense, there is no Nâgasena. For Teichmüller, this lesson is true not just of Nâgasena, but everything from wagons and stones to scientific entities such as atoms, matter, and substrata. In the end, unity is not something out there waiting to be discovered, but something that is projected by the knowing subject onto the multiplicity of sensations.⁵⁰⁷ Teichmüller’s account of perspectivism provides detailed evidence against any reading of Nietzsche’s perspectivism that attributes to him a realism about “things,” whether they be metaphysical, commonsense, or scientific. At the same time, Teichmüller contends that the natural sciences also deal with merely perspectival projections, and therefore one might see in Teichmüller’s work support for Cox’s claim that Nietzsche’s perspectivism is designed to undercut the potential dogmatism inherent in the natural sciences. The problem with such a reading is that although Teichmüller argues that the natural sciences deal with entities that are projections of the knowing subject, he does not attack those committed to the natural sciences for presenting their views as being true for everyone on account of their objective validity. What then is Teichmüller’s complaint about the natural sciences? Specifically, it is directed against those systems that hold that there are unities that exist independently of the knowing subject, and the atom of the mechanistic worldview is his primary target.⁵⁰⁸ This is important to note because Nietzsche’s commitment to the natural sciences is rooted in his belief that, when carried to their proper conclusion, they ultimately do away with any notion of unified atoms, substances, or substrates that are out there waiting to be found. In this sense, Nietzsche uses the results of the natural sciences to present the same understanding of the so-called apparent world that Teichmüller unpacks in the latter half of his book. In short, both Nietzsche and Teichmüller hold that any system, scientific or philosophical, that includes non-perspectival entities that are said to be “one” should be rejected as a misunderstanding of the world revealed by the senses. Again, this is because sensation nowhere reveals unities, only relations or relative being. Nevertheless, Nietzsche does not accept every aspect of Teichmüller’s philosophical project. Although Nietzsche largely follows Teichmüller in his twofold understanding of perspectivism, he nevertheless campaigns against Teichmül506 Teichmüller (1882, p. 333). 507 Teichmüller (1882, p. 336). 508 Teichmüller (1882, pp. 133ff.).

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ler’s distinction between the real and apparent world, and he does so by rejecting Teichmüller’s claim that the knowing subject is a genuine substance. In making this move, however, Nietzsche is rejecting the very thing that, in Teichmüller’s system, is responsible for generating perspectives and projecting “being,” and this raises the question as to what, for Nietzsche, is responsible for ordering the chaos of sensations into something that is intelligible to a knowing subject that, itself, is not a unity or a self-identical being. As I suggest in the following sections, one of the most important features of Nietzsche’s doctrine of the will to power is that it enables him to explain how perspectives or life-worlds are formed without reference to a non-naturalistic knowing subject or spiritual substance or soul.⁵⁰⁹

5.4 Nietzsche’s Perspectivism in The Gay Science and On the Genealogy of Morals As noted above, references to Nietzsche’s perspectivism in the published works are sparse relative to the amount of attention the view has received in the secondary literature. In addition to a handful of references in Beyond Good and Evil, there are seven passages in the published works that employ the term perspectivism and its cognates. Whereas two brief references can be found in the 1882 edition of The Gay Science (GS 162 and 299) and two more can be found in Nietzsche’s 1886 prefaces to his previous works (HH Preface 6 and BT Attempt 5), three passages, two from the fifth book of The Gay Science (354 and 374) and one from the Genealogy (GM III 12), provide more sustained discussions of the issue. For reasons having to do with Clark’s developmental picture, GM III 12 has been singled out as the definitive statement of Nietzsche’s perspectivism. Because of this, I want to say something about how GM III 12 can be read as supporting the reading of Nietzsche’s perspectivism that I have unpacked thus far. At the same time, because I disagree with Clark’s developmental reading, I do not privilege GM III 12 over the two other passages from The Gay Science as well as Nietzsche’s references to perspectivism in Beyond Good and Evil, and so my reading should be compatible with these passages as well. Of these passages, GS  354 most readily supports my reading. There, Nietzsche speaks of “the essence of phenomenalism and perspectivism” as he understands them: Owing to the nature of animal consciousness, the world of which we can become conscious is only a surface- and sign-world, a world that is made common and meaner; whatever becomes conscious becomes by the same token shallow, thin, relatively stupid, general, sign, herd signal; all becoming conscious involves a great and thorough corruption, falsification, reduction to superficialities, and generalization. (GS 354) 509 Gerhardt (1996, p. 252) also argues that the will to power is Nietzsche’s substitute for the traditional notion of a substantial soul.

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What one can see from the passage is that perspectivism is immediately coupled with falsification. The idea is that consciousness plays a central role in forming a perspective, and whatever enters into consciousness is falsified. As Katsafanas has argued, consciousness here is not to be equated with mere awareness but with conceptualization.⁵¹⁰ This is because Nietzsche tells us that “we could think, feel, will, and remember, and we could also ‘act’ in every sense of the word, and yet none of this would have to ‘enter our consciousness’” (GS 354). Thus, it seems that there are two worlds of mental experience. One is a non-conceptual world of experience that does not necessarily falsify, and the other is a conceptual world of consciousness that necessarily falsifies the contents of a non-conceptualized experience.⁵¹¹ Such an understanding sits well with Teichmüller’s twofold account of perspectivism. Although the more basic account of perspectivism has to do with the relational nature of all sensation, the more robust account of perspectivism says that perspectives emerge when the knowing subject projects certain concepts onto the raw data that the senses provide, thereby creating a world of conscious experience. In the language of GS 354, such a process falsifies because it dupes most people, including philosophers, into thinking that unified and persisting things populate the sensible world independently of the knowing subject. Translating this idea into the language of Nietzsche’s Nachlass, one can say that the senses reveal a “chaos of sensations,” and it is through a conceptualizing consciousness that the world appears to be populated by independently existing entities like tables, cows, and selves. As noted in the first chapter, Nietzsche’s understanding of perspectivism  – at least as it is articulated in GS 354 – commits him to a distinction between a phenomenal world of conceptualized and “logicized” things and “the formless unformulable world of the chaos of sensations,” which is “another kind of phenomenal world, a kind ‘unknowable’ for us” (WP 569; NL, KSA 12, 9[106]).⁵¹² Such a distinction makes sense of GS 354 precisely because what is falsified is not some extra-mental reality, but a phenomenal world prior to conceptualization. However, this is not to say that the chaos of sensations constitutes reality as such, and therefore that the conceptualizing consciousness of which Nietzsche speaks in these passages does not also falsify an extra-mental world. Similar to the theory articulated in the Theaetetus, this same world of sensations can be understood in terms of mind-independent relations of power or force, and Nietzsche also holds that the fundamental structures of thought 510 Katsafanas (2005). 511 Here again, one might argue that Nietzsche’s reference to phenomenalism has Kant’s distinction between the world of appearances and the world in itself in mind, but then it would be hard to reconcile this passage with Nietzsche’s rejection of the thing-in-itself. For this reason, I try to locate the distinction within what Kant would call the phenomenal world. See Stegmaier (2012, pp. 280ff.) for a Kantian reading of the passage that nevertheless acknowledges Nietzsche’s rejection of the appearance-reality distinction and wrestles with the philosophical issues that arise therefrom. 512 Presumably, the reason why Nietzsche thinks that such a non-conceptualized world is unknowable is because conceptualization is a necessary condition for knowledge.

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and language falsify this world as well precisely because the world of force is bereft of the unities that a conceptualizing consciousness is wont to project. In GS 374, there is evidence for thinking that Nietzsche’s perspectivism is compatible with a belief in a world that exists beyond the sensations of each individual. This is because Nietzsche articulates an understanding of perspectivism in this section that highlights the way in which we cannot “look around our own corner” and the intellect cannot “avoid seeing itself in its own perspectives, and only in these” (GS 374). However, what such claims suggest is not the falsification of GS 354 but rather a skepticism reminiscent of “On Truth and Lie.” Whereas claims of falsification require access to both a falsifying belief and the world that is being falsified, claims of skepticism simply insist that a given belief is about something to which we have no access and therefore it cannot be determined whether the belief in question corresponds to the object of the belief. In GS  374, Nietzsche seems to be expressing skepticism about two aspects of his perspectivism. The first is whether perspectives and the interpretive nature of existence characterize all events. The second issue is whether there are perspectives radically different from our own, such that there are beings “out there” capable of experiencing time backwards or even both backwards and forwards. Upon closer examination of the passage, it turns out that Nietzsche’s claims are not in service of casting skeptical worries on his own perspectivism. Instead, they are designed to force doubters who reject these features of his perspectivism to acknowledge that his position is a genuine possibility. In other words, although he acknowledges he cannot prove that all existence is actively engaged in interpretation, Nietzsche insists that such an idea cannot be rejected. Similarly, because we can only experience the world from our own perspective, we cannot deny the possibility that there are beings that experience the world in ways radically different from our own. For these reasons, Nietzsche claims that the world has become “‘infinite’ for us all over again, inasmuch as we cannot reject the possibility that it may include infinite interpretations” (GS 374). At first glance, it is not immediately clear how such an account relates to Teichmüller’s understanding of perspectivism and the related understanding of perspectivism in GS 354. One can begin to understand how they might relate by recalling that perspectivism, in its most basic formulation, is the view that the sensible world is essentially one of relationships. The basic sensations that become the building blocks for our respective worlds are generated through forces interacting with each other, and therefore even in sensation we do not encounter some non-relational fact, but something already constituted by relations. When Nietzsche speaks of all existence actively engaged in interpretation in GS 374, he can, in one sense, be understood as making this point. That is, to say that something is interpreted is to say that it has a relational character. Such an understanding of interpretation is supported by the much-cited passage from the Nachlass, where Nietzsche contrasts interpretations with intrinsic facts or the “in itself” (WP 481; NL, KSA 12, 7[60]). Since Nietzsche contrasts interpretation talk with in-itself talk in the passage, one can just as easily substitute the idea of

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relations for the idea of interpretations, and so when Nietzsche speaks of the interpretive character of existence, he is also speaking of the relational character of existence. At the same time, there is reason to think that Nietzsche is saying something more when he talks about interpretation. Although the interpretive character of existence implies the relational character of existence, to say that existence is interpretive is to say something more than saying it is relational. This is because when Nietzsche speaks of interpretation, he also refers to “needs” (Bedürfnisse) and “drives” (Triebe) that interpret the world in terms of their “for” and “against” (WP  481; NL, KSA  12, 7[60]). Thus, when Nietzsche speculates on whether all of existence is engaged in interpretation in GS 374, he is speculating on whether the interrelated forces of both the organic and inorganic world are endowed with perspective forming, goal-directed drives that “seek” to compel all other drives to conform to their respective norms. So construed, one can see why Nietzsche is more hesitant to assert the interpretive character of existence than he is to assert the relational character of the world. Indeed, there is reason to think that his claim that all of existence is engaged in interpretation is bound up with the related claim that the world is will to power (WP 1067; NL, KSA 11, 38[12]).⁵¹³ This is because the will to power functions, for Nietzsche, as a standard of interpretation. The idea is that when a drive interprets, it interprets with the end of power in view. So understood, what Nietzsche is saying in GS 374 is not that he knows that every drive interprets every other drive with the end of power in view, but rather that anyone who rejects this claim as ridiculous has overstepped the bounds of what he or she can and cannot know. In other words, the point of GS 374 is to argue that it is possible that all of existence is engaged in interpretation, but this cannot be known with absolute certainty. Although some will still find even the possibility of such a view hard to accept, the other point that Nietzsche makes is much more palatable. The idea expressed in Protagorean terms is that man is not the measure of all things not because there is some objective, non-relational reality that is the measure of our values and beliefs, but because other organisms and entities very likely interpret the world differently than we do. This is not only true of how an entity might organize the brute data of sensation, but also true of the sensations themselves. On one level, the interpretive character of basic sensations is guaranteed by the relational nature of sense perception. Because of this, two perceivers can have two different sense perceptions of what seems to be one and the same world, e.g., the “same” wind can feel hot to one but cold to another. On another level, Nietzsche believes that the process of valuation, selection, and judgment goes on even at the level of sense perception (NL, KSA 11, 26[71]). Consequently, interpretation encompasses both the idea that sense data have a relational character and that each organism is involved, even at the most basic level of perception, in filtering and organizing the data the senses provide. For these reasons, 513 Müller-Lauter (1999c, p. 84) claims that will to power and interpretation are two names for the same thing. See Figl (1982, pp. 94ff.) for a similar view.

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Nietzsche endorses the Protagorean claim in the Nachlass that, “it is obvious that every creature different from us senses different qualities and consequently lives in a different world from that in which we live” (WP 565; NL, KSA 12, 6[14]). In contrast to Nietzsche’s remarks on perspectivism in The Gay Science, the passage that seems to challenge my reading is GM III 12. The central question at stake in the passage is whether it commits Nietzsche to a commonsense understanding of both seeing and knowing in which there are objects and subjects situated in space and time that exist independently of the activity of seeing and knowing. As noted above, this ontological framework is what the point-of-view reading of Nietzsche’s perspectivism presupposes. However, Cox has argued that such an ontology is hard to square with a number of Nachlass fragments.⁵¹⁴ Moreover, it seems to cut against the understanding of both objects and subjects that Nietzsche presents in BGE 12, where he claims that Boscovich has taught us that nothing, including the soul, stands fast. Finally, it would mean that Nietzsche has since abandoned Teichmüller’s belief that objects of knowledge  – and his examples include commonsense things like stones and trees – are projections of the knowing subject. So if GM III 12 does support the point of view reading, it will conflict with both the source of Nietzsche’s perspectivism and the relational ontology he articulates throughout his works. The supposed support for the point-of-view reading of Nietzsche’s perspectivism comes from the following claim: “There is only a perspective seeing, only a perspective ‘knowing’; and the more affects we allow to speak about one thing, the more eyes, different eyes, we can use to observe one thing, the more complete will our ‘concept’ of this thing, our ‘objectivity’ be” (GM III 12). Specifically, Nietzsche speaks of taking different points of view on one thing (eine Sache) and the same thing (dieselbe Sache), and this suggests that the more points of view we take on a thing, the more we approach an objective understanding of the thing in question. For example, to attain objective knowledge of an office chair, I need to examine it from a multiplicity of different viewpoints and place it in a variety of different contexts. Although I will never know the chair completely, as a god might, I can come to know the chair better by adopting these different standpoints or perspectives. Although Nietzsche’s talk of one thing and the same thing in this passage suggests a commitment to an inter-subjectively available and independently existing object, there are a number of reasons to resist such a reading. The first and most important point is that Nietzsche tells us in the same passage that it is only through “active and interpreting forces” that “seeing becomes seeing something [EtwasSehen]” (GM III 12). What such a claim suggests is that active and interpreting forces are responsible for creating the objects of perception and so perspectival knowledge. Using the framework I have developed from both the Theaetetus and Teichmüller’s work, this claim can be understood in two ways. One way is to say that the “Etwas”

514 See Cox (1999, ch. 3).

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here refers to a thing, like an apple, and so the interpreting forces of the subject generate the thing that is experienced as red by projecting categories that unite the various sensations that then constitute the apple as an object of experience. The other way to understand the claim is to say that the “Etwas” here refers to the quality, such as red, that is the immediate object of perception. On this model, the experience of red is not possible without the contribution of the active and interpreting forces of the knowing “subject.” As a Nachlass fragment makes clear, Nietzsche thinks that qualities such as red are “perspective truth(s) for us” and as such do not exist in themselves (WP 563; NL, KSA 12, 5[36]). In other words, the basic qualities given in sense experience are already relational entities and thus dependent on the interpreting forces of the knowing subject, and if this is the case, then things such as an apple must also be the products of interpreting forces. Once one begins to see things as interpretive constructs, one can also begin to think of the knowing subject as either an interpretive construct (insofar as it is considered to be a unity that exists and persists through time) or a multiplicity of drives and affects (BGE 12). In a group of Nachlass fragments roughly from the time of the Genealogy, Nietzsche elaborates on the point just made about objects and then, in a move that recalls the Heraclitean-Protagorean position of the Theaetetus, establishes a parallel between the ontological status of the object and the subject. On the one hand, we are told that the essence of a thing can only be defined in relation to a knowing subject, and therefore if we want to know what a thing is, we must place it in relation to all creatures. This parallels the claim in GM III 12 that we can increase the completeness of our concept of a thing and therefore our “objectivity” by placing the thing in relation to many different eyes and, correspondingly, many different affects. However, as the fragments that follow make clear, things and their qualities are products or constructions of the “thing” (subject) that imagines, thinks, wants, and invents. At the same time, the subject or the “thing” that imagines and thinks is itself a created entity (ein Geschaffenes) just like all other things, a product of interpretation. In explaining what is doing the creating and interpreting, Nietzsche claims that it is the will to power, which exists not as a thing or being but as a becoming, process, or, to use the language of GM III 12, an affect (WP 556; NL, KSA 12, 2[149–152]).⁵¹⁵ To conclude this discussion of GM III 12, it is important to recall that Nietzsche refers to sense perception to make a point about knowledge. Because Nietzsche understands perception as a process in which objects are constructed from sensible qualities that are themselves generated through relational forces, it must be the case that such perspectival knowing also involves creating the very world that the so-called knower comes to know. Such an understanding of perspectival knowing corresponds to Nietzsche’s claim in the Nachlass that, “we can comprehend only a world that we ourselves have made” (WP 495; NL, KSA 11, 25[470]). So construed, Nietzsche’s point 515 Thus Nietzsche speaks of replacing epistemology with “a perspective theory of affects” (WP 462; NL, KSA 12, 9[8]).

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in GM III 12 is not simply to modify the traditional understanding of objectivity and knowing. Instead, it is to transform “objectivity” and “knowing” from a process of discovery into one of creation such that the created world, i.e., the world of bundled perceptions, mirrors the interests and desires of the knower. If this is right, then Leiter is wrong to think that Nietzsche’s new understanding of objectivity can be compared to a process of “mapping” in which a pre-given reality is selectively mapped so as to satisfy our needs and interests.⁵¹⁶ Instead, the greater “objectivity” discussed in GM III 12 will be attained by allowing a maximal number of drives and affects to generate a multiplicity of basic sensations and then by allowing further drives and affects to order as much of this raw material as possible into a unified whole (BGE 230).⁵¹⁷ In this way, Nietzsche’s account of perspectivism in GM III  12 harmonizes with his understanding of the “genuine philosopher” in BGE 211, one whose “‘knowing’ is creating, [whose] creating is a legislation, [whose] will to truth is – will to power.”⁵¹⁸

5.5 Some Preliminary Remarks on Beyond Good and Evil I now want to turn to the role that perspectivism plays in Beyond Good and Evil and how it relates to the Heraclitean ontology that is present, or so I contend, throughout the opening stages of the work. Nietzsche published Beyond Good and Evil in 1886, immediately following the completion of Zarathustra, and he remarks in a letter to Jacob Burckhardt that Beyond Good and Evil should be read, “whether it says the same things as Thus Spoke Zarathustra but differently, very differently” (KGB III/3, Bf. 754).⁵¹⁹ Nevertheless, Nietzsche also tells us in Ecce Homo that the work marks the beginning of a new task. Whereas Zarathustra completes the “yes-saying part of his task,” Beyond Good and Evil represents the first part of his “no-saying, no-doing” task (EH Books BGE 1). Following Nietzsche’s remarks, this no-saying and no-doing part should be understood as his attempt at a “revaluation of our values so far,” “a great war,” and “conjuring up a day of decision.” (EH Books BGE  2). As Nietzsche continues, Beyond Good and Evil is also to be understood as a “critique of modernity” (EH Books BGE 2), one which includes the modern sciences, modern arts, and modern politics. This critique is accompanied by the announcement of a noble, yessaying type opposed to everything modern: objectivity, pity for sufferers, the historical sense, and being scientific (EH Books BGE 2).

516 Leiter (2002, pp. 20f. and pp. 273f.). 517 See Conway (1991, p. 106) for a similar reading of Nietzsche’s understanding of “objectivity.” 518 See WP 552 (NL, KSA 12, 9[91]) for the view that “truth” is created by the will to power. 519 I have followed Lampert’s (2001, p. 2) translation here, with the exception that I also translate the “ob,” which Lampert omits, as “whether.” This is a clumsy yet literal translation. A less clumsy variant could be “to see if.” In either case, it qualifies the force of the claim that Lampert attributes to Nietzsche.

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The idea for writing Beyond Good and Evil came to Nietzsche as he was trying to produce a second edition of Human, All Too Human (KGB III/3, Bf. 630).⁵²⁰ What eventually happened was that he published both a second edition of Human, All Too Human with a new preface and Beyond Good and Evil in 1886. The structural parallels between the two texts are noteworthy. Both have nine sections, both begin with a discussion of fundamental problems in metaphysics and a corresponding rejection of absolute opposites, and both end with a sketch of a certain type of individual. Moreover, recent scholars working on Beyond Good and Evil have emphasized the way in which the text exhibits what Nietzsche calls in a letter to Georg Brandes “the long logic of a most certain philosophical sensibility” (KGB III/5, Bf. 974). That is, like Human, All Too Human, the seemingly disparate sections of Beyond Good and Evil reveal, upon closer inspection, a certain internal coherence and argumentative structure.⁵²¹ The differences between the two texts are also instructive. Whereas Human, All Too Human begins with an investigation into the first and last things, Beyond Good and Evil begins with an examination of the prejudices of past philosophers. Thus, Beyond Good and Evil is written from the standpoint of a knower, one who can now look back on the philosophical systems of the past and see them as expressions of such prejudices. The endings also differ. Whereas Human, All Too Human presents a philosophical wanderer who has liberated himself from false opinions and conventional constraints but has yet to become the master of his so-called desert, Beyond Good and Evil presents a noble soul who is a disciple of Dionysus (BGE 295) and a future philosopher capable of “golden laughter” (BGE 294). As noted in the introduction, Human, All Too Human is the first in a series of works that fall under the rubric of the free spirit. Although Beyond Good and Evil is not included in the works of the free spirit, Nietzsche nevertheless devotes the second chapter to the notion of the free spirit. The chapter, however, is not so much a description of what it means to be a free spirit, but rather marks a transition from free spiritedness to a philosophy of the future. Such a reading is suggested by the concluding section of the second chapter, where Nietzsche speaks of philosophers of the future as being not only free spirits, but also “something more, higher, greater, and thoroughly different that does not want to be misunderstood and mistaken for something else” (BGE 44). On the reading I offer, the philosopher of the future is one who has liberated him or herself from the morality of truth and science. As such, the philosopher of the 520 See Lampert (2001, pp. 5f. and p. 301). However, he concludes from this fact that Beyond Good and Evil therefore belongs to the works prior to Zarathustra, i.e., the works of the free spirit. On my reading, Beyond Good and Evil is indeed a continuation of the free spirit project, but ultimately transcends it, both as a prelude to a philosophy of the future and as a preparation for Nietzsche’s own comedy in his 1888 works. That the works following Beyond Good and Evil constitute a comedy resonates with Lampert’s repeated references to comedy and Aristophanes (2001, pp. 63f. and pp. 286f.), even though Lampert seems to understand comedy differently than I do. 521 I am following Lampert (2001, pp. 1f.) here. Clark and Dudrick (2012, p. 8) agree with Lampert’s estimate.

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future is free to transform the activity of philosophy from a process of discovery to a process of artistic creation.

5.6 Heraclitean Ontology and the Falsification Thesis in Beyond Good and Evil Because the unity of opposites and the Heraclitean ontology it expresses stand at the center of my interpretation, I want to begin my analysis of the opening sections of Beyond Good and Evil with a discussion of its appearance in BGE 2. As I argued in chapter three, the question of opposites – phrased here as “how could anything originate out of its opposite?” (BGE 2) – is intimately bound up with the pre-Socratic distinction between being and becoming. Similar to Human, All Too Human, Nietzsche’s examples in Beyond Good and Evil largely have to do with the kinds of things related to the metaphysical project: truth, the desire for truth, selflessness, and the pure sunlike gaze of the sage. According to Nietzsche, the answer that the metaphysicians developed to this question was quite simple: These things do not come from their opposites. Instead, they participate in and are caused by a world beyond the world of the senses and the desires of the body. That is, they come “from the lap of Being, the intransitory, the hidden god, the ‘thing-in-itself’” (BGE 2). Nietzsche raises the question of opposites in Beyond Good and Evil not so much to rehash the Heraclitean ontology of Human, All Too Human, but to apply the principle to problems associated with life, value, and the self. Thus, Nietzsche’s main target is the metaphysicians’ “faith in opposite values” (BGE 2). In other words, Nietzsche is rejecting the metaphysical distinction between good and evil, thereby moving beyond the absolute distinction between this specific pair of opposites. Nietzsche targets the faith in opposite values because he believes that the “logical procedures” implicit in this faith led a philosopher like Plato to construct the Form of the Good (BGE Preface) or a standard of value that exists independently of its relation to any living, desiring, and therefore valuing entity. If Plato had realized that these logical procedures presuppose an unsupported belief in a correspondence between the way we think and the way the world is structured, he would have never constructed anything like the Form of the Good that functions as the metaphysical cause of all good things in the world of appearance.⁵²² Instead, he may have acknowledged the Heraclitean-Protag522 The logic that Nietzsche traces back to Parmenides stems from the idea that (F) cannot come from something that is (not-F). So for Plato, the cause of beauty or goodness must be the Beautiful or the Good themselves. See Plato’s Phaedo 100d–e and 103a–c for the way in which this view rejects the idea that opposites can come from opposites. Thus, the problem here is not, as Clark and Dudrick (2012, p. 43) assert, that metaphysicians believe that nature is without value, for this still presupposes that valuable things must come from valuable things. Instead, the problem is that metaphysicians believe that good or value cannot come from its opposite, i.e., what is not good or bereft of value, and therefore that value cannot come from a nature that lacks any inherent value.

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orean truth that all goodness is relational.⁵²³ On this view, what is good comes from and is related to what is beyond good and evil, namely, “selfish” drives and desires,⁵²⁴ and therefore these “selfish” drives and desires, not the Good or even God, function as the source of value and so the measures of all things (BGE 3). Even though the primary issue at stake in Beyond Good and Evil concerns value rather than ontology, there are still reasons for thinking that Nietzsche’s denial of opposites in BGE 2 – most notably his doubt “whether there are any opposites at all” (BGE 2) – is intended to give expression to his continued commitment to an ontology of dynamic relations. Not only do Nietzsche’s remarks in the opening sections of Beyond Good and Evil imply such an ontology, there are copious Nachlass fragments that attest to Nietzsche’s continued commitment to the view. In one fragment, Nietzsche associates the denial of opposites, which he claims are derived from logic and falsely transferred into things, with an ontology that abandons talk of subject, object, substance, matter, spirit, etc. (WP 552; NL, KSA 12, 9[91]). Although Nietzsche does not provide a positive characterization of this ontology in the passage, the Heraclitean ontology of dynamic relations is one that does away with both absolute opposites and self-identical entities such as subject, object, and substance. Moreover, there is plenty of evidence from the Nachlass indicating that Nietzsche remains committed to such a relational ontology. For instance, Nietzsche claims, in a fragment that refers to the title of Beyond Good and Evil, that “there are no facts, everything is in flux” (WP 604; NL, KSA 12, 2[84]). In other fragments, Nietzsche remarks that the world is one of dynamic quanta that stand in “relation and tension to all other dynamic quanta” (WP  635; NL, KSA  13, 14[79]) and thus the world is “essentially a world of relationships” (WP 568; NL, KSA 13, 14[93]). Here again, one might object that this reads too much into BGE 2. As I have argued in the third chapter, Nietzsche not only explicitly links the denial of opposites to a doctrine of becoming in his 1888 revision of HH 1 (KSA 14, p. 119), Philosophy in the Tragic Age reveals the significance that Nietzsche attaches to the problem of opposites and the way in which Parmenides’ separation of opposites laid the groundwork for his turn to a realm of being that is known by reason alone. Moreover, it was also argued that Nietzsche’s relational ontology simply follows from his rejection of things-inthemselves insofar as things-in-themselves are understood as independently existing things endowed with intrinsic properties. The idea is that if there are no independently existing things endowed with intrinsic properties (things-in-themselves), then

523 See Leiter (2002, pp. 106ff.) for a discussion of what he calls “relational goodness” and its presence in the thought of Heraclitus and Protagoras. 524 Nietzsche raises this as a possibility at the end of BGE 2, where he asks whether “what constitutes the value of these good and revered things is precisely that they are insidiously related, tied to, and involved with these wicked, seemingly opposite things” (BGE 2). The idea is that, in the old scheme, our drives are these wicked things, and so Nietzsche’s claim is that, pace Plato, goodness and value are tied to our drives.

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things, insofar as they exist at all, must exist and have the properties they do only in relation to other things. Thus, when Nietzsche casts doubt on things-in-themselves in BGE 2 and explicitly rejects them in BGE 16, he is necessarily committing himself to a relational ontology. Finally, similar to the first chapter of Human, All Too Human, where Nietzsche unpacks his ontological commitments as the aphorisms of the first chapter unfold, the remaining sections of the first chapter of Beyond Good and Evil provide further evidence for Nietzsche’s commitment to a relational ontology. In BGE 4, Nietzsche claims that a philosophy that places itself beyond good and evil is one that recognizes “untruth as a condition of life” (BGE 4). The idea is that we could not live, let alone thrive, without employing judgments that falsify reality. Thus, Nietzsche writes: The falsest judgments (which include the synthetic judgments a priori) are the most indispensable for us; that without accepting the fictions of logic, without measuring reality against the purely invented world of the unconditional and self-identical, without a constant falsification of the world by means of numbers, man could not live. (BGE 4)

Although this passage does not explicitly reference any sort of ontology of dynamic relations, it does, I think, presuppose it. For Nietzsche to declare that certain beliefs are false, he must have some understanding of reality in order to claim that these beliefs do not correspond to it. So the question is what kind of ontology would render concepts such as the unconditional, the self-identical, and even number false. As Philosophy in the Tragic Age, HH 19, and the previously cited fragments from Nietzsche’s Nachlass make clear, this is a Heraclitean ontology of dynamic relations, one that is bereft of unconditioned, self-identical entities. Implicit in BGE 4 is what I have called the tragic tension between truth and life. As HL 1 and 9 indicate, the Heraclitean understanding of reality makes it impossible to live according to the truth,⁵²⁵ and what Nietzsche is arguing in BGE 4 is that we need to move beyond the asceticism or the unconditional love of truth found in Human, All Too Human to be able to live according to “falsifying” life-worlds that we create. In BGE 9, Nietzsche explicitly makes the point that we cannot live according to a true understanding of the world: ‘According to nature’ you want to live? O you noble Stoics, what deceptive words these are! Imagine a being like nature, wasteful beyond measure, indifferent beyond measure, without purposes and consideration, without mercy and justice, fertile and desolate and uncertain at the same time; imagine indifference itself as a power – how could you live according to this indifference? (BGE 9)

525 This is true for philosophers as well, and this is why Lampert (2001, p. 21) is mistaken in thinking that what distinguishes the philosopher is his or her ability to live according to truth. For a discussion of this point, see Clark and Dudrick (2012, p. 34).

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Here again, Nietzsche does not explicitly refer to a Heraclitean ontology of dynamic relations, but he does have a positive understanding of what nature is like, and it is one that resembles the de-anthropomorphized conception of nature articulated in GS  109, where we are told that “the total character of the world, however, is in all eternity chaos” (GS  109). In BGE  9, Nietzsche tells us that it is impossible to live according to nature precisely because living essentially involves “estimating, preferring, being unjust, being limited, wanting to be different” (BGE 9). Here again, Nietzsche is rejecting the Platonic view that nature offers a standard or a limit that can guide and direct life. However, because standards and limits are necessary for life, one needs to construct standards and limits if one is going to live at all. In other words, one needs to learn to see oneself and one’s drives as the measures of all things, rather than looking to nature to discover things or entities or even deities that are supposed to function as standards and measures of our drives and ourselves. Of course, and this is important to note, because these drives and selves function as standards and measures of value, they themselves are beyond good and evil. In BGE  11, Nietzsche further elaborates on the argument of BGE  4, contending that synthetic a priori judgments are not so much necessary conditions for the possibility of knowledge, as Kant had argued, but necessary “for the sake of the preservation of creatures like ourselves” (BGE 11). At the same time, Nietzsche contends that “they are nothing but false judgments” and “the belief in their truth is necessary, as a foreground belief and visual evidence belonging to the perspective optics of life” (BGE 11). Because cause and effect is, for Kant, the synthetic a priori judgment par excellence, Nietzsche’s remarks here can be linked to his controversial claim about causal relations in BGE 21: In the “in-itself” there is nothing of “causal connections,” of “necessity,” or of “psychological non-freedom”; there the effect does not follow the cause, there is no rule of “law.” It is we alone who have devised number, law, freedom, motive, and purpose; and when we project and mix this symbol world into things as if it existed “in itself,” we act once more as we have always acted – mythologically. (BGE 21)

Given the reference to Kant in BGE 11 and to the “in-itself” in BGE 21, one might argue that Nietzsche is still wedded to some notion of a thing-in-itself and this is why he believes that synthetic a priori judgments such as the connection between cause and effect falsify reality. Indeed, Leiter has claimed that these comments depend on a neo-Kantian framework that a maturing Nietzsche would soon reject.⁵²⁶ According to this framework, such judgments are said to falsify a noumenal realm bereft of necessity and causal connections. Leiter’s talk of Nietzsche’s maturation is a reference to the developmental scheme proposed by Clark, who holds that Nietzsche finally gives up his belief both in the thing-in-itself and the related idea that our judgments falsify

526 Leiter (2002, p. 23).

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the thing-in-itself in the Genealogy, a work published one year after Beyond Good and Evil.⁵²⁷ So even though Nietzsche speaks of causal connections falsifying reality in these passages, he nevertheless, so argues Leiter, overcomes his skepticism about causation in his mature works.⁵²⁸ The problem with Leiter’s argument is that this developmental scheme is misguided. Nietzsche rejects the thing-in-itself as early as 1873 in Philosophy in the Tragic Age, and his claims about falsification in his subsequent works are rooted not in his acceptance of a thing-in-itself, but in his rejection of it. That is, his claims about beliefs falsifying reality are rooted in his commitment to an ontology of dynamic relations that eliminates non-relational entities or things-in-themselves, and his claims in these passages about causality are no exception. The idea is that Nietzsche’s talk of falsification here does not depend on a distinction between noumenal and phenomenal worlds, but between a phenomenal world described by science and a phenomenal world of commonsense. Thus, when Nietzsche speaks of an “in-itself” or “real life” in these passages, he is not talking about a noumenal realm of things-in-themselves, but the way the world is as successfully described by our best scientific theories,⁵²⁹ and what Nietzsche is arguing here is that our best science shows that cause and effect are “folk” concepts that belong to an outdated mechanistic worldview (WP 551; NL, KSA 13, 14[98]). In our best physics, there are not discrete entities that cause this or that through microbangings.⁵³⁰ Instead, Nietzsche thinks that the best science of his day indicates we are confronted with a continuum (GS 112) in which there are only relations of force (KGB III/1, Bf. 213), and if we want to understand and explain events in terms of these forces, the best we can do is understand them in the anthropomorphic language of command and obedience (BGE 19), strong and weak wills (BGE 21), and ultimately the will to power (BGE 36).⁵³¹ BGE  12 parallels HH  19 in that it provides the most concrete evidence for Nietzsche’s continued commitment to a dynamic worldview that is justified by the natural sciences. This is because Nietzsche claims that Boscovich has refuted materialistic atomism by showing that nothing, including the “particle atom,” stands fast, and Nietzsche uses this point to argue that we should also abandon the soul atomism of Christianity, which “regards the soul as something indestructible, eternal, indivisible, as a monad, as an atomon” (BGE 12). Nevertheless, this does not mean that we should give up talking about the soul as a “mortal soul” or a “subjective multiplicity” or a “social structure of the drives and affects” (BGE 12). What this indicates, of 527 Clark (1990, ch. 4). 528 Leiter (2002, p. 23). 529 Clark and Dudrick (2012, p. 95) actually agree with this point, noting that Nietzsche’s reference here to an “in-itself” must be a reference to an empirical in-itself. 530 I borrow the term “microbangings” from Ladyman and Ross (2007, p.  4), who also reject the philosophical conception of causality on the grounds that it is rooted in outdated physics. 531 See Hales and Welshon (2000, ch. 4) for an account of the way in which Nietzsche seeks to replace the category of causality with the will to power.

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course, is that Nietzsche does not want to abandon talk of souls and things entirely, just as he does not want to abandon all forms of causal explanation. Nevertheless, insofar as we do talk of such entities, it must be kept in mind that these entities are not independently existing things, both because they themselves stand in a network of relations and because they can be further analyzed into relational forces and drives that do not, in contrast to the atom, exist independently of other entities. Both BGE 12 and BGE 14 seem to contain language that might threaten the naturalist reading I attribute to Nietzsche. This is because these passages seem to cast doubt on the authority of the senses and reduce physics to just one interpretation among many. Among the comments that Nietzsche makes along these lines, the most striking is that he attributes to Plato a “noble way of thinking” that “consisted precisely in resistance to obvious sense-evidence” (BGE 14). This is striking because Nietzsche casts Plato as his primary opponent in the preface to Beyond Good and Evil, and Nietzsche’s denial of opposites in BGE 2 can be read as a direct response to and rejection of Plato’s metaphysics. Moreover, casting doubt on the senses would seem to place Nietzsche in the rationalist camp and therefore pit him against the very naturalism and empiricism I have attributed to him thus far. The other striking comment in BGE 14 is Nietzsche’s claim that, “physics, too, is only an interpretation and exegesis of the world (to suit us, if I may say so!) and not a world-explanation” (BGE 14). This is striking because Nietzsche has just praised Boscovich, a physicist, for providing us with what seems to be a non-interpretive truth about the world, namely, that nothing stands fast (BGE 12). Both of these concerns can be addressed by distinguishing between the mechanistic physics that Nietzsche rejects and the dynamic worldview that Nietzsche, via Boscovich, accepts. On this reading, when Nietzsche declares in BGE 14 that physics is just an interpretation, he is speaking of mechanistic physics only. The first reason for thinking this is that we know from the Nachlass that Nietzsche often refers to “physicists” without any sort of qualification and then proceeds to critique mechanistic physics specifically. In one fragment, he attributes to physicists a belief in the very atom that, according to Nietzsche in BGE 12, has been rejected by the physicist Boscovich. In the same fragment, Nietzsche also tells us that the posited atom is the product of a logical inference that belongs wholly to the “perspectivism of consciousness” and therefore that it is not found in reality (WP 636; NL, KSA 13, 14[97]). Again, Nietzsche attributes to Boscovich a rejection of this very idea. It is with the claim that the atom belongs to the “perspectivism of consciousness” that one finds a second reason for reading BGE 14 through the lens of this distinction between a dynamic worldview and mechanistic physics. Specifically, Nietzsche claims that physics is an interpretation and exegesis of the world that “suits us.” However, it has been argued that the dynamic worldview suits us neither in the sense of serving our needs and purposes – again it is tragic in the sense of being hostile to life – nor in the sense of reflecting our cognitive apparatus – again the dynamic worldview is philosophically tragic because it conflicts with the structures of language and

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thought. In contrast, the mechanistic worldview is an interpretation that “suits us.” On the one hand, the atom is a self-identical entity that preserves an isomorphism between thinking and being, and therefore “materialistic atomism” is a world that is intelligible to us. On the other hand, the mechanistic worldview is one that reduces everything to measurable quantities of matter and motion that are obedient to natural laws, and therefore it allows “an industrious race of machinists and bridge-builders of the future” to use mathematical formulas to measure, explain, predict, and ultimately control nature (BGE 14).⁵³² The distinction between the mechanistic and dynamic worldviews also explains Nietzsche’s seemingly critical attitude toward the senses in the passage. To begin, it cannot be the case that Nietzsche is rejecting the senses and scientific observation tout court. This is because he praises Boscovich in the same breath as Copernicus for being “the greatest and most successful opponents of visual evidence thus far” (BGE 12).⁵³³ Of course, Copernicus did not reject visual evidence entirely in favor of, say, a priori theorizing in the tradition of Parmenides. Instead, he used data gathered from careful observation to reject the testimony of what seemed, to the commonsense person, to be obvious sense experience. Applied to questions concerning the fundamental constitution of nature, one can follow Plato’s distinction from the Theaetetus between crude empiricists who reject anything that cannot be grasped with both hands and refined empiricists who believe that everything is motion alone (Tht. 155e–156a). The idea is that the atom of mechanistic physics is thought to be justified through the evidence provided by both sight and touch. On this reading, Nietzsche’s emphasis on the “eyes and fingers” and “visual evidence and palpableness” (BGE 14) indicates that his attack on science is limited to those who think that we see or touch things and then transfer the idea that the world consists of things to the micro-world of tiny, indivisible things called atoms. So construed, what Nietzsche is attacking here is not all sense evidence, such as the evidence from the sense of smell that reveals motion (TI Reason 3). Instead, he is rejecting the seemingly “obvious” evidence provided by the senses of sight and touch that is thought to justify mechanistic atomism. The next aphorism is notoriously difficult to interpret and has generated significant discussion in recent secondary literature.⁵³⁴ Here Nietzsche writes: “To study physiology with a clear conscience, one must insist that the sense organs are not phenomena in the sense of idealistic philosophy; as such they could not be causes! Sensualism, therefore, at least as a regulative hypothesis, if not as a heuristic principle”

532 The claim of Clark and Dudrick (2004, p. 374) that “Nietzsche places himself among (probably at the head of) the ‘engineers and bridge-builders of the future’” is surely misguided. Nietzsche’s claim here is that the mechanistic worldview (which he rejects) is a good way of construing the world for practical purposes, but this by no means makes it true. For a note that links the mechanistic worldview to bridges and machines, see NL, KSA 9, 11[234]. 533 For similar remarks, see NL, KSA 10, 15[21], NL, KSA 11, 26[432], and KGB III/1, Bf. 213. 534 For a recent discussion and resolution of the issues in this passage, see Riccardi (2011).

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(BGE 15). Clark has argued that this passage exhibits Nietzsche’s realization that he must presuppose the existence of real, independently existing things for the purposes of giving an empirical account of human knowledge and therefore this passage marks Nietzsche’s rejection of his previous view that the chaos of sensations is ultimate reality.⁵³⁵ Hussain, however, has argued against this reading, contending that it actually provides support for understanding Nietzsche as a neutral monist in the spirit of Ernst Mach, where basic sensations or what he calls elements constitute the fundamental building blocks of both the self and the world.⁵³⁶ The problem with Clark’s reading is that it is generated through the imposition of a limited set of theoretical options onto Nietzsche’s thought, none of which Nietzsche accepts. Specifically, Clark argues that if Nietzsche accepts representationalism, presumably understood here as the view that we immediately perceive ideas or sensedata that represent a world distinct from these ideas or sense-data, then he must either hold that there are things-in-themselves beyond such sense-data, as the indirect realist (or skeptic) would hold, or that there is nothing that exists independently of the mind and its representations, as the idealist would hold. Since Nietzsche rejects things-in-themselves, Clark argues that if he also accepts representationalism, he must accept an idealism that equates reality with the chaos of sensations. Nietzsche, however, rejects idealism in BGE 15, and because Nietzsche now rejects both thingsin-themselves and idealism, he must necessarily reject representationalism. Since he rejects representationalism, Nietzsche must think that the senses provide us with direct access to a world of commonsense things like brains and bodies. Clark’s analysis falters because it fails to consider the possibility that Nietzsche could (1) reject things-in-themselves, (2) hold that what we immediately perceive are representations, and (3) maintain that reality is more than the chaos of sensations. As I have argued, the Heraclitean-Protagorean view of perception described in the Theaetetus provides just such a model. First, it rejects things-in-themselves in favor of an ontology of dynamic relations. Although these relational entities must be constantly affecting each other, they do not have to generate perceptions in order to exist. Instead, they must simply be affecting other entities (WP 634; NL, KSA 13, 14[79]).⁵³⁷ Thus, one can say, contra idealism, that brains and bodies do exist in this ontology without being objects of perception. However, these brains and bodies are not things in the way that the person of commonsense perceives them to be. Instead, they can be further analyzed into relations of force. At the same time, it should also be noted that the brains and bodies of the commonsense world are constructed from brute sensations. In other words, in stressing his Heraclitean ontology, one cannot overlook the Protagorean aspect of Nietzsche’s 535 Clark (1990, p. 124). 536 Hussain (2004, p. 345). 537 On this view, perceptions are a subset of all affections. However, Figl (1982, p.  107) notes that Nietzsche allows for perception (Wahrnehmen) in the inorganic world as well (NL, KSA 11, 35[53]).

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philosophy. Interesting here is not only the fact that Lange sees Protagoras as the primary representative of sensualism in ancient Greece,⁵³⁸ which Lange defines as the view that all contents of consciousness are referred back to sensations,⁵³⁹ but also that Protagoras’ theory roughly squares with the neutral monism that Hussain attributes to Nietzsche by way of Mach. On this reading, the brains and bodies that a conscious “I” perceives are actually constructed, much like the “I” itself, from basic sensations. As noted above, these basic sensations are not caused by the effective interplay of forces such that they are a second, distinct entity, but rather they just are these force-relations now experienced in sensation. In terms of BGE 15, one can say that the organs of the commonsense world are constructed from brute sensations and so these organs of the commonsense world are the work of the organs understood, now from a scientific or third-person point of view, as constellations or relations of force. This, perhaps, is what Nietzsche has in mind when he tells us in a Nachlass fragment that, “our image of the eye is a product of the eye” (NL, KSA 10, 24[35]). In BGE 16 and 17, there is more indirect evidence that Nietzsche is committed to an ontology of dynamic relations that does away with self-identical, independently existing entities that persist through time. This is because Nietzsche continues to remind us that belief in such entities results from the “seduction of words” (BGE 16) and “superstitions of logicians” (BGE  17). What this means is that Nietzsche must be implicitly committed to some understanding of reality that cuts against the basic structures of language and thought. This, I have argued, is a Heraclitean ontology of dynamic relations. Specifically, BGE  16 and 17 extend Nietzsche’s attack, first articulated in BGE 12, on the existence of a knowing and willing subject. In BGE 16, Nietzsche attacks philosophers who claim to enjoy immediate certainty, have absolute knowledge, and have access to things-in-themselves. All these notions, according to Nietzsche, involve a contradictio in adjecto. Given my reading of the debate between Heraclitus and Parmenides in Philosophy in the Tragic Age, Nietzsche’s claim that the thing-in-itself is a contradiction in terms is difficult to comprehend. First, I have argued that if anything can be called “contradictory,” it is the relational ontology that Nietzsche endorses. Indeed, Nietzsche even refers to his world of wills to power as “self-contradictory” and a “play of contradictions” (WP 1067; NL, KSA 11, 38[12]). Second, I have endeavored to show, by way of an analysis of Aristotle’s defense of the principle of non-contradiction, that a theory that describes the world as contradictory cannot, according to Nietzsche, be rejected for this reason alone. That is, it could very well be the case that the world conflicts with the basic structures of thought precisely because our thinking is not “designed” for knowing. Thus, it is odd that Nietzsche, in BGE 16, seems to be rejecting the very notion that the a priori speculations of Parmenides created, namely, the thing-initself, on the grounds that this notion violates a key principle of logic. 538 Lange (1950, Vol. I, p. 39). 539 Lange (1950, Vol. I, p. 37).

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It is likely that Nietzsche’s comments here are due in part to a rhetorical flair that increases as he moves away from the sober method of Human, All Too Human to the mocking comedy of his final works.⁵⁴⁰ Indeed, evidence for his heightened rhetoric can be found in BGE  16, where Nietzsche, seemingly exasperated at the stupidity of his fellow philosophers, claims that he will “repeat a hundred times” that we need to free ourselves from the seduction of words. Nevertheless, Nietzsche does seem to be making a genuine philosophical point worthy of consideration, and two possible interpretations present themselves. First, Nietzsche rejects the possibility of having non-mediated access to unconditional truth about things-in-themselves on the grounds that knowing necessarily places the object of knowledge in relation to the knower. As a result, all knowledge is necessarily mediated by thought and therefore by something that necessarily conditions the thing known (WP 555; NL, KSA 12, 2[154]). For this reason, having unmediated or absolute knowledge of an unconditioned thing-in-itself is a contradiction in terms. The second interpretation, developed by Riccardi, says that a thing-initself is a contradiction in terms precisely because, for Nietzsche, all properties are relational. Since only intrinsic, i.e., non-relational, properties remain when a thing is considered in itself, a thing-in-itself would be bereft of properties. A thing bereft of all properties, including existence, is, on this reading, a contradiction in terms.⁵⁴¹ To show how difficult it would be for a thinker to attain the sort of knowledge at issue in BGE 16, Nietzsche plunges into a detailed analysis and critique of Descartes’ claim to have proven that he exists as a thinking thing. Here, Nietzsche highlights a series of assumptions implicit in Descartes’ attempt to prove that he exists from the fact that there is thinking. First, Descartes’ project rests on the Parmenidean or rationalist assumption that there is an isomorphism between thinking and being. That is, Descartes believes that certainty is sufficient for truth, such that when I am incapable of doubting (and so that I am certain) that some proposition is true, I can conclude from this that there is some state of affairs that makes this proposition true. In BGE 16, Nietzsche calls into question this “intuitive perception” (BGE 16). The problem with such an intuitive perception is it assumes that intuitions of a certain sort necessarily tell us something about the world. For Nietzsche, the only thing I can conclude from the fact that I am certain of some proposition is that I cannot doubt that proposition; I cannot, however, conclude that the proposition is therefore true. The more explicit critique that Nietzsche renders of the Cartesian claim is directed against a specific application of the isomorphism between thinking and being. In both BGE 16 and 17, Nietzsche attacks the presupposition that when there is a deed, there

540 See Nehamas (1985, p. 22) for similar remarks. 541 See Riccardi (2010) for more. My construal here is not meant to be maximally faithful to Riccardi’s rendering, but it is designed to follow the general thrust of Riccardi’s argument. Support for this view can be found in the Nachlass: “The ‘in-itself’ is even an absurd conception; a ‘constitution-in-itself’ is nonsense; we possess the concept of ‘being,’ ‘thing,’ only as a relational concept” (WP 583; NL, KSA 13, 14[103]).

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must be a doer.⁵⁴² In the case of the Cartesian cogito, the logic is “thinking is an activity; every activity requires an agent; consequently” (BGE 17). Although some might argue that this is necessarily true, Nietzsche contends that this inference is rooted in a “grammatical habit” (BGE 17) and therefore the doer here or the “it” is an interpretation of the process and does not belong to the “process itself [Vorgange selbst].” In other words, “it is a falsification of the facts [eine Fälschung des Thatbestandes] of the case to say that the subject ‘I’ is the condition of the predicate ‘think’” (BGE 17). In this passage, Nietzsche is again speaking of the way in which grammar falsifies some reality or set of facts to which he does have access, and again it must be a reality bereft of self-identical things or souls. As the concluding paragraph of BGE 17 indicates, this reality must be the scientific world of dynamic relations. This is because Nietzsche refers back to BGE 12 and the way in which the doer-deed structure parallels the inferences that older atomists made in holding that there must be a clump of material (atom) in addition to force. According to Nietzsche, more rigorous minds “have learned at last to get along without this ‘earth-residuum’,” a clear reference to Boscovich’s rejection of the “earth-residuum” in BGE 12. Thus, in the physical world, the elimination of matter leaves a world of pure force (NL, KSA  10, 1[3]). Similarly, in the “spiritual” world, the elimination of a substantial soul leaves a soul that can be characterized as a collection of drives and affects. In both cases, an ontology of things and their properties has been replaced by a dynamic worldview of interrelated forces, and it is one that Nietzsche originally ascribed to Heraclitus in Philosophy in the Tragic Age, made his own in Human, All Too Human, and now uses to underwrite his claims in Beyond Good and Evil that logic, language, causality, and number falsify reality for the purposes of life.

5.7 Heraclitean Ontology and Protagorean Perspectivism in Beyond Good and Evil The point of the previous section has been to show that, despite his complaints about dogmatism and his corresponding turn to perspectivism, the argument of the opening portions of Beyond Good and Evil expresses and even depends upon Nietzsche’s continued commitment to a Heraclitean ontology that he takes to be objectively true and justified by the results of scientific inquiry. In this section, I want to make more sense of how the argument of Beyond Good and Evil depends upon such a commitment by showing how Nietzsche’s turn to life-promoting perspectives is a response to this deadly ontology and therefore block the inference that Nietzsche’s perspectivism undermines the objectivity of this ontology. To do this, I begin by turning to the distinction between dogmatism and perspectivism in the preface to the work.

542 I have already noted this claim in GM I 13. Also see NL, KSA 11, 40[23].

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Nietzsche begins Beyond Good and Evil with the suggestion that truth might be a woman. Since dogmatic philosophers have lacked expertise about women, they have thus lacked expertise about truth. Because the womanly truth has spurned dogmatic philosophers, all forms of dogmatism have been left dispirited and discouraged. According to Nietzsche, such dogmatism may have been nothing more than “a noble childishness and tyronism” and “only a promise across millennia” (BGE Preface). Similar to astrology, dogmatic philosophy has written itself on the hearts of humanity by projecting its eternal demands onto the wall of nature. Of the dogmatists and their errors, Nietzsche singles out Plato’s “invention of the pure spirit and the good as such” as being “the worst, most durable, and most dangerous of all errors so far” (BGE Preface). The reason for this is that Plato’s doctrines “meant standing truth on her head and denying perspective, the basic condition of all life” (BGE Preface). From these remarks, it might seem as though Nietzsche is claiming that the problem with past philosophers is that they believed that there is one right way of construing the world such that it is true for everyone. On this rendering of Nietzsche’s perspectivism, a genuine philosopher, or a philosopher of the future, is one who acknowledges that there is no one right way of construing the world, and therefore such a philosopher highlights the fact that one’s judgments are one’s judgments in the sense that they are true for the one who judges (BGE 43). In contrast, the dogmatic philosopher of the past is one who insists that his view of the world is right not only for himself, but even for those who disagree with him. Although such a rendering of Nietzsche’s perspectivism is not entirely misguided, especially when it is applied to the value-determining, world-creating philosophy sketched in Beyond Good and Evil,⁵⁴³ there are effectively three problems with construing the contrast between perspectivism and dogmatism in this way. First, Nietzsche’s perspectivism, so construed, is dogmatic, so construed. This is because Nietzsche insists that the philosophers of the past have somehow got things wrong about the perspectival nature of their own projects. This is a point that Nietzsche emphasizes throughout the opening sections of Beyond Good and Evil. For instance, he claims in the sixth section that all philosophy has been an unconscious memoir of its author (BGE 6). He also claims that philosophers of the past have all been “actors and self-deceivers” (BGE 9). If Nietzsche’s perspectivism were itself perspectival and so true only from his perspective, he could not, in turn, insist on the perspectival nature of the beliefs of those who do not subscribe to perspectivism and so accuse philosophers of the past of lacking self-knowledge. Drawing on Plato’s analysis of the Protagorean position in the Theaetetus, Nietzsche must either insulate perspectivism itself from perspectivism so construed, such that it allows him to apply perspectivism 543 Although BGE 43 does provide evidence for the view that the non-dogmatic philosopher understands that value judgments are true only for those who make such judgments, it does not provide unambiguous evidence that Nietzsche thinks that this is true of all judgments.

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universally, or he must abandon the claim that perspectivism applies to those who deny its truth. Because the latter option is inconsistent with Nietzsche’s criticisms of other philosophers in Beyond Good and Evil and the former option resonates with Teichmüller’s construal of perspectivism, there are good reasons for thinking that Nietzsche intends his perspectivism to be a non-perspectival claim about the nature of knowledge and reality and perhaps one part of a larger, non-perspectival worldview. Therefore, it cannot be the case that Nietzsche’s perspectivism commits him to the view that there is no one right way of construing the world. The second problem is that such a reading of perspectivism reduces the Heraclitean ontology that I have traced throughout the opening sections of Beyond Good and Evil to a mere perspective. If this ontology were merely perspectival, it would be difficult to make sense not only of Nietzsche’s appeal to the natural sciences to support the view, but also his repeated claims that we falsify reality for the purposes of life. If the Heraclitean ontology were true for Nietzsche only, Nietzsche would be highlighting the fact that he shares with Boscovich and Heraclitus a similar worldview and therefore similar biographies and conditions for life. In the case of Boscovich, his scientific studies would thus be rendered irrelevant to the issue at hand, as Nietzsche’s point would be about Boscovich the person not Boscovich the scientist. Moreover, following Plato’s analysis of the Protagorean position in the Theaetetus, if Nietzsche’s perspectivism were globalized such that it is applied to all views, it becomes impossible for anyone to be wrong about anything, including perspectivism itself. Nietzsche, however, thinks that most thinkers have been wrong about a lot of things, and what they have been wrong about is their belief that they have discovered, rather than created, the objects that they claim to know and the values according to which they have tried to live. Indeed, Nietzsche claims that Plato’s dogmatic doctrines are not just dangerous or hostile to life, but that they are, in fact, “errors” (BGE Preface). Because it is difficult to make sense of how others are wrong if Nietzsche’s ontology were merely perspectival, it must be the case that Nietzsche has some objective standard to which he implicitly appeals in claiming that Plato’s philosophy is erroneous. I have endeavored to show that this is his commitment to an ontology of dynamic relations and that he takes this ontology to be objectively true. The third problem with this reading is that perspectives are said to be the basic conditions of life. Given this, the Heraclitean ontology to which Nietzsche implicitly appeals in the opening sections of Beyond Good and Evil cannot be perspectival precisely because such an ontology is hostile to the life of just about everyone. As BGE 9 makes clear, the world in itself is “wasteful beyond measure, indifferent beyond measure” (BGE 9). Because measure, limit, and value are essential features of any lifeworld, it cannot be that this vision of the world is perspectival in the sense of being a basic condition of life, whether it is the life of Nietzsche or anyone else. Indeed, it is precisely this vision of nature, one that is true for everyone, that underwrites Nietzsche’s claim that untruth is a condition of life (BGE 4) and establishes what I have called the tragic tension between life and truth.

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So if perspectivism is not a globalized form of truth relativism, how should it be understood? As an analysis of Teichmüller’s construal of perspectivism shows, perspectivism can be understood, on one level, as the view that all of reality is relational. This has already been encountered with Nietzsche’s talk of the interpretive character of existence (GS  374; NL, KSA  12, 1[115]), and the way in which such talk implies a relational ontology. Such an understanding is not only compatible with a Heraclitean ontology – a point the Theaetetus makes clear – it also makes sense of the claim that Nietzsche’s perspectivism is the view that there is no one way the world is. Specifically, one can say that Nietzsche’s perspectivism amounts to the view that there is no one way the “things” or the values or the customs of the world are precisely because everything is only something in relation to something else. Nevertheless, one can still say that there is one way the world is, namely, that it is essentially one of relationships (WP 568; NL, KSA 13, 14[93]), and it is this vision of the world that renders false any claims that there are non-relational properties or things. In contrast, a dogmatist would then be someone who believes that the world is populated with non-relational things-in-themselves that are the true objects of knowledge. Such an understanding of dogmatism is supported by Nietzsche’s claim in the Nachlass: “‘Things that have a constitution in themselves’ – a dogmatic idea with which one must break absolutely” (WP 559; NL, KSA 13, 11[134]). There is, however, a further layer to Teichmüller’s account of perspectivism that Nietzsche incorporates into his philosophy, one which is again compatible with a Heraclitean ontology. Specifically, perspectivism can also be construed as the view that we project certain categories and values onto sense experience, thereby constructing life-worlds that are inhabitable, meaningful, and intelligible. The idea is that the commonsense worlds – as opposed to scientific reality – we construct, inhabit, and know are worlds that exist only in relation to some perspective-forming entity. In contrast, the dogmatist is one who believes that the world he comes to inhabit, know, and find valuable is not a projection of his biological needs or cognitive dispositions. So understood, past philosophers have all been dogmatists not so much because they have tried to impose their views on others, but because they have failed to recognize that they have projected the values and order they have purported to discover in nature. On this reading, Nietzsche’s project is not to condemn the activity of projecting these values and categories onto nature and therefore to develop a philosophy that avoids the sin of anthropomorphism. Instead, a central goal of Beyond Good and Evil is to conceive of a philosopher who consciously projects his values and cognitive demands onto nature so as to make his world inhabitable, meaningful, and intelligible. At this point, one might be concerned that I am attributing to Nietzsche both the view that he knows that a Heraclitean ontology of dynamic relations best describes the world and the view that we can only know a world that we construct or make. Here again, this seemingly paradoxical situation is not the result of an improper interpretation of Nietzsche’s texts, but rather the result of what Nietzsche himself says. In one fragment, Nietzsche grounds his claim that there are no facts, only interpreta-

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tions in a further claim that “everything is in flux,” and in describing the world as flux, he characterizes the world as “incomprehensible, elusive” (WP 604; NL, KSA 12, 2[82]). In another fragment, Nietzsche writes: “The character of the world in a state of becoming as incapable of formulation, as ‘false,’ as ‘self-contradictory.’ Knowledge and becoming exclude one another” (WP 517; NL, KSA 12, 9[89]). Although Nietzsche’s claim to know that the world is becoming and so it cannot be known may seem paradoxical, the paradox is due to an equivocation on the word “know,” and therefore can be solved by making a simple distinction. On the one hand, Nietzsche knows that the world is in a state of becoming in the sense that he takes himself to have a justified true belief. On the other hand, Nietzsche thinks that knowledge of such a world is impossible first in the sense of being able to form an adequate mental representation of the world and second in the sense of being able to have a true belief with an explanation of why things are the way they are. In the first sense, knowledge of such a world is impossible because the world violates the basic structures of thought. Trying to know the world is like trying to put a square peg in a round hole or trying to grasp the nature of an irrational number. For Nietzsche, what we know about the world is that it is incompatible with our cognitive apparatus, and so we know just enough about the world to know that “what can be thought of must certainly be a fiction” (WP 539; NL, KSA 13, 14[148]). In the second sense, knowledge of such a world is impossible because such a world is bereft of intrinsic properties that have traditionally made explanation possible. So if there is going to be knowledge in either of these two senses, the world must first be made knowable. In the language of Nietzsche’s Nachlass, “there must first of all be a will to make knowable, a kind of becoming must itself create the deception of beings” (WP 517; NL, KSA 12, 9[89]). Although one cannot attain absolute knowledge in either of these two senses, it is thus possible for one to attain perspectival “truth” (small “t”) and perspectival “knowledge” (small “k”) of a world that is a creation and reflection of the interests and cognitive capacities of the knower. The distinction between the different kinds of knowing finds its parallel in Nietzsche’s distinction between the will to truth and the related person of scientific objectivity, on the one hand, and the will to power and the related philosopher of the future, on the other hand. A version of this distinction is already found in Human, All Too Human, where Nietzsche contrasts the philosopher who wants to “bestow on life and action the greatest possible profundity and significance” and the natural scientist “who seeks knowledge and nothing further” (HH 6). In Beyond Good and Evil, Nietzsche preserves this contrast, but he now leaves behind the scientific program of Human, All Too Human for a philosophy of the future. In leaving behind the scientific program of Human, All Too Human, Nietzsche is not abandoning the idea that the scientific program can provide a good description of what the world is like, even if the structure of the world fundamentally jars with our cognitive capacities. Instead, he is leaving behind the moral demand that one must live according to and even

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come to “know” a nature that has been stripped of everything that humans have added to it. The reason why Nietzsche is leaving behind the morality of scientific objectivity and the related will to truth for a philosophy of the future that creates a world in one’s own image is because the former not only underwrites a certain sort of skepticism, but also because it is hostile to life. Here, Nietzsche’s critique of scientific objectivity can be traced back to his criticism of Plato’s dangerous errors in the preface. On Nietzsche’s reading, both Platonic philosophy and scientific objectivity are, to use the language of the Phaedo, a preparation for death (Phd. 64a). That is, the quest for objectivity is a project of de-selfing, in which the knower seeks to transform himself into a mirror that reflects the true nature of the world (BGE 207). Here, the very instincts that animate life are thought to be a disease precisely because these instincts cloud the perception of a soul that is supposed to mirror reality. Thus, the quest for objective knowledge underwrites a larger ethic that one should, to the extent possible, purge the soul of the instincts that are seen as obstacles to knowledge. Platonic philosophy, however, is not an outright form of life denial precisely because it combines the will to truth with teachings of the “pure spirit and the good as such” (BGE Preface). Because there is a pure spirit animated by a genuine love of truth or so-called desires of reason, the death of the instincts and even the self that is tied to these instincts can be understood as a gateway to a better, more genuine, or real sort of existence. Similarly, the elimination of these instincts does not leave the knower without a world of order and value. Instead, the philosopher leaves behind the cave of apparent order and value – order and value that exist in relation to some perceiver or context – for a realm of genuine order and value – order and value that exist in and for themselves. Thus, on Plato’s picture, the will to truth can be understood as a kind of will to death, but it is a death that makes possible a better sort of life and a better understanding of genuine reality. For Nietzsche, the most serious problem that emerges with the will to truth and the related quest for objectivity is that they eventually lead to the rejection of the pure spirit and good as such, and it is here that the will to truth morphs into a genuine will to death and thus nihilism (GS 344). There are three ways in which this can be said to occur. The first problem is that the quest for objective knowledge saps the world and our lives of their value and significance. This is because, according to Nietzsche, the world is only valuable and significant because our instincts and desires have made it valuable and significant (GS 301). As the first chapter of Human, All Too Human makes clear, the scientific quest for an illusion-free life culminates in the view that the world is without value and significance. The second problem is that the quest for objectivity can be understood as a quest to see things-in-themselves. To see things-in-themselves is to see them as they are independently of their relations. The problem for Nietzsche is that a thing stripped of its relationships is no thing (WP 551; NL, KSA 13, 14[98]). In this sense, the quest for knowledge results in the dissolution of things into nothingness and so nihilism. The final problem, one that is explicitly addressed in Beyond

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Good and Evil, is that the quest for objectivity strips the individual of his personality and self. In Nietzsche’s language, the inquirer becomes a neutered mirror, and as a neuter, he is “nothing for women” (BGE 207). In other words, he is nothing for “truth” as woman (BGE Preface), for like wisdom, she wants only a warrior (Z I Reading). What all of this suggests is that Nietzsche is not merely raising the question concerning the value of truth, as BGE 1 might indicate, but that he is preparing the ground for the philosopher of the future to move beyond the will to truth that animated the project of Human, All Too Human. He is doing this because he sees in the will to truth a principle that, when combined with the discoveries that the will to truth reveals, is hostile to life. Such a reading is supported by Nietzsche’s reference to Oedipus in BGE 1. As The Birth of Tragedy makes clear, the quest for truth has an Oedipal character in the sense that wisdom cuts against the wise (BT 9), such that the quest for truth undermines all forms of Socratic optimism (BT 15). Although Nietzsche does not oppose such an unrelenting quest for truth – as this is exemplified in Human, All Too Human and the other works of the free spirit – he does oppose stopping in blind reverence of the truth and seeking nothing more. Indeed, it is precisely Nietzsche’s pursuit of truth that has revealed that truth does not have an unconditional value and therefore that it is not necessary to pursue it at all costs (GS 344). In other words, it is the death of God (GS 125) via the quest for truth that has made Nietzsche into a “free, very free spirit” (BGE Preface), and as such, he is free to subordinate the scientific, ascetic, and “unconditional will to truth” to the will to live and ultimately the will to power. Even a cursory reading of BGE 4 supports the idea that Nietzsche is subordinating the absolute drive to truth to the demands of life. This is because Nietzsche tells us that “life” is the new criterion for assessing judgments: “The falseness of a judgment is for us not necessarily an objection to a judgment; in this respect our new language may sound strangest. The question is to what extent it is life-promoting, life-preserving, species-preserving, perhaps even species-cultivating” (BGE  4). Although some might think that Nietzsche is proposing a pragmatic theory of truth, he is actually suggesting that we need to replace assessing judgments according to whether they correspond to some reality with the idea of assessing judgments according to the extent that they promote and enhance life. This is not a pragmatic theory of truth because Nietzsche does not, in the section, argue that these life-enhancing judgments are therefore true (although he does, at times, speak of such judgments as perspectivally “true”).⁵⁴⁴ Indeed, he quickly reminds us that many false judgments are nevertheless necessary for life and therefore that “untruth is a condition of life” (BGE 4). Nevertheless, this talk of “life” as the standard of judgment seems to have lapsed into dogmatic error insofar as there is now some objective entity called “life” that has replaced Plato’s Form of the Good and the Christian God. However, Nietzsche’s talk of life immediately relativizes the values in question because he is talking of the condi-

544 See Nehamas (1985, pp. 54f.) for similar considerations.

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tions for the preservation and enhancement of the life of some drive or entity. Since these conditions vary from drive to drive and entity to entity, so does the standard of value, and this is where Nietzsche’s Protagoreanism emerges. Evidence for attributing Protagoras’ homo mensura doctrine to Nietzsche can be found in BGE 3, a section which immediately follows the articulation of Heraclitus’ unity of opposites in BGE 2. The implicit reference to Protagoras appears in the final sentence of the section, where Nietzsche remarks, “supposing, that is, that not just man is the ‘measure of things’” (BGE 3). The section as a whole can be understood as the application of Nietzsche’s doctrine that opposites come to be from their opposites to the realm of conscious thought. This is because Nietzsche argues that, “‘being conscious’ is not in any decisive sense the opposite of what is instinctive: most of the conscious thinking of a philosopher is secretly guided and forced into certain channels by his instincts” (BGE 3). Applying this insight to logic, Nietzsche argues that behind what seems to be a realm of pure thought and the unbiased quest for truth are “valuations” or “physiological demands for the preservation of a certain type of life” (BGE 3). In contrast to what much of the philosophical tradition has believed thus far, logical thought and conscious reflection are not distinct from the subconscious instincts and drives of the body. Instead, the former have come to be from and therefore are still essentially related to the latter. That the section concludes with a reference to the Protagorean doctrine of homo mensura is clear. What Nietzsche means when he says that “not just” (nicht gerade) man is the measure of things is less so. Indeed, it is also possible to translate “nicht gerade” as “not exactly.”⁵⁴⁵ In either case, the statement suggests that Nietzsche thinks Protagoras’ doctrine is generally correct, but that it needs some further refinement. On the one hand, he could be following the lesson from the Theaetetus that it is not just man, but all perceiving entities – such as tadpoles and dog-faced baboons – that are the measures of things. On the other hand, and I think this is a better reading of the passage, Nietzsche could mean that it is not exactly man as a living organism which is the measure of things, but each of the drives that constitute individual organisms that are the measures of things.⁵⁴⁶ Support for the latter reading is not only suggested by Nietzsche’s repeated references to the instincts in the opening portion of BGE 3, but can be found in a later Nachlass fragment. There, Nietzsche not only complains that physicists have failed to recognize that the atom is a subjective projection, but also that they have omitted 545 See Burnham (2007, p. 19) for similar remarks. 546 See Clark and Dudrick (2012, p. 54) for an alternative reading of the passage that nevertheless acknowledges the presence of the homo mensura doctrine in BGE 3. Rather than going into detail here, I will simply note that their alternative reading is motivated by their inability to make sense of how Nietzsche could think that logic and mathematics falsify reality (2012, p. 50). I hope that I have shed sufficient light on this issue in the preceding chapters of this work by showing how the structures of logic conflict with the relational ontology Nietzsche endorses and so removed Clark and Dudrick’s motivation to provide an alternative, esoteric reading of BGE 3 and 4.

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from their worldview the “perspectivism by virtue of which every center of force – and not only man – construes all the rest of the world from its own viewpoint, i.e., measures, feels, forms, according to its own force” (WP 636; NL, KSA 13, 14[186]). The fragment supports the reading of BGE 3 that I have proposed because it states that centers of force, and not just individual organisms, construe the world from particular points of view. The fragment is also important because it uses the language of “measure” in combination with “perspective,” and Mann has argued that Nietzsche’s talk of measuring and valuing can be linked to Protagoras’ homo mensura doctrine.⁵⁴⁷ This is further supported by another note in which Nietzsche links the perspectives of these centers of force to valuations (Werthung): “Every center of force adopts a perspective toward the entire remainder, i.e., its own particular valuation, mode of action and mode of resistance” (WP 567; NL, KSA 13, 14[184]). In talking about force-centers having perspectives, it is important to recall Nietzsche’s language of drives interpreting the world in terms of “for” and “against” (WP 481; NL, KSA 12, 7[60]). That Nietzsche associates force with drive and even will is made clear in the Genealogy: “A quantum of force is equivalent to a quantum of driving, willing, effect” (GM I 13). What distinguishes the two is that whereas forces can be understood simply in terms of attraction and repulsion (WP 621; NL, KSA 12, 2[88]), drives are understood as dispositions toward some end, goal, or outcome. For my purposes here, the important point is that these ends or goals function as the standards or measures by which other things are valued.⁵⁴⁸ On this model, there is nothing inherently or objectively valuable. Instead, things only have value with reference or in relation to the perspective of some drive with some determinate end. For example, bread has no inherent value. Instead, it becomes valuable insofar as there are organisms in which the hunger drive is active and for whom the consumption of bread satisfies the demands of this drive. Because value and goodness are relative to basic drives and the conditions of existence for each organism, there can be a wide variety of conflicting values (WP 260; NL, KSA 10, 24[15]). This, of course, lies at the heart of the Protagorean picture: Just as the wind can be cold to you but hot to me, so too can one thing be good for one organism but bad for another. Thus, there are facts of the matter about what is valuable, but these facts are always relational facts, and so in cases of conflict, there is no independent standard to adjudicate which value is preferable in some non-relative or absolute sense. What I have said thus far seems to support the aforementioned “point of view” reading of Nietzsche’s perspectivism. That is, there is a world out there, and our valuations, rooted in our drives, “color” our perception of the world by dividing it into

547 Mann (2003, p.  417). Of particular importance is a passage from Zarathustra, where Nietzsche has Zarathustra speak of the “ego” as a creative, wanting, and valuing entity “that is the measure and value of things.” In the same passage, Nietzsche argues that we should overcome our desire for any kind of metaphysical world and acknowledge that the ego is the creator of all values (Z I Afterworldly). 548 See NL, KSA 11, 25[372] for a link between goals (Zwecken) and valuing (schätzend).

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things that serve our purposes and those that do not (see WP 260; NL, KSA 10, 24[15]). However, there is reason to think that Nietzsche’s perspectivism runs even deeper than this, such that our drives play a role in effectively constituting our commonsense life-worlds. BGE 10 provides the basis for attributing such a view to Nietzsche because it explicitly references both “perspective” and the problem of “the real and the apparent world” (BGE 10). As noted above, Nietzsche is referring here to the title of Teichmüller’s work and his understanding of perspectivism. In the passage itself, Nietzsche praises recent thinkers who mistrust modern positivism and speak of “perspective.” This contrast recalls the previously cited fragment in which Nietzsche replaces the positivist’s claim that there are only facts with the claim that there are only interpretations (WP 481; NL, KSA 12, 7[60]). At the same time, Nietzsche criticizes Teichmüller in BGE 10 for using his perspectivism to win back the old faith. So although Teichmüller is right that the sensible world is perspectival, he nevertheless employs perspectivism as a means to arguing that true substances are found in the realm of the spirit, thereby preserving the appearance-reality distinction and providing a path to the old god. As noted above, Nietzsche accepts the perspectival nature of the sensible world but rejects any attempt to re-establish the distinction between appearance and reality through an appeal to a substantial and immortal soul. The issue here is that one not only needs to make sense of what it means for the sensible world to be perspectival, but also do so in a way that is consistent with Nietzsche’s claim later in Beyond Good and Evil that “all credibility, all good conscience, all evidence [Augenschein]⁵⁴⁹ of truth come only from the senses” (BGE 134). Here again, Plato’s critique of the Protagorean position in the Theaetetus provides a starting point. Specifically, it was shown that the Protagorean position emerged from Theaetetus’ claim that knowledge is perception. Although Nietzsche’s claim that all evidence or appearance of truth comes from the senses is not equivalent to Theaetetus’ position, it nevertheless attests to Nietzsche’s empiricist commitments. Such commitments can be squared with Nietzsche’s rejection of positivism and his acceptance of perspectivism once we get clear about what the senses show. According to the argument of the Theaetetus, what the senses report is that something appears such and such to a particular perceiver. They do not, however, report or provide evidence for mind-independent or non-relational facts about the world. In terms of BGE 10, one can say that what the senses show, when subjected to careful analysis, is what the world appears to be in relation to a given perceiver. They do not, as the positivist believes, provide evidence for some objective set of facts or a perceiver-independent reality. Central to the Protagorean position is the view that appearances are reality (Tht. 152a). In terms of Nietzsche’s philosophy, what this means is that even though brute sensations are already bound up with and therefore relative to the knower, these sensations do not falsify some further reality. Specifically, Nietzsche contends that,

549 Augenschein might be better translated as “appearance.”

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“everything, which is to each his ‘external world’, that represents a sum of value estimations, that green, blue, red, hard, soft are inherited value estimations and their symbols” (NL, KSA 11, 34[247]).⁵⁵⁰ The idea here is that brute sensations just are the interactions of relational forces, and since these forces are engaged in measuring and valuing, our experiences of colors and other qualities are themselves relative to these valuations. These experiences do not falsify some further reality precisely because there is no non-relative world of, say, colors that our value-laden experience of colors somehow misrepresents. Thus, although the building blocks of our experienced worlds do not falsify some further reality, these building blocks are different for different perceivers depending on the evaluative standards brought to the perceptual experience. At this level, every perceiver is the measure of what he or she perceives, and as such, every perceiver can be said to be wise about his or her own appearances which, according to this relational ontology, are reality in relation to that perceiver. At the same time, Nietzsche does think that a certain sort of falsification occurs once we begin constructing life-worlds from these brute sensations, and Nietzsche thinks that the process of constructing an ordered world of experience begins even at the level of sense perception. Specifically, Nietzsche contends that seeing and therefore sensing involves a process of selective attention in which certain sensations are picked out, recognized, and accepted while other sensations are ignored, rejected, and even forgotten (NL, KSA 11, 26[71]).⁵⁵¹ Thus Nietzsche writes: “This perspective world, this world for the eye, tongue, and ear, is very false, even if compared for a very much more subtle sense-apparatus” (WP 602; NL, KSA 12, 25[505]). The idea here is that our senses, in this case, “falsify” the world because they only detect and preserve in conscious awareness and memory those sensations necessary for our survival and growth. Although one might be able to overcome the crudity of the senses by training or refining them to capture as many of our sensations as possible and thereby reduce or eliminate this sort of falsification, such a process would be hostile to life (NL, KSA 12, 5[14]). This is because Nietzsche claims that our senses are engaged in this process of selection, simplification, and falsification for the sake of life (WP 505; NL, KSA 12, 2[95]), and if one were to inhibit or reverse this process, one would plunge back into what Nietzsche calls the chaos of sensations.⁵⁵² That said, the selective processes that occur along with sensation are not the primary locus of falsification. Instead, Nietzsche’s talk of falsification enters primarily when these sensations are schematized through the linguistic concepts and logical thought that Nietzsche associates with consciousness: “Everything of which we become conscious is arranged, simplified, schematized, interpreted through and through” (WP 477; NL, KSA 13, 11[113]). Indeed, it is with the introduction of a con550 My translation. 551 Also see NL, KSA 11, 26[72] and WP 505; NL, KSA 12, 2[95]. 552 Abel (1998, pp. 144f.) makes a similar point: If interpretation and the related drive to metaphorformation were eliminated, it would destroy humanity.

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ceptualizing consciousness that Nietzsche follows Teichmüller in arguing that we effectively project the basic forms of thought such as unity and self-identity onto the chaos of sensations in the formation of perspectives or commonsense life-worlds. For Nietzsche, this schematizing activity is itself a product of the demands of life and the value judgments determined by these demands: “Life is founded upon the premise of a belief in enduring and regularly recurring things; the more powerful life is, the wider must be the knowable world to which we, as it were, attribute being. Logicizing, rationalizing, systematizing, as expedients of life” (WP 552; NL, KSA 12, 9[91]).⁵⁵³ In schematizing the world for the purposes of life, we now experience an apparent or a commonsense world that reflects, like a mirror, our cognitive apparatus and the conditions of our existence. On the one hand, Nietzsche follows Teichmüller in holding that perspectives are private worlds created by the activity of the knowing subject insofar as the basic categories of thought are projected onto the chaos of sensations. On the other hand, Nietzsche rejects the idea that there is some substantial knowing subject that projects itself onto the chaos of sensations: What distinguishes me most fundamentally from the metaphysicians is that I do not grant them that the “ego” is that which thinks; much more I take it to be the case that the ego itself is a construction of thinking, having the same rank as “matter,” “thing,” “substance,” “individuum,” “purpose,” “number”; therefore only as a regulative fiction, with the help of which a kind of permanency, consequently ‘intelligibility,’ is inserted into, projected into a world of becoming. (NL, KSA 11, 35[35])

It is with this understanding of perspectivism that one can begin to grasp the meaning of Nietzsche’s claim in BGE 6 that “every great philosophy so far” has been “the personal confession of its author and a kind of involuntary and unconscious memoir.” As the section makes clear, Nietzsche is not talking about natural scientists like Boscovich. Instead, he is talking about philosophers who have “moral intentions” (BGE 6) or those intentions that have sought to determine the “whither and for what of man” (BGE  211). Just as Nietzsche contrasts the genuine philosophers who create values with the philosophical laborers who press these very values into formulas in BGE 211, Nietzsche contrasts great philosophers with scholars (die Gelehrten) or genuinely scientific men in BGE 6. Whereas the latter may be driven by a quest for knowledge that pursues any sort of problem and therefore this quest does not say anything about who the scholar or scientist is, the philosophy of the past gave expression to who these philosophers fundamentally were. That is, their philosophies were driven by “moral intentions” that gave witness to the rank and relation of the innermost drives of the philosophers themselves (BGE 6). To be sure, Nietzsche does not want to dismiss the contributions of the scholars or the truly scientific men who might be genuinely animated by a drive for knowledge.

553 Also see WP 515; NL, KSA 13, 14[152].

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Indeed, there is reason to think that Nietzsche takes on precisely this role in Human, All Too Human, and it is through his efforts in a work like Human, All Too Human that he can now claim to have discovered that all values are posited values and therefore that all philosophy hitherto has been a process of subconscious value creation. In other words, it is because he has, through his scientific efforts, pierced through the illusion of Stoicism that he can now see Stoicism for what it is, namely, something that gave expression to the drives and general conditions for existence and flourishing of the Stoics (BGE 9). At this point, one might appeal to these passages to argue that Nietzsche’s attack on the philosophers of the past, and so dogmatism, amounts to the complaint that these philosophers have illegitimately interpreted nature through the demands of life. The problem with such a reading is that this seems to be precisely what Nietzsche’s philosopher of the future is supposed to do. Like the noble soul who judges “what is harmful to me is harmful in itself” (BGE 260), the philosopher of the future creates and legislates values, and these values are expressions of his will to power (BGE 211). Of course, this is precisely the activity that Nietzsche attributes to the Stoics: They created the world in their own image, and so their philosophy is to be understood as the most spiritual expression of the will to power (BGE 9). However, if the philosopher of the future is going to engage in precisely the activity that Nietzsche attributes to the philosophers of the past, one must wonder what the difference is between the two types of philosophers and what the basis is for Nietzsche’s complaints about the Stoics. On my reading, Nietzsche is complaining about the very thing that he complains about at the beginning of the Genealogy, namely, that the philosophers of the past have suffered from a lack of self-knowledge (GM Preface 1). In the language of Beyond Good and Evil, they are all “actors and self-deceivers” (BGE 9) precisely because they convinced themselves that they were driven by a genuine will to truth. As a result, they duped themselves into believing that they were discovering in nature the values and truths that they expressed in their philosophies and their lives. In contrast to these “advocates who resent that name” (BGE 5), the philosopher of the future is one “whose task is wakefulness itself” (BGE Preface). As such, he is one who consciously embraces philosophy as autobiography, projects his values onto the wall of nature, and declares “ecce homo!” As such, the philosophy of the future will no longer be a self-deceived will to truth, but an exercise in self-knowledge and a conscious affirmation of the most spiritual expression of the will to power (BGE 9).

5.8 Heraclitean Ontology and the Will to Power in Beyond Good and Evil Thus far, I have focused on the relationship between Nietzsche’s ontology of relational forces and his perspectivism without reference to the will to power. At first glance, it may seem that Nietzsche’s ontology of relational forces is equivalent to

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the claim that everything is will to power, and therefore when he is talking about an ontology of force he is talking about the will to power and when he is talking about the will to power he is talking about an ontology of force. However, there are good reasons for distinguishing between the two notions, the most notable of which is that Nietzsche’s ontology of force emerges prior to and independently of his notion of the will to power. This distinction is important because there is reason to think that whereas the will to power is itself a perspectival projection of Nietzsche’s life-affirming values, the ontology of force that Nietzsche inherits from the natural sciences is something that is objectively true and, in turn, provides the basis for his rejection of alternative ontologies. As I understand it, the will to power is Nietzsche’s attempt to complete the ontology of force he inherits from the natural sciences by interpreting forces as wills to power,⁵⁵⁴ and this interpretation, in turn, allows him to explain a wide variety of phenomena in terms of this fundamental essence. Because an explanation – rather than a mere description – of phenomena is a necessary condition for what Nietzsche calls knowledge, the will to power makes knowledge in this sense possible. However, because the will to power is a perspectival projection and so an interpretation (rather than a scientific explanation),⁵⁵⁵ the knowledge the will to power provides is itself perspectival “knowledge.” The secondary literature on the will to power is immense,⁵⁵⁶ and there are a host of questions that have emerged concerning the view: Is it a metaphysical, biological, or psychological claim?⁵⁵⁷ How does it relate to and differ from Schopenhauer’s metaphysics of the will and the will to live?⁵⁵⁸ Is it a master drive or is it what some scholars have called a second-order drive?⁵⁵⁹ Finally, does it commit Nietzsche to the very anthropomorphism that he complains about elsewhere?⁵⁶⁰ Most positions fall within two extremes of the debate. On the one hand, there is the view that Nietzsche’s will to power is a metaphysical doctrine of the traditional sort, such that it is meant as an objectively valid characterization of what beings essentially are.⁵⁶¹ On the other hand, there is the view that the doctrine, insofar as it is understood as a grand metaphysical

554 See Gerhardt (1996, p. 203) on this point. 555 Nietzsche often indicates in the Nachlass that he is, in Beyond Good and Evil, offering an interpretation, not an explanation (see WP 604; NL, KSA 12, 2[82] and NL, KSA 12, 1[121]). Here, it could also be said that Nietzsche sees all explanations as interpretations. For more on this point, see Figl (1982, pp. 47ff.). 556 In addition to Müller-Lauter’s work, which I discuss below, perhaps the two most significant accounts of the will to power in the German secondary literature can be found in the first part of Abel (1998) and Gerhardt (1996). 557 See, for instance, Clark (1983). 558 See, for instance, Janaway (2007, pp. 150ff.). 559 See, for instance, Reginster (2006, ch. 3). 560 See, for instance, Acampora (2004, pp. 180ff.). 561 See, for instance, Richardson (1996).

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or cosmological thesis, is a self-conscious myth that projects and reflects Nietzsche’s life-affirming values and therefore is devoid of epistemic significance.⁵⁶² The reading that I propose can be understood as an attempt to combine these two interpretations: Nietzsche intends the doctrine to be a sweeping interpretation of all events that makes knowledge possible, but he is aware that this knowledge is perspectival because it depends on a simplifying, falsifying, and anthropomorphizing projection of his values.⁵⁶³ In other words, the will to power is not a product of the sober naturalism expressed in Human, All Too Human. Instead, it is an essential feature of a philosophy of the future that creates the world in the image of the philosopher (BGE 9), where this act of world creation is itself an expression of the will to power (BGE 211). The will to power appears in eleven sections throughout Beyond Good and Evil and four sections in the first chapter. Nietzsche’s first mention of the doctrine is found in the aforementioned passage from BGE 9,⁵⁶⁴ a section in which he speaks of philosophy as the most spiritual expression of the will to power. However, it is Nietzsche’s reference to the will to power in BGE 13 that provides important clues as to how the doctrine should be interpreted. There, Nietzsche writes: Physiologists should think before putting down the instinct of self-preservation as the cardinal instinct of an organic being. A living thing seeks above all to discharge its strength – life itself is will to power; self-preservation is only one of the indirect and most frequent results. (BGE 13)

In the remarks that follow, Nietzsche cautions against “superfluous teleological principles – one of which is the instinct of self-preservation (we owe it to Spinoza’s inconsistency)” (BGE 13). This is because the method Nietzsche adopts demands an economy of principles, and therefore self-preservation must be rejected as a cardinal instinct of an organic being. Although it is clear that he contrasts the will to power with the drive to self-preservation, what is not so clear is whether Nietzsche is rejecting all teleological principles or only those that are “superfluous” (BGE 13). In support of the former,⁵⁶⁵ one might argue that Nietzsche is criticizing Spinoza not so much for believing that self-preservation is the fundamental drive of all organic beings rather than the will to power, but for believing in any such fundamental drive. The problem is that such a fundamental drive is a teleological notion, and Spinoza is a critic of teleology. Consequently, Spinoza is inconsistent. Because Nietzsche wants to avoid such inconsistency, or so

562 This is Clark’s view (1983). 563 Gerhardt (1996, p. 210) emphasizes the anthropomorphic nature of the will to power contra Deleuze (1983, p. 50). 564 Nietzsche also mentions the will to power in a final draft of BGE 3 (KSA 14, p. 348). Lampert (2001, p. 28) notes this point. 565 A variation of such a reading can be found in Clark and Dudrick (2012, pp. 215ff.). Abel (1998, pp. 133–139) also argues that the will to power stands opposed to teleology at the level of organisms, individuals, history, and the cosmos.

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the argument would go, his doctrine of the will to power cannot be construed as a teleological principle.⁵⁶⁶ In contrast to such a reading, there is reason to think that Nietzsche is not embracing Spinoza’s critique of teleology, but only pointing out his inconsistency on the matter. At the same time, Nietzsche is also attacking Spinoza for failing to understand the true aim of all organic life, which is power, not preservation. So understood, it is not that Nietzsche wants to reject all teleological principles, but only superfluous ones, and since the drive for self-preservation can be explained in terms of the will to power (and not vice versa), the drive for self-preservation must be rejected as a superfluous teleological principle. Although Nietzsche is critical of the idea that there are purposes in nature and so a certain sort of teleology (GS 109), Richardson has argued that Nietzsche’s talk of a will to something, whether it is power, life, sex, or ice cream, implies a commitment to teleology.⁵⁶⁷ Thus, Nietzsche writes; “There is no such thing as ‘willing,’ but only a willing some-thing: one must not remove the aim from the total condition” (WP 668; NL, KSA 13, 11[114]). To explain this apparent contradiction, one can say that Nietzsche is following Schopenhauer in attacking, on the one hand, the notion that teleology implies theology, where the organization of the world entails the existence of a divine designer, and, on the other hand, in rejecting the idea that the organization found in the world is the product of blind chance (WWR II 30). The idea is that there is a kind of naturalized or immanent teleology divorced from theology, and this kind of teleology explains the organization, behavior, and movement of organic and even inorganic entities in terms of goal-directed forces at work within nature. These goaldirected forces are what both Schopenhauer and Nietzsche call will or wills, and for Nietzsche, the goal of these wills is not life, but power. Thus, the organization, behavior, and movement of the world can be explained by reference to a non-transcendent final cause, namely, the will to power, and so the will to power can be understood as supplanting the explanatory role that God plays in theological systems. Richardson’s work also points to a second concern that the passage raises, and it has to do with the fact that Nietzsche’s claim that power, not self-preservation, is the end or goal of all willing can be linked to his critique of both Darwin and Schopenhauer. In GS 349, Nietzsche quips about the fact that the natural sciences have become entangled in what he calls Spinozistic dogma, and the example he gives is Darwinism’s “struggle for existence.” According to Nietzsche, the struggle for existence and the distress it creates is only a partial aspect of life. The real struggle, says Nietzsche, is for superiority, growth, expansion, and power, and therefore the will to live is the will to power (GS 349; TI Skirmishes 14). What such remarks indicate is that Nietzsche attributes to both Spinoza and Darwin a fundamental drive for life that results in a struggle for existence, and that Nietzsche responds to both thinkers by 566 See NL, KSA 11, 26[432] for Nietzsche’s claim that he follows Spinoza in his rejection of teleology. 567 Richardson (2004, p. 20). Also see Poellner (1995, p. 165), Mittasch (1952, p. 198), and Figl (1982, p. 96).

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substituting power for survival. The problem, as Richardson points out, is that attributing to Darwin an inexplicable urge for life is a serious misreading of Darwin’s theories and the logic of natural selection.⁵⁶⁸ Because of this, Richardson tries to understand the will to power as something that has been selected and therefore something that can be explained by natural selection, as opposed to seeing the will to power as “a universal force more basic than Darwinian selection.”⁵⁶⁹ Although Richardson’s attempt to salvage Nietzsche from this apparent blunder is no doubt admirable, he is forced to acknowledge that Nietzsche’s dominant view is that the will to power is a “basic explainer” and that the view he defends in Nietzsche’s New Darwinism is a recessive view that Nietzsche sometimes adopts.⁵⁷⁰ As Richardson notes, one Nachlass fragment explicitly commits Nietzsche to the view that the will to power is the cause of evolution and not vice versa (WP 690; NL, KSA 13, 11[29]). Further support for understanding the will to power as the primary explanans can be drawn from the fact that Nietzsche presents the doctrine as a modification of Schopenhauer’s will to live. This provides support for the dominant view of Nietzsche’s will to power because Schopenhauer’s will to live is a principle that is “incapable of further explanation, but is the basis of every explanation” (WWR II 38). The fact that Nietzsche presents the will to power as a modification of the will to live is evidenced by the first appearance of the will to power in his published works. Specifically, Nietzsche writes in Zarathustra: “Only where there is life is there also will: not will to life but – thus I teach you – will to power” (Z II Self-Overcoming). The most straightforward reading of the passage is one that corresponds to the straightforward reading of BGE 13. Just as he seeks to explain Spinoza’s drive for self-preservation in terms of a more fundamental drive for power in BGE 13, Nietzsche is substituting here the will to power for the will to live. Consequently, there is reason to think that in substituting power for survival, Nietzsche attributes to the will to power the same explanatory role that Schopenhauer attributes to the will to live. Schopenhauer presents the will to live in the two volumes of his magnum opus, The World as Will and Representation. Similar to Kant, Schopenhauer espouses an appearance-reality distinction. In contrast to Kant, he presents the distinction as a difference between representations (appearance) and will (reality). Whereas representations always exist only in relation to a subject (just as subjects only exist in relation to objects), the will is the real world or, to use Kant’s language, the thing-in-itself. According to Schopenhauer, the claim that the will is the thing-in-itself is grounded in two moves. First, the entire world of representation exists only for a subject, and so if there were nothing more than representations, we would be forced to accept the truth of theoretical egoism, which Schopenhauer rejects as absurd (WWR I 19). 568 Richardson (2004, p. 24). 569 Richardson (2004, p. 12). 570 See Richardson (2004, pp. 46ff.). Janaway (2007, p. 161) makes the same point about Richardson’s analysis.

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Although he recognizes the force of a skeptical stance that acknowledges the existence of things-in-themselves but denies that we have access to anything beyond our representations, Schopenhauer thinks that there is a way to penetrate this epistemic fortress. Specifically, we have access to the true nature of the world because we experience ourselves not only as representations but also as will. That is, we experience the world from the inside, and because of this, Schopenhauer claims that we can infer that the rest of the world also has an inner character. Whereas the outer character can be grasped through representation, the inner character is something that we can grasp only through our own experience as willing beings. Specifically, it is through our experience as willing beings that we can come to understand that the world is the objectification of what Schopenhauer calls the will to live (WWR I 54), where “everything presses and pushes toward existence, i.e., life, and then to the highest possible degree thereof” (WWR II 38). Although Schopenhauer turns inward to understand the thing-in-itself as the will to live, the theory itself can be disconfirmed through empirical observation. So just as Schopenhauer turns to work in the natural sciences in On the Will in Nature to show that their results are continuous with his metaphysical claim, the results of the natural sciences can also reveal that the will to live fails as an explanation of all events, which would happen if certain phenomena could not be explained in these terms. This is important to note precisely because Nietzsche turns to the natural sciences to argue that certain phenomena in physics and biology cannot be satisfactorily explained in terms of a will to live, and this, in turn, licenses his switch from the will to live to the will to power. For instance, we know that Nietzsche’s talk of “discharge” (auslassen) in BGE 13 can be traced back to his reading of Robert Mayer’s Über Auslösung, in which it is argued that all motion can be understood as discharges of stored energy.⁵⁷¹ For Nietzsche, this is something that cannot be explained by a mere will to live or a desire to preserve oneself. It can, however, be explained by what Nietzsche calls the will to power, and therefore the will to power offers a more adequate explanation of the phenomena than the will to live. As Müller-Lauter and Gregory Moore have stressed, Nietzsche also found in the work of Wilhelm Roux and William Rolph support for the view that organisms do not pursue mere preservation, but rather expansion and growth. For example, Rolph argues that even at the cellular level there is an insatiable urge to assimilate as much nutriment as possible, far more than what is needed for the preservation of the organism. For Nietzsche, such behavior cannot be explained by a mere will to live, but it can be explained by the will to power (WP 660; NL, KSA 12, 2[76]).⁵⁷² Furthermore,

571 Müller-Lauter (1999a, p. 237). For a more extensive treatment, see Mittasch (1952, pp. 114ff.). 572 As Moore (2002, pp. 47f.) notes, such an idea is also expressed in the following Nachlass fragment: “one cannot ascribe the most basic and primeval activities of protoplasm to a will to self-preservation, for it takes into itself absurdly more than would be required to preserve itself” (WP 651; NL, KSA 13, 11[121]).

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as Müller-Lauter has pointed out, Nietzsche also believes that the will to power can explain Roux’s conception of the organism as an inner struggle. For Roux, organisms develop as a result of mutually conflicting parts. Although Roux understands this process as a causal-mechanical event, Nietzsche thinks this process can only be explained in terms of an active inner principle at work in the various constituents of the organism, namely, the will to power.⁵⁷³ From these remarks, one can begin to identify three central features of the will to power. The first is a point that Reginster has stressed in his analysis,⁵⁷⁴ namely, that Nietzsche rejects Schopenhauer’s claim – one that can be traced back to the conception of eros in Plato’s Symposium – that all willing stems from lack (WWR I 38 and 57). In contrast, Nietzsche believes that willing, like suffering, can emerge from either lack or superabundance (GS 370). In other words, even if one were fully satisfied like a god, one would still be driven to discharge one’s strength in a quest to grow and expand. It is with the quest for growth and expansion that entities seek out opponents and occasions for resistance, which is a second feature of the will to power that Reginster emphasizes. As Nietzsche writes in one fragment, “all activity is directed against something that is to be overcome. The will to power therefore seeks out resistances, pain” (NL, KSA 11, 26[275]).⁵⁷⁵ The third point is that the will to power is also a will to assimilate and incorporate the resisting entity that is overcome (WP 656; NL, KSA 12, 9[151]). That is, the will to power is not simply a desire for resistance that accompanies the pursuit of whatever other end we may have. Instead, it aims at expansion and growth by seeking out, overcoming, and incorporating foreign material that initially resists such incorporation.⁵⁷⁶ Of course, there is no explanation as to why growth is wanted. For Nietzsche, like Schopenhauer, the will to power is a fundamental fact that is designed to explain all events, but itself does not admit of explanation. Although there are important parallels between Schopenhauer’s will to live and Nietzsche’s will to power, it is also important to highlight some differences, and this can be done by moving beyond an exegesis of BGE 13 to Nietzsche’s other remarks about the will and the will to power in the first two chapters of Beyond Good and Evil. The first difference is that Nietzsche’s will to power, like the will itself, is not a unitary metaphysical principle that stands behind or beyond the phenomena. Such a

573 Müller-Lauter (1999a, pp. 174ff.). 574 Reginster (2006, p. 109). 575 Also see WP 693; NL, KSA 13, 14[80]. 576 Although both Müller-Lauter (1999a) and Reginster emphasize this point, Reginster uses it to argue that the activity of overcoming resistance is what the will to power essentially is (2006, pp.  131f.). In other words, Reginster argues that the will to power is not essentially the pursuit of power, even though the attainment of power is a “common and perhaps necessary” consequence of it (2006, p. 139). Because a more detailed discussion of Reginster’s point than I can offer here is necessary, I will simply state my view that the will to power is essentially a will to grow, expand, and command, where a necessary component of growth and expansion is the seeking out and overcoming of resistance. For a defense of this view, see Figl (1982, pp. 94ff.).

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principle would, of course, violate Nietzsche’s critique of metaphysics and his commitment to the view that everything exists and is what it is only in relation to something else. So however the will to power is construed, it is going to have a relational character. Indeed, the very notion that the will to power seeks out and expresses itself against resistance emphasizes its relational character, such that when one speaks of will to power one must always, as Müller-Lauter has argued,⁵⁷⁷ think in terms of wills to power. Another reason for thinking of the will to power in this way can be found in Nietzsche’s critique of Schopenhauer’s account of willing in BGE 19. There, Nietzsche emphasizes, in contrast to Schopenhauer, that “willing is something complicated, something that is a unity only as a word” (BGE 19). According to Nietzsche, willing always involves a plurality of sensations that has the affect of a command, where there is always a party that commands and a party that simultaneously obeys. Here again, willing, like the will to power, necessarily has a relational structure (BGE 19). Finally, it would be wrong to think of the will to power as an entity that is numerically distinct from the natural world. Instead, Nachlass fragments indicate that Nietzsche sees the will to power as a further characterization of a world that natural scientists like Boscovich have reduced to relations of force. Specifically, Nietzsche writes in a much-cited Nachlass fragment: The victorious concept “force,” by means of which physicists have created God and the world, still needs to be completed: an inner will must be ascribed to it, which I designate as “will to power,” i.e., as an insatiable desire to manifest power; or as the employment and exercise of power, as a creative drive, etc. (WP 619; NL, KSA 11, 36[31])

From this important fragment, one can begin to see the way in which Nietzsche understands the will to power as an attempt to “complete” the picture he inherits from the natural sciences. The problem, however, is that it is hardly clear what Nietzsche means by “completing” the concept of force. One thing that can be inferred is that the will to power is going to be a theory that does not conflict with the results of the natural sciences. Specifically, it is going to include what the natural sciences say, but then say something more. So understood, the will to power will have to conform to the relational, dynamic structure of reality that Nietzsche finds in both Heraclitus and the work of Boscovich. Because such a relational reality does away with anything that can be construed as a thing-in-itself and things-in-themselves (being qua being) are the principal objects of study in metaphysics, the will to power cannot be a metaphysical doctrine in this sense.

577 Müller-Lauter (1999a, ch. 8). Also see Figl (1982, pp. 83ff.) for an explanation of the debate between Müller-Lauter and Heidegger and for an account of how the will to power conforms to the relativity principle that is a centerpiece of Nietzsche’s interpretation of Heraclitus.

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There are, however, two further questions that arise. The first has to do with why Nietzsche feels compelled to “complete” the natural sciences. The answer can again be found in Schopenhauer’s justification for going beyond the results of the natural sciences. In particular, it has to do with the explanatory skepticism that the strict methods of the natural sciences create. That is, the sciences have successfully reduced everything to relations of force, but force itself is an inexplicable qualitas occulta. Thus, Schopenhauer writes: Every explanation of natural science must ultimately stop at such a qualitas occulta, and thus at something wholly obscure. It must therefore leave the inner nature of a stone just as unexplained as that of a human being; it can give as little account of the weight, cohesion, chemical properties, etc. of the former, as of the knowing and acting of the latter. (WWR I 15)⁵⁷⁸

Similarly, Nietzsche argues that “the development of science resolves the ‘familiar’ more and more into the unfamiliar: – it desires, however, the reverse, and proceeds from the instinct to trace the unfamiliar back to the familiar” (WP 608; NL, KSA 12, 5[14]). As a result, Nietzsche thinks that, “science is preparing a sovereign ignorance” (WP 608; NL, KSA 12, 5[14]).⁵⁷⁹ In other words, the natural sciences can only provide a description of the world in terms of entities that are wholly foreign to the world we experience (WP  618; NL, KSA  11, 36[34]).⁵⁸⁰ Consequently, we know enough of the world to know that we cannot explain it in terms familiar to us. This, however, is precisely what Nietzsche thinks knowledge requires, i.e., tracing something unfamiliar back to the familiar (GS 355).⁵⁸¹ The argument here is the already familiar claim that the natural sciences produce a sort of skepticism, and in this case, it is what I have called explanatory skepticism. That is, the natural sciences make it impossible to provide any sort of ultimate explanation of phenomena, and since Nietzsche believes that knowledge requires such an explanation, the natural sciences make knowledge impossible. However, Nietzsche wants to overcome this kind of skepticism, and he thinks he can do this in a qualified sense by first endowing the world with human characteristics that make it intelligible. In language that recalls Schopenhauer’s claim that we know the world as will

578 Also see WWR II 17 as to why naturalism fails to offer non-conditional explanations of things and therefore fails as a comprehensive system. 579 See Dellinger (2012) for an essay that appeals to this note to argue against the naturalist reading of Nietzsche. 580 As Nietzsche writes in The Gay Science: “‘Explanation’ is what we call it, but it is ‘description’ that distinguishes us from older stages of knowledge and science. Our descriptions are better – we do not explain any more than our predecessors” (GS 112). 581 So Schopenhauer writes: “We must learn to understand nature from ourselves, not ourselves from nature. What is directly known to us must give us the explanation of what is only indirectly known, not conversely” (WWR II 18). Also see Poellner (1995, pp. 38f.) on the view that we need to know the explanans more clearly than the explanandum in early modern science.

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through the experience of our own willing,⁵⁸² Nietzsche writes in the Nachlass that he is going to “employ man as an analogy” in order to “understand all motion, all ‘appearances,’ all ‘laws,’ only as symptoms of an inner event” (WP 619; NL, KSA 11, 36[31]). This inner quality or event is none other than the will to power (WP 619; NL, KSA 11, 36[31]). It is with this framework that one can begin to approach Nietzsche’s presentation of the will to power in BGE 22 and BGE 36. In so doing, one encounters a central difference between Nietzsche’s portrayal of the will to power and Schopenhauer’s assertions about the will to live. Although Nietzsche sees in the will to power a principle that allows him to explain and therefore understand the natural world, he nevertheless knows that the will to power is derived from the experience of willing and therefore must be understood as an interpretation of a text that could be subjected to alternative modes of interpretation. Thus, whereas Schopenhauer claims that the will to live is “the only true description of the world’s innermost nature” (WWR II 28), Nietzsche’s philosopher of the future rejects such dogmatism, insisting that his explanation of the text – a text provided by the natural sciences – is just one possible interpretation among many. Nietzsche begins BGE  22 by putting his finger on bad modes of interpretation. Specifically, he addresses physicists who talk proudly of “nature’s conformity to law.” According to Nietzsche, the physicists are bad interpreters of the text of nature for two reasons. The first is that they mistakenly believe that the laws of nature of which they speak are text, not interpretations. That is, they believe that what they observe when they observe the behavior of natural entities are laws that govern the changes of those entities. Nietzsche, however, claims that they do not actually observe such laws (WP 631; NL, KSA 12, 2[139]). Instead, what they observe is the behavior of these entities and then they interpret or explain this behavior in terms of unobservable laws that supposedly govern the natural world. For Nietzsche, this is a “bad” mode of interpretation not only because it overlooks the fact that it is an interpretation and not text, but also because it projects onto the world “democratic instincts” that betray a “plebeian antagonism to everything privileged and autocratic” (BGE  22). According to Nietzsche, it is therefore possible that someone might come along with “opposite intentions and modes of interpretation” and read out of the same “nature” and the same phenomena “the tyrannically inconsiderate and relentless enforcement of claims of power” (BGE 22). In other words, one could interpret these same events or this same text as a result of the will to power, where everything is necessary not because there are laws, but because “every power draws its ultimate consequences at every moment” (BGE 22).

582 As Schopenhauer writes in WWR II 24, “therefore mere naturalism is based essentially on nothing but qualitates occultae and we can never get beyond these, except, as I have done by calling in the aid of the subjective source of knowledge.”

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Perhaps the most notable feature of BGE  22 is its conclusion. Specifically, Nietzsche raises the possibility that one might object to his proposal that everything is will to power on the grounds that it too is interpretation and not text. To this, Nietzsche famously responds, “well, so much the better” (BGE 22). What is clear is that this claim highlights the interpretive character of Nietzsche’s attempt to understand the world in terms of the will to power, and so he is not privileging his interpretation of nature over the nomological interpretation of the same text on epistemic grounds. What is less clear is that once the interpretive character of the will to power is acknowledged, one wonders just how deep the interpretive character of Nietzsche’s project is supposed to go. In particular, one might argue that Nietzsche’s acknowledgement of the interpretive character of the will to power indicates that the relational ontology I have traced throughout this work is itself an interpretation and not text. That is, Nietzsche might be heard as saying that everything is interpretation and that this claim itself is an interpretation,⁵⁸³ and so it seems that Nietzsche’s philosophy has a necessarily circular character that he openly embraces.⁵⁸⁴ Although I agree that Nietzsche’s claim that everything is interpretation is itself an interpretation because it is related to his claim that everything is will to power, I distinguish between Nietzsche’s claim that reality consists of relations of force and his claim that reality consists of wills to power mutually interpreting each other, holding that the latter is a further characterization or interpretation of the former. That is, Nietzsche interprets the scientific world of relational forces as wills to power in which each relatum interprets other relata in terms of its quest to become more. BGE 22 provides textual support for such a reading because Nietzsche refers to a text of nature that constrains the interpretation, and so although one can equally well interpret or explain the meaning of phenomena either by reference to laws of nature or by reference to the will to power, there is still a text to be interpreted.⁵⁸⁵ On my reading, this constraining text is precisely the ontology Nietzsche inherits from the developments in the natural sciences of his day, and so however one interprets nature, such an interpretation cannot conflict with the relational structure of reality. So although the will to power characterizes the relational ontology Nietzsche inherits from the natural sciences, the will to power itself is not equivalent to the claim that the world has a relational character. Instead, the will to power is a further claim that enables Nietzsche to explain, among other things, why organisms interpret the world in the variety of ways that they do. In this sense, the will to power is a standard for interpretation, so that each drive interprets the world to which it is related in

583 Danto (1965, p. 230) understands Nietzsche’s claim this way, so that it is not just the will to power that is an interpretation, but Nietzsche’s entire philosophy. Also see Nehamas (1985, p. 35), who expands Nietzsche’s remarks here to encompass his entire philosophy. Finally, see Patt (1997, p. 133). 584 See Abel (1998, pp. 162ff.). 585 Of course, once relational forces are interpreted as wills to power, these forces disappear under the interpretation. This, at least, is how I understand Nietzsche’s remarks in BGE 38.

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terms of its quest for growth and expansion. For Nietzsche, this means that the physicists’ attempt to interpret the text of nature in terms of laws that all entities obey is, in fact, an expression of their own will to power, even though such an interpretation reveals the “plebeian” instincts of such physicists. Similarly, Nietzsche’s attempt to interpret the world in terms of a “relentless enforcement of claims of power” (BGE 22) can be explained by the particular manifestation of the will to power at work within his psyche. Thus, asserting that his interpretation of the world as will to power is itself an interpretation simply re-affirms the idea that his own interpretation is an expression of the will to power, which is what it should be if it is going to be consistent with the claim that the world is will to power. As a result, BGE 22 implies a contest of interpretations, neither of which is epistemically superior to the other and both of which are animated by different manifestations of the will to power. In BGE 23, this contrast is heightened as Nietzsche turns to the realm of psychology, contending that certain “moral prejudices” have prevented psychologists from understanding psychology as “morphology and the doctrine of the development of the will to power” (BGE 23). These moral prejudices have had an “injurious, inhibiting, blinding, and distorting” effect (BGE 23). Not only have they made it difficult to accept the fact, already announced in BGE 2, that good and evil drives have a reciprocal dependence, these moral prejudices also stir up feelings of disgust and nausea at the idea that affects such as hatred, envy, covetousness, and the “lust to rule” are conditions of life and even necessary for the enhancement of life (BGE 23). Here again, Nietzsche presents the reader with an option: Either try to resist such painful hypotheses or, if this proves to be too difficult, wholly embrace such ideas and crush the moral prejudices that resist such thoughts. According to Nietzsche, the benefit of opting for the latter is that such a thinker will be able to demand in return that psychology be again recognized as the queen of the sciences and the “path to fundamental problems” (BGE 23). Nietzsche’s remarks here are again highly cryptic, but because they conclude the first chapter of Beyond Good and Evil, there is reason to think that they are designed to segue to the second chapter and the presentation of the will to power as an interpretation of the world in BGE 36. The idea is that by crushing morality one will earn the right to understand psychology as the key to unlocking fundamental problems and perhaps the riddle of the world. On my reading, one effect of crushing morality is overcoming the idea that the truth, as an objective, maximally de-anthropomorphized account of reality, has an absolute value and should therefore be sought at all costs. A free spirit, to whom Nietzsche devotes the second chapter of Beyond Good and Evil, is precisely one who is no longer obligated to discover this sort of truth in this sort of way. Instead, the free spirit is free to see life and the psychological drives that animate life not as obstacles in the quest for knowledge, but rather as a means to what can be called perspectival “knowledge” (GS 324). Reading the free spirit as a figure who has overcome what I have called the morality of truth and science finds support from the very first section of the second chapter

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of Beyond Good and Evil. This is because Nietzsche begins the section by speaking not of truth, but of life, and in speaking of life, he speaks of simplification and falsification: “O sancta simplicitas! In what strange simplification and falsification man lives!” (BGE 24). Nevertheless, Nietzsche does go on to speak of knowledge and implicitly truth. He does so, however, not by advocating the need to eliminate the falsification and simplification inherent in life in the quest for knowledge and truth, but by proposing that, in accord with the unity of opposites teaching of BGE 2, we understand the will to ignorance as the foundation of the will to knowledge, where the latter is a further refinement of the former. The idea seems to be that if there is going to be any knowledge at all, it must involve some sort of ignorance, simplification, and falsification. Thus, Nietzsche concludes the section with the claim that, “science at its best seeks most to keep us in this simplified, thoroughly artificial, suitably constructed and suitably falsified world” (BGE 24). On a certain understanding of this passage, Nietzsche’s claim presents a significant challenge to the kind of naturalist reading that I have defended throughout this work. This is because it seems to say that science, in the sense of the natural sciences, at its best provides us with a simplified and falsified understanding of the world, and so it seems to say that Boscovich’s physics, or science at its best, presents us with a falsified description of reality.⁵⁸⁶ The problem with such a reading is threefold. The first is that Nietzsche appeals to Boscovich’s theory to support his claim that our typical ways of thinking about the world, either scientific or commonsense, falsify reality, and so it would be strange if Nietzsche were saying that Boscovich’s theory also falsifies reality. The second is that if Nietzsche were saying this, it would be difficult to know what Boscovich’s theory falsifies. Would it be some kind of thingin-itself? Whatever it is, it would have to be something that transcends Boscovich’s account of the natural world, and Nietzsche clearly rejects any sort of transcendent reality. Finally, for Nietzsche to say that Boscovich’s account of the natural world falsifies the world in itself, Nietzsche would have to know what this true world is like. But how would he know this if science at its best falsifies? It would imply that he has some other way of knowing what the world is like, but what would this be? Nietzsche’s references to knowledge (Wissen) and science (Wissenschaft) need to be understood within the context of his time and his writings. Although it is far from clear, it is quite possible that when Nietzsche speaks of Wissenschaft here, he is not speaking of the natural sciences per se, but rather the kind of Wissenschaft that a thinker like Schopenhauer took himself to be pursuing. As such, Nietzsche is referring to a science (Wissenschaft) that does not merely seek to describe reality or even predict the future, but primarily looks for a systematic explanation of why things 586 This might also be a misunderstanding of the passage because it assumes that science is at its best when it is maximally faithful to the world it describes and explains. However, what Nietzsche might mean here is that the best science is one that simplifies and falsifies because the best science is one that provides the most life-affirming interpretation of existence.

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are the way they are and why things behave the way they do (FR 4). In this sense, Nietzsche is speaking of a metaphysical tradition, dating at least as far back as Aristotle, that demands a systematic explanation of things. Nietzsche’s claim is that whenever we look to explain the world systematically, we necessarily simplify, falsify, and anthropomorphize, and this is why Wissenschaft at its best keeps us in a simplified and falsified world. Again, this is because knowledge, in this sense, involves reducing the unfamiliar into something familiar (GS 355), and so all knowledge will necessarily involve translating the world into human terms (GS 112). At this point, it is important to note that Nietzsche is not objecting to an explanatory knowledge that involves some sort of anthropomorphization and falsification. This is precisely why Nietzsche presents these claims in a chapter that has the title, “The Free Spirit.” The free spirit is a figure who has liberated himself from the morality of truth and science, and therefore no longer finds the falsity of a judgment a necessary objection to the judgment (BGE 4). Moreover, the second chapter of Beyond Good and Evil is designed to transition from the free spirit to the philosopher of the future, evidenced by BGE 44. The philosopher of the future is a continuation of the free spirit project because the philosopher of the future philosophizes from the standpoint of having been liberated from the morality of truth and science. That is, the philosopher of the future knowingly projects certain features of his or her own psychology onto reality and then tries to explain all phenomena in terms of some fundamental principle or set of principles. The question for the philosopher of the future is not so much whether this experiment anthropomorphizes or simplifies the world, as all explanations inevitably do, but whether this experiment is something that promotes and enhances the conditions of life. Just over halfway through the second chapter, Nietzsche presents his claim that the world is will to power and nothing besides (BGE 36), and he begins the section with the supposition that the only “reality” to which we have access is the “reality of our drives.” The idea is that if we are going to understand the world, we have to begin with the given. For reasons that Nietzsche does not explicitly state, our senses do not provide us with the tools to do this. Instead, Nietzsche’s view is that the world of the senses or the material world is the explanandum or what is to be known, and our drives provide us with a potential key for understanding the material world and the changes that occur within it. The material world, however, is not a mere appearance of some more fundamental reality, but it has the same rank as our drives and affects. As Nietzsche stresses, his attempt to understand or offer an explanation of the changes that occur in the material world has an experimental character, and the methodological demands of this experiment require that he attempts to explain everything in terms of a single kind of causality. The kind of causality that he uses to explain the world is the causality of the will, not the efficient causality of the mechanistic worldview (WP 689; NL, KSA 13, 14[81–82]). That is, if we believe in the causality of the will – the only kind of causality with which we are familiar – then we must try to explain all events in terms of this kind of causality. Thus, wherever mechanical forces

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are at work, we must understand these forces in terms of “will force” or “effects of the will.” Moreover, if we can explain all organic functions in terms of the will to power, as BGE 13 proposes, then we will also have the right to “determine all efficient force univocally as – will to power.” This, then, would allow us to characterize the world, now viewed from the inside, as the “‘will to power’ and nothing else” (BGE 36). Perhaps the most notable aspect of Nietzsche’s presentation of the will to power is its hypothetical character – a fact he seems to forget later in the text when he speaks of “a world whose essence is will to power” (BGE 186). Specifically, Nietzsche’s presentation is littered with suppositions he does not explicitly defend and conditions he does not explicitly claim to meet. So he begins with the supposition that we only have access to our desires and passions; nothing is said about why our senses, for instance, fail to give us access to the world. Similarly, he claims that we would earn the right to determine all efficient force as will to power if we “succeeded in explaining our entire instinctive life as the development and ramification of one basic form of the will – namely, of the will to power” (BGE 36). This is, as Nietzsche reminds us, his proposition, but we have yet to encounter any explicit defense of this proposition (although this would not rule out that Nietzsche had planned to do precisely this). Finally, Clark has argued that Nietzsche bases his argument on a premise he explicitly rejects.⁵⁸⁷ Specifically, he claims that the issue turns on “whether we really recognize the will as efficient, whether we believe in the causality of the will” (BGE 36). In BGE 21, however, Nietzsche claims that the concepts of cause and effect should be understood as “conventional fictions for the purpose of designation and communication – not for explanation.” Since Nietzsche is inviting us to think of the will and, in turn, the world in causal terms in BGE 36, he is, in the language of BGE 21, inviting us to think and act as we have always thought and acted, namely “mythologically” (BGE 21). For this reason, one could argue, as Clark does, that the will to power as a cosmological doctrine is itself a myth. Because Nietzsche speaks of an alternative way of thinking about the causality of the will in both BGE 21, namely, in terms of strong and weak wills, and in BGE 19, namely, in terms of commanding and obeying, there is reason to think that Clark’s reading is too strong. That is, Nietzsche is not presenting an argument based on premises he thinks are obviously false. Nevertheless, he is presenting his views hypothetically, and in this sense, his conclusion depends on premises that still have to be shown to be true. Moreover, even if the premises of his argument are true, he will only have earned the right to determine efficient force in terms of the will to power. This means that he will have earned the right to interpret the world in this way. This, however, does not mean that the world cannot be interpreted in any other way. At the same time, any competing interpretation will both have to justify its right to interpret the world in an alternative fashion and meet a second criterion for assessing judg-

587 Clark (1990, pp. 214f.).

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ments in Beyond Good and Evil, namely, whether the interpretation is one that promotes and enhances life (BGE 4). Nietzsche presents the will to power as an interpretation of reality that is designed to satisfy the metaphysician’s demand for an explanation of the phenomena that we experience and observe. In this sense, one can say that Richardson is right to speak of Nietzsche’s “system” and, like Heidegger, to place the doctrine of the will to power within the tradition of Western metaphysics.⁵⁸⁸ However, what Richardson has overlooked is the fact that Nietzsche is consciously projecting an understanding of reality that ultimately involves some sort of falsification, simplification, and anthropomorphization of the world.⁵⁸⁹ For this reason, Clark is not wrong to argue that the will to power as a cosmological claim is a projection of Nietzsche’s values and therefore that it is, in some sense, a self-conscious myth. However, she is wrong to think that it is therefore devoid of any epistemic significance.⁵⁹⁰ On the contrary, just as Nietzsche claims that the will to knowledge is founded on a will to ignorance (BGE  24), he also claims that, for the philosopher of the future, creating is a form of knowing (BGE 211).⁵⁹¹ What this suggests is that Nietzsche countenances a kind of knowledge that emerges from and depends on a creative or interpretive act that makes the world knowable.⁵⁹² Of course, this kind of knowledge will not be absolute knowledge of an objective, de-anthropomorphized world. Instead, it will be a kind of “perspectival” knowledge that reflects the needs, interests, and subjectivity of the knower. In this sense, Nietzsche’s claim that “the world is the will to power – and nothing besides” must be understood as a claim about how the world appears to him, what it looks like in his “mirror” (WP 1067; NL, KSA 11, 38[12]),⁵⁹³ and therefore it is this claim that provides him with a certain kind of knowledge, but also leaves open the possibility that someone else may come along and interpret the world in an alternative fashion.

588 Richardson (1996, p. 3). Schmid (1984) and Gerhardt (1985) also cast the will to power as a metaphysical concept. However, Gerhardt (1985, p. 17) also notes that because of Nietzsche’s critical epistemology, he can only speak of the world as it appears to him. 589 Jaspers (1997, p. 295) argues that one central difference between Nietzsche’s understanding of reality and previous understandings of reality is that, in contrast to his naïve predecessors, he is aware of the fact that it is an interpretation. 590 Clark (1983, p. 458) argues that the ontological doctrine of the will to power is “a self-conscious myth which is not intended to supply knowledge about the world.” 591 Thus the question here is not whether Nietzsche’s doctrine does in fact have epistemic significance, but whether Nietzsche attributes epistemic significance to it. 592 In the language of the Nachlass, the process of discovery that is Wissenschaft depends on an art that imparts values and structure to the world (WP 606; NL, KSA 12, 2[174]). 593 Thus, the self-referentiality present in BGE 36 is also present in the corresponding Nachlass note. For more on this topic, see Endres and Pichler (2013).

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5.9 Reading the Will to Power through the Ancient Greeks There is, of course, much more that can be said about the will to power. However, I want to limit my remarks to a final point that links the will to power to my larger attempt to read Nietzsche’s project through the lens of the ancient Greeks. Specifically, there are good reasons for thinking that the will to power can be understood as a form of both pleonexia and eros.⁵⁹⁴ By understanding the will to power as a form of pleonexia, one can not only link Nietzsche’s position to the characters of Callicles and Thrasymachus from Plato’s dialogues, but also to the psychology that Thucydides attributes to the Athenians in his History of the Peloponnesian War. By understanding the will to power as a form of eros, one can begin to see how the view might be designed to oppose the understanding of eros that Plato has Diotima articulate in the Symposium and how it might be linked to ancient Greek poetry in general and the Dionysian comedies of Aristophanes in particular.⁵⁹⁵ The fact that the will to power can be understood as a form of pleonexia should be obvious. As Nestle noted long ago, Nietzsche’s characterization of the will to power as a desire to have more (Mehr-haben-wollen) is precisely what pleonexia means, i.e., to have more (NL, KSA 13, 14[65]).⁵⁹⁶ The term pleonexia and its cognates play an important role in Plato’s dialogues. Specifically, the term is a central feature of the views that Plato attributes to both Callicles in the Gorgias and Thrasymachus in the Republic,⁵⁹⁷ and Eric Dodds, following Nestle, has provided one of the most well-known attempts to link Nietzsche’s will to power to Callicles’ views.⁵⁹⁸ Although it has been suggested that such associations are based on a crude and naïve reading of the will to power,⁵⁹⁹ it seems as though the refined and sophisticated readings that have been developed to combat such associations are often not the result of further insight and sophistication; instead, they are motivated by the desire to protect Nietzsche from what is thought to be an embarrassing, if not dangerous, view. Although one should apply the principle of charity in interpretive matters, the problem is that the motivation for applying the principle of charity here is our sense of embarrassment, and our sense of what is and is not embarrassing has been largely

594 Although Müller (2005) has provided a thoroughgoing analysis of the presence of the ancient Greeks in Nietzsche’s thought, he does not mention Greek eros in his study. In contrast, see Bremer (1975), who discusses it in detail. 595 Bremer (1975) has highlighted the potential connections between Plato’s discussion of eros in the Symposium and Nietzsche’s Dionysianism and the related doctrines of the will to power and the eternal return. However, Bremer tries to attribute to Nietzsche a Platonic conception of eros, rather than seeing Nietzsche as appealing to an Aristophanic conception of eros that is closely linked to Dionysian poetry and explicitly rejected by Diotima in the dialogue. 596 Nestle (1946, p. 284). Also see NL, KSA 13, 11[83]. 597 Barney (2011). 598 Dodds (1959). 599 Richardson (1996, p. 19). Also see Reginster (2007, pp. 32ff.).

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shaped by the very Platonic-Judeo-Christian tradition that Nietzsche is trying to overthrow. As I see it, the fact that we are embarrassed by the way in which Nietzsche’s will to power can be linked to two of the most nefarious characters in Plato’s dialogues speaks in favor of, rather than against, the claim that the will to power is a form of pleonexia. This is because Nietzsche’s ontology and epistemology can be linked to views that Plato attributes to Heraclitus and Protagoras and then has Socrates reject, and therefore it should come as no surprise that a doctrine like the will to power can also be linked to characters that present certain views that Plato then has Socrates reject. Another possible reason why commentators have resisted such associations has to do with Plato’s almost slanderous presentations of those who espouse these views. Indeed, one begins to wonder if anyone other than the seemingly fictional characters of Callicles and Thrasymachus in Plato’s dialogues held such an understanding of human nature. Here, it is important to note that pleonexia also plays a central role in Thucydides’ portrayal of the Athenian psyche,⁶⁰⁰ and it is with this parallel in mind that I think Nietzsche’s views become a little less embarrassing and more an expression of a hard-nosed realism about what animates human behavior. Indeed, commentators such as Gerhardt, Leiter, Müller, and Ottmann have all noted Nietzsche’s positive assessment of and relationship to Thucydides.⁶⁰¹ Thus, if Nietzsche’s account of human psychology is embarrassing, then so is Thucydides’ portrayal of fifth-century Athenians. Although we might disagree with such an understanding of human nature and resist affirming it in the way that Nietzsche does, such accounts, whether in Thucydides or in Nietzsche, are nevertheless worthy of study and reflection, and this is precisely what is prevented if a sense of shame or embarrassment motivates us to interpret these texts in ways that suppress the presence of these views. For my purposes, it is also important to note that Thucydides casts Athenian pleonexia and the corresponding desire for empire in erotic terms.⁶⁰² On the one hand, he has Pericles, in his famous funeral oration, characterize the Athenians as lovers of their city (Hist. 2.43). On the other hand, Thucydides speaks of the Athenians as lusting for or falling in love with the Alcibiades-led Sicilian expedition (Hist. 6.24). It is for these reasons that Francis Cornford discusses the presence of what he calls, following Plato in Republic IX, eros tyrannus in Thucydides’ work.⁶⁰³ Even if one rejects the specifics of Cornford’s account, there is nevertheless enough evidence to support the idea that just as Plato draws subtle connections between the pleonexia of Thrasymachus’ speech in Republic I and the erotic tyrant portrayed in Republic

600 See Balot (2001, ch. 5). 601 Gerhardt (1996, pp.  64–67); Leiter (2002, pp.  47–53); Müller (2005, pp.  1–6); Ottmann (1987, pp. 220–224). 602 See Wohl (2002, ch. 5) for the role of eros in Thucydides’ descriptions of Athenian empire. Also see Forde (1986). 603 Cornford (1907, ch. 12).

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IX,⁶⁰⁴ Thucydides thinks of pleonexia and eros as two related drives – or perhaps two names for the same drive – that best capture the underlying psychology of Athenian imperialism. In terms of Nietzsche’s work, one can therefore say that just as Nestle and Dodds have been right to see the will to power as a form of pleonexia, Kaufmann and Poellner have been right in characterizing the will to power as a form of eros.⁶⁰⁵ The figure in Thucydides’ History who is most driven by an insatiable desire for more is Alcibiades, and Alcibiades also plays a prominent role in Plato’s dialogues. In addition to the Platonic dialogues that bear his name, we encounter Alcibiades crashing the party of the Symposium where eros is the topic of discussion (Symp. 212d). In terms of Nietzsche’s project, the Symposium is important not only because it was his favorite work as a youth,⁶⁰⁶ but also because he references the work in the penultimate section of Beyond Good and Evil when he speaks of gods, like Dionysus, who do indeed philosophize (BGE 295). This is a reference to the Symposium because Plato has Diotima explain that gods do not philosophize precisely because philosophy is a form of eros and therefore, like all forms of erotic striving, stems from lack; since the gods do not lack anything, they have no erotic desire for wisdom and so do not engage in philosophy (Symp. 204a). What this suggests is that the philosophy of the future that Nietzsche is proposing is motivated by a kind of desire or eros that does not stem from a sense of lack, and therefore it is a philosophy that a god like Dionysus can indeed practice. Because Nietzsche also understands the will to power to be something that does not necessarily stem from lack, one can begin to see how the will to power could be a form of eros, and it is a form of eros that Nietzsche designs to supplant Platonic eros or, in the language of Beyond Good and Evil, the will to truth (BGE 1). There are three reasons for thinking of the will to power as a form of eros. The first is that Schopenhauer associates the will to live with an understanding of eros that can be found in ancient Greek writers like Hesiod and Parmenides (WWR I 60). Since Nietzsche presents the will to power as a modification of the will to live, one can also understand the will to power as a form of eros. The second reason is that Nietzsche explicitly associates his understanding of the world as will to power with Dionysus (WP 1067; NL, KSA  11, 38[12]), and Dionysus is, in the Symposium, presented as the judge of speeches on eros (Symp.  175e). Finally, Nietzsche casts Dionysus as “the genius of the heart” in BGE 295, where Dionysus, qua genius of the heart, is opposed to Jesus as “the knower of the heart” in BGE 269. In each case, the reference to the heart suggests an understanding of love, and although there is no explicit mention of love in BGE 295, there is, in BGE 269, an extended description of Jesus’ understanding of love that, according to Nietzsche, desires not life, but death. The idea is that if Jesus or 604 Mitchell-Boyask (2008, p. 103) argues that, for Plato, “pleonexia is eros.” 605 Kaufmann (1974, p. 249) and Poellner (1995, pp. 231f.). Also see Parkes (1994, ch. 6), McIntyre (1997), Babich (2006), and Cooper (2008) for discussions of eros in Nietzsche’s work. 606 Kaufmann (1974, p. 23).

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“the crucified” is a symbol for Christian love or agape (also see GM I 8), then Dionysus might also be a symbol for a different kind of love, namely, eros. Rather than going into detail about this distinction, the point here is simply to substantiate the claim that the will to power can be understood as a form of eros and this fact, in turn, suggests that Lampert is right to claim that the philosophy of Beyond Good and Evil is indeed “a love story.”⁶⁰⁷ Here, however, one might wonder whether Nietzsche’s rejection of Platonic eros indicates that he wants to leave behind antiquity rather than revive certain features of it. That is, if Plato provides us with a definitive answer to what eros is for the Greeks, then a rejection of Platonic eros would be tantamount to a rejection of antiquity as such. Nietzsche, however, understands ancient Greece as a clash between two opposing cultures represented by Platonic philosophy, on the one hand, and the poetry of Homer, Hesiod, Aeschylus, and Aristophanes, on the other hand, and it seems that Nietzsche’s rejection of Platonic eros is, in fact, an attempt to replace the philosophical understanding with the poetic understanding of eros. One reason for thinking that the will to power is itself one part of a larger worldview that Nietzsche finds in the poetry of ancient Greece is that he associates the view with Dionysus. Another reason is the fact that Nietzsche links the idea of gods philosophizing with the unquenchable laughter of the Olympians (BGE  294). Such laughter can be found not only in Homer, but is also a key component of comic poetry, and because Nietzsche explicitly references the laughter of Aristophanes in Beyond Good and Evil (BGE 28 and 223),⁶⁰⁸ there is reason to look to Aristophanes to find a conception of poetic eros that is a competitor to Platonic eros. In Plato’s Symposium, the vision of eros that Plato has Aristophanes articulate is precisely the vision of eros that Plato has Diotima reject on the grounds that Aristophanic eros operates independently of notions of good or evil (Symp.  205e), and the tension between the two speeches is highlighted by the fact that Aristophanes is preparing to respond to these criticisms just as Alcibiades bursts onto the scene (Symp. 212c). At this point, one might wonder what Aristophanes’ speech on eros in the Symposium has to do with a will to power that might oppose Platonic eros or the will to truth. Although Aristophanes casts eros as a longing for our other half, this longing is a result of the fact that Zeus split us in two as punishment for having attempted to overthrow the rule of the gods in our original condition. Although Plato’s Aristophanes does not explicitly identify the motivating force behind this original attack on 607 Lampert (2001, p. 302). As a side note, I suspect that the opposition here between Jesus (or the Crucified) and Dionysus, first articulated at the end of Beyond Good and Evil and expressed again at the end of Ecce Homo, is what Nietzsche has in mind with the “magnificent tension of the spirit” in the preface of Beyond Good and Evil. In other words, it is a tension between the values of life-affirmation (Dionysus) and life-denial or nihilism (the Crucified), not, as Clark and Dudrick (2012, p. 30) contend, between the will to truth and what they call the “will to value.” 608 Bremer (1975, p. 33) notes that Nietzsche’s claim that Goethe disciplined himself to wholeness (Ganzheit) (TI Skirmishes 49) is a clear allusion to Aristophanes’ speech on eros in the Symposium.

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the gods as a form of eros, we do have a play from Aristophanes, namely, the Birds, in which the main character, Peisetairos, mounts the heavens and successfully displaces Zeus as the divine ruler of Greece.⁶⁰⁹ In the Birds, Aristophanes presents the desire to overthrow the gods in terms of an erotic quest for power (dunamis) (Bd. 162–3). The fact that it is an erotic quest is evidenced by Peisetairos donning the golden wings of Eros at the end of the play (Bd. 1708). What is also important about the comedy is that the eros animating Peisetairos’ quest is presented as a cosmological force in the parabasis. Borrowing from Hesiod’s Theogony, Aristophanes has the chorus inform us that Eros is a primal, generative force that gave birth to the Olympian gods (Bd. 699–700). This move from human psychology to cosmological speculations about a fundamental principle animating all things is precisely what we encounter in Nietzsche’s presentation of the will to power. Because this form of eros can be linked to the epic poetry of Hesiod and plays a central role in an Aristophanic comedy, there is reason to think not only that the will to power is a further feature of a worldview that can be traced to ancient Greek poetry, but also that it plays a central role in Nietzsche’s own Dionysian comedy, which I have argued can be found in his 1888 works. If this all seems a bit speculative, it is important to keep in mind that my sole purpose here is to argue that Nietzsche’s notion of the will to power can, in some substantive way, be linked to the poetic worldview of the ancient Greeks. Indeed, once one sees the will to power as a form of both pleonexia and poetic eros, one can begin to see why Nietzsche points to Thucydides as his cure for Plato (TI Ancients 2), why he contends that the will to power was the strongest instinct of the ancient Greeks (TI Ancients 3), why he identifies the Dionysian cult as the place where the will to live, as a desire for the eternal recurrence of this life, was most fully expressed (TI Ancients 4), why he tries to link his later philosophy back to The Birth of Tragedy or his first revaluation of all values (TI Ancients 5), and why he claims that the world as will to power is his Dionysian world (WP 1067; NL, KSA 11, 38[12]). Indeed, once one begins to read Nietzsche’s project through the lens of the ancient Greeks, there is very little remaining that cannot be linked, in some substantive way, to ancient figures such as Heraclitus and Protagoras, Homer and Hesiod, Herodotus and Thucydides, Aeschylus and Aristophanes, and ultimately the Greek god Dionysus.

609 See Ludwig (2002, pp. 82ff.) for a comparison between Aristophanes’ speech in the Symposium and the presentation of eros in the Birds.

Epilogue Five Prefaces to Five Unwritten Books on Nietzsche’s Published Works Introduction In this work, I have pursued three kinds of claims. On a theoretical level, I have tried to bring together Nietzsche’s naturalist commitments, his doctrine of becoming, his apparent rejection of the principle of non-contradiction, and his perspectivism into a coherent whole. Specifically, I have argued that each of these views derive from or are related to his commitment to a relational ontology in which everything exists and is what it is only in relation to something else. Second, I have put forth a historical claim that links Nietzsche’s views to the Heraclitean-Protagorean position that Aristotle and Plato articulate and criticize in Metaphysics IV and the Theaetetus, respectively. In so doing, I have argued that these central components of Nietzsche’s philosophy can be understood as part of a comprehensive worldview that he associates with the “tragic” age of ancient Greece. Finally, I have defended a claim about Nietzsche’s texts. Specifically, Nietzsche gives expression to the centerpiece of this tragic worldview by raising the question of opposites found in the opening aphorisms of both Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil, and I have argued that a number of the aphorisms that follow in each of these texts can be understood as attempts to articulate the philosophical consequences of the denial of opposites announced in HH 1 and BGE 2. I conclude this work by elaborating on the potential significance of this textual claim and how it might link Nietzsche’s philosophical attempt to revive a relational ontology that is central to this tragic worldview to his activity as a Dionysian poet. I place this in the epilogue because I cannot defend these claims here. However, I have included an epilogue because I want to explain the way in which the textual claim that I have defended throughout this work can be understood as an attempt to defend one part of a larger framework for understanding how Nietzsche’s works relate to each other.⁶¹⁰ Furthermore, if this framework is correct, it heightens the significance of the placement of the unity of opposites at the beginning of both Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil. This is because this framework places these two works at the beginning of two series of works that both culminate in Nietzsche’s activity as a Dionysian poet. I sketch this framework in terms that will be familiar to readers of Nietzsche, namely, five prefaces to five unwritten books. These prefaces should be understood

610 Consult the appendix for my periodization of Nietzsche’s works.

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as defeasible hypotheses that I have sketched in previous essays⁶¹¹ and may try to defend further in my future efforts about how Nietzsche’s published works should be understood in relation to each other. In this sense, these are five prefaces that provide a provisional outline of a comprehensive interpretation of Nietzsche’s published works.

Preface I: Thus Spoke Zarathustra as the Rebirth of Tragedy Although I argue that the placement of the unity of opposites at the beginning of both Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil marks the beginning of two distinct yet related projects, my own beliefs about the overarching structure of Nietzsche’s post-1877 publications did not stem from any insight concerning the philosophical or textual significance of these two sections. Instead, my thoughts about how Nietzsche’s post-1877 publications might be grouped together into larger projects began with the idea that Zarathustra constitutes Nietzsche’s own tragedy. That Nietzsche intended Zarathustra to be some sort of tragedy is made clear by the introduction of the opening lines of the work under the title, “Incipit tragoedia,” in the final aphorism of the 1882 edition of The Gay Science (GS 342). What is not so clear is how one is supposed to make sense of this claim, especially because Nietzsche never intended the work to be performed on the dramatic stage. The solution that I have proposed is that one should take seriously Nietzsche’s claim in Ecce Homo that Zarathustra is the work in which his concept of the Dionysian became a supreme deed (EH Books Z 6). By this I mean that one should use the theory of tragedy, i.e., the concept of the Dionysian, outlined in The Birth of Tragedy to understand the origin, structure, and philosophical significance of Zarathustra. With such a framework in place, it becomes, for instance, no coincidence that Nietzsche composed his Hymn to Life during this time and that he tells us that, “the whole of Zarathustra may be reckoned as music” (EH Books Z 1). This is because The Birth of Tragedy out of the Spirit of Music tells us quite explicitly that tragedy originated out of a musical mood and that music, along with dance, is the essential element of tragic art (BT 7). Similarly, it should come as no surprise that the tragedy of Zarathustra ends with Zarathustra expressing his love for eternity (Z III Seven Seals), given that the goal of tragedy, according to The Birth of Tragedy, is to exclaim, “we believe in eternal life” (BT 16). Of course, it would be wrong to think that Nietzsche remains committed to all the details of his account of tragedy in his first work. Indeed, Nietzsche leaves

611 I have provided a brief defense of three of these projects in previously published papers. Specifically, I have defended the view that Zarathustra should be read as a tragedy in Meyer (2002); I have sketched my views of Nietzsche’s free spirit project and its relationship to the music-playing Socrates of The Birth of Tragedy in Meyer (2004 and 2006); and I have provided reasons for reading Nietzsche’s final works as a Dionysian comedy in Meyer (2012).

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behind the metaphysical framework of The Birth of Tragedy one year later in Philosophy in the Tragic Age. Nevertheless, one can distill a tragic dynamic from the drama of Zarathustra that resonates with the characterization of tragedy provided in The Birth of Tragedy. Specifically, I have argued that the character Zarathustra is not the hero of Nietzsche’s tragedy; instead, he functions as the chorus of the tragic performance, which, on Nietzsche’s theory, is the focal point of the tragic drama. Just as the chorus grew out of the dithyramb with the poet functioning as the chorus leader in an ecstatic and transfigured state, Nietzsche understands and presents the character of Zarathustra as a second, transfigured self or “son” (GS Sils; KGB III/1, Bf. 407). On Nietzsche’s understanding of tragedy, the tragic hero is a secondary phenomenon that emerges from the dream-state of the tragic chorus, and on my reading of Zarathustra, the Übermensch or overman is an Apollonian vision of Zarathustra and, as such, functions as the hero of the tragedy. As the hero, the overman is to be sacrificed, and it is through his death that Zarathustra himself “goes under” or experiences a ritualized death.⁶¹² On my reading, Zarathustra must sacrifice the overman, his hope for a better future, so that he can teach the eternal return. This is because the eternal return, which allows him to redeem his past by making it his future, also forces him to reject any hope for a better future, and this is precisely what the overman symbolizes. This, at least, is the argument I put forth some time ago concerning the tragic nature of Zarathustra.⁶¹³ More recently, Paul Loeb has put forth a much more detailed account of why the work should be read as a tragedy. Although there may be some differences between Loeb’s account and my own concerning the tragic nature of Zarathustra, we both agree that the work consists of a tragic trilogy in the first three books with an added satyr play in the fourth.⁶¹⁴ For my purposes here, the interesting question that emerges has to do with how we are supposed to make sense of Nietzsche’s other writings once we understand Zarathustra as the fulfillment of his original hopes for the rebirth of tragedy. On the one hand, if Nietzsche writes his own tragedy some ten years after calling for the rebirth of tragedy, one is left wondering, first, why it took so long for Nietzsche to fulfill his own project and, second, whether the works that he wrote in the meantime have anything to do with his interest in the tragic art form. On the other hand, one is also left wondering how to make sense of the works that Nietzsche writes after Zarathustra and whether these works, again, have anything to do with his commitment to a tragic worldview and tragic poetry. In the prefaces that follow, I sketch answers to these questions.

612 Also see Loeb (2010, pp. 137ff.). 613 Meyer (2002). 614 Loeb (2010, pp. 91ff.).

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Preface II: The Birth of Tragedy and Its Shadow One reason why Nietzsche did not immediately fulfill his hopes for a rebirth of tragedy by writing his own dramatic piece is that he believed Wagner would do this at the inaugural festival in Bayreuth in 1876. This, on my reading, is precisely why Nietzsche dedicated the 1872 edition of The Birth of Tragedy to the composer. Of course, it was not until Nietzsche attended the festival in 1876 that this process of publicly breaking with Wagner, and therefore the process of breaking with the hope that Wagner would recreate ancient Greek tragedy in Bayreuth, commenced. Because of this, there is reason to read the works that Nietzsche produced between the publication of The Birth of Tragedy and the festival of Bayreuth in 1876 as an extension of the hopes expressed in The Birth of Tragedy. I have already argued that the two unpublished essays produced during this period, Philosophy in the Tragic Age and “On Truth and Lie,” can be understood as supplements to The Birth of Tragedy. Here, one can propose a similar reading of the four Untimely Meditations. In David Strauss, Nietzsche attacks a modern optimism in the thought of David Friedrich Strauss that opposes the tragic worldview and therefore the rebirth of tragedy. In History for Life, Nietzsche emphasizes the tragic tension between truth and life and argues that history must be written as a life-affirming art, rather than a culture-decaying, objective science. In Schopenhauer as Educator, Nietzsche exalts one of the key figures responsible for the rebirth of the tragic worldview, namely, Arthur Schopenhauer, and in Richard Wagner in Bayreuth, Nietzsche explicitly associates Schopenhauer with Empedocles and Wagner with Aeschylus in arguing that the only hope for humanity is the “retention of the sense for the tragic” (WB 4). Although elements of each of these texts can be linked back to The Birth of Tragedy, it would be wrong to reduce these texts to a mere repetition or re-articulation of the ideas found in Nietzsche’s first work. This is because Nietzsche is also modifying, developing, and expanding upon the ideas and the cultural project of The Birth of Tragedy. As I have argued, Philosophy in the Tragic Age marks an early and a clear break with the metaphysical principles of The Birth of Tragedy. Works such as History for Life and Schopenhauer as Educator also venture into new territory. Whereas the former deals with the issue of history and the need for life-enabling horizons, the latter contains Nietzsche’s first reference to the project of becoming who one is (SE 1). As I argued in chapter five, Nietzsche’s talk of life-enabling horizons seems to be a protoversion of his talk of perspectivism in Beyond Good and Evil. Similarly, I think it is right to see in Schopenhauer as Educator a potential guide for understanding what Nietzsche is doing in a work like Ecce Homo, given that the subtitle from Ecce Homo, “how one becomes what one is,” refers back to Schopenhauer as Educator. Furthermore, there is reason to see in Richard Wagner in Bayreuth a second guide – The Birth of Tragedy is the first – to grappling with the nature of Nietzsche’s own tragedy in Zarathustra.⁶¹⁵ So

615 Loeb (2010, p. 4) makes a similar claim.

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although one must be wary of relying on Nietzsche’s retrospective descriptions of his own development, there does seem to be some truth to the claim that both Schopenhauer as Educator and Richard Wagner in Bayreuth speak not of Schopenhauer and Wagner, but “only” of Nietzsche, his development and his future (EH Books UM  3). And so even though Nietzsche understood these works differently at the time he wrote them, they effectively become blueprints for a project he would undertake once he broke with Wagner in 1876.

Preface III: The Works of the Free Spirit and the Music-Playing Socrates As I interpret his oeuvre, Nietzsche’s break with Wagner marks his transition from writing essays about the kinds of things that need to be done to further culture to doing himself the kinds of things he had hoped others would do to achieve these ends. This is exactly how one should understand the relationship between The Birth of Tragedy and Zarathustra. Whereas the former provides an explanation as to why Wagner’s operas mark a rebirth of tragedy, the latter is Nietzsche’s own attempt at a rebirth of tragedy. The reason why Nietzsche did not write his own tragedy immediately after his call for a rebirth of tragedy in his first work was that he had hoped Wagner would perform this cultural deed. Nevertheless, this still leaves unanswered the question as to why Nietzsche did not, then, simply turn to writing Zarathustra once he broke with Wagner. That is, it does not explain why he would write the works of the free spirit prior to writing Zarathustra. Although one might argue that he simply had other things on his mind when he published Human, All Too Human, including a desire to mark his break with Wagner, I have argued that Nietzsche intended the works of the free spirit to prepare the ground for the tragedy of Zarathustra. The explanation that I offer makes use of the argument of The Birth of Tragedy. There, Nietzsche presents tragic art as emerging from what he calls a tragic worldview and dying once Socratic optimism destroyed this tragic worldview. The idea, then, is that if there is going to be a genuine rebirth of tragedy, Nietzsche must first make some effort to overthrow the optimism prevalent in the modern world and re-establish the tragic worldview. On my reading, this is precisely what he does in Human, All Too Human, and this is why the appearance of Heraclitean principles, i.e., principles of the philosopher of the tragic age of Greece, at the beginning of the work takes on such significance within this larger interpretive framework. That is, the unity of opposites and the related doctrine of becoming function as cornerstones in Nietzsche’s attempt to show that a proper chemistry or science will lay the foundations for the rebirth of a tragic worldview and a corresponding rebirth of tragic art. Such a reading still leaves unresolved the role that the other works of the free spirit, namely, Daybreak and The Gay Science, play in Nietzsche’s larger project. Here again, The Birth of Tragedy provides a framework. Specifically, Nietzsche not only

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needs to re-establish a tragic worldview that will give rise to tragic art, but he also needs to liberate art from the forces that oppose it. Blind commitment to the mores, customs, and habits of everyday life is part of what inhibits the flourishing of art, and the last half of Human, All Too Human can be understood as Nietzsche’s attempt to liberate himself from these restraints. However, an even more powerful force that opposes art is the morality that derives from the Platonic-Christian tradition. Indeed, it was precisely this morality that drove Schopenhauer to couple his insight into the tragic nature of existence with a resounding “no” to life. For Nietzsche, art is diametrically opposed to morality precisely because it is capable of affirming life even when confronted with tragic wisdom. Moreover, art achieves this life-affirming attitude, in part, by transfiguring reality through beautiful yet mendacious appearances. Thus, for art to flourish, it needs to be liberated from a general morality that underwrites Schopenhauer’s life-denying ethic and a more specific version of morality in what I have called the morality of truth and science. As I see it, this is precisely the project that Nietzsche undertakes in Daybreak and the first three books of The Gay Science. That is, he sets out to reveal as a mere prejudice the morality that limits the capacity of art to affirm life. The culminating event in this process of liberation from the constraints of morality is the death of God (GS 125). This is why Nietzsche is fully liberated to pursue an artistic affirmation of existence only at the beginning of the fourth book of The Gay Science, as opposed to the end of the second book, where art can only make existence “bearable” (GS 107), and this is why book four culminates with the beginning of Nietzsche’s own tragedy, captured in the phrase “Incipit tragoedia” (GS 342). Taken as a whole, the works of the free spirit exhibit a dynamic in which the morality of truth and science that animates Human, All Too Human undermines itself and eventually makes way for the rebirth of tragic art in Zarathustra. For this reason, I have argued that these works should be understood as Nietzsche taking on the role of the very ideal announced in The Birth of Tragedy, namely, the music-playing Socrates (BT 15).⁶¹⁶ To recall, the Socrates who plays music is a figure who pursues truth at all costs only to recognize the need for art to affirm the tragic truths that he discovers through this quest. Because this dynamic maps neatly onto the works of the free spirit, I have also argued that Nietzsche writes Human, All Too Human knowing that it will be followed by works that culminate in a rebirth of tragedy. Such a reading is at least suggested by the proleptic references, i.e., references that anticipate what is to come, that can be found throughout the works of the free spirit. For example, Nietzsche asks whether his philosophy will become a tragedy in HH 34. On my reading, his philosophy does indeed become a tragedy with the publication of Zarathustra. Similarly, Human, All Too Human concludes with a reference to a “philosophy of the morning” (HH 638). This, I think, is a clear reference to the work that follows, namely, Daybreak. Finally, Nietzsche tells the

616 Meyer (2004).

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reader at the beginning of The Gay Science that we live in the age of tragedy (GS 1), and he concludes the 1882 edition of the work with the clearest proleptic reference of all, namely, the introduction of Zarathustra under the title, “Incipit tragoedia” (GS 342). For my purposes here, it is also important to note that Nietzsche not only speaks of tragedy and a “tragic solution” to the death of God, but also of laughter and a “comic solution” to the death of God (GS 1 and 153). Thus, Nietzsche tells us in the first section of The Gay Science that, “the short tragedy always gave way again and returned into the eternal comedy of existence: and ‘the waves of uncountable laughter’  – to cite Aeschylus – must in the end overwhelm even the greatest of these tragedians” (GS 1). Such remarks are important because they provide not only a framework for understanding the project that Nietzsche undertakes in his works after the tragedy and satyrplay of Zarathustra, but they also provide a way of understanding the function of the fifth book that Nietzsche added to the 1887 edition of The Gay Science. Specifically, Nietzsche’s references to laughter and comedy suggest that he will take on the role of the comic poet in his later works, and it seems that one of the functions of the fifth book is to provide a double ending to The Gay Science, such that the end of the fourth book segues to the tragedy of Zarathustra and the fifth book segues to the “parody” of his post-Zarathustra works. Evidence for this reading can be found in the final sections of the fifth book, where Nietzsche references both parody (GS 382) and laughter (GS 383). Given such references, one can understand Nietzsche’s mention of “incipit parodia” in the first section of the 1887 preface as referring to the ending of that edition, just as “incipit tragoedia” points to the ending of the four-book 1882 edition (GS Preface 1). Although “incipit parodia” is not explicitly linked to any particular work in the way that Nietzsche links Zarathustra to “incipit tragoedia,” I think that Nietzsche is indeed referring to his 1888 works, where he takes on the role of the comic poet.

Preface IV: The Dionysian Comedy of Nietzsche’s 1888 Works If it is right to think that Nietzsche’s works of the free spirit prepare the ground for the rebirth of tragedy in Zarathustra, then there is reason to venture the hypothesis that the works following Zarathustra are also meant to be grouped together into a continuous project. Furthermore, if it is right to think that Zarathustra is a tragedy and a satyr play, then there is again reason to venture the hypothesis that Nietzsche also wrote his own comedy in the works following Zarathustra. Given that Nietzsche’s productive activity culminates with his Dionysian Dithyrambs, Nietzsche’s published works would include all four genres of a proper Dionysian festival if they also included a comedy. Moreover, if one locates this comedy in Nietzsche’s 1888 writings, a work like Beyond Good and Evil can be said to function much like Human, All Too Human in that it initiates a series of works that culminates in Nietzsche’s activity as a Dionysian poet. There are a number of reasons for thinking that Beyond Good and Evil plays a role similar to Human, All Too Human in preparing the way for Nietzsche’s work as a Dio-

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nysian and, in this case, comic poet. One reason for thinking that there are parallels between Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil is the fact that Nietzsche places the same denial of opposites at the beginning of both works (HH 1 and BGE 2). Assuming that this principle is the cornerstone of his tragic worldview, there is reason to think that part of Nietzsche’s task in each work is to articulate this worldview and prepare the ground for his own poetic activity. The other notable parallel is the fact that both works consist of nine chapters and often deal with very similar themes. At the same time, Beyond Good and Evil, even more so than Human, All Too Human, points beyond itself. This is because the subtitle of Beyond Good and Evil is “a prelude to a philosophy of the future.” The fact that Beyond Good and Evil is characterized as a “prelude” suggests that something is going to follow that relates to Beyond Good and Evil itself. Although there are legitimate doubts about whether the works that follow Beyond Good and Evil are intended to be exercises in this philosophy of the future, I think that the final sections of Beyond Good and Evil indicate that the philosophy of the future is a Dionysian comedy. This is because Nietzsche not only presents himself as the last disciple of the philosopher Dionysus (BGE 295), but he tells us that he is going to risk a rank ordering of philosophers according to their ability to laugh (BGE 294). Even if such important aphorisms do associate the philosophy of the future with laughter, it might still be hard to see why Nietzsche’s 1888 works should be read as a comedy. I have argued elsewhere that further evidence for this claim can be gained by comparing Nietzsche’s 1888 works to key structural elements of the early comedies of Aristophanes, the primary representative of what can be called Dionysian comedy.⁶¹⁷ The most notable feature of Aristophanes’ comedies is the parabasis, a moment in the play where the dramatic action is stopped and the chorus leader directly addresses the audience either on the poet’s behalf or as the poet himself. The subject matter of the chorus leader’s addresses is often the artistic achievements and potential failures of the poet’s previous works. Indeed, an entire biography can be constructed from these parabases, and it is for this reason I have argued that Ecce Homo constitutes Nietzsche’s own parabasis. Here I would also include Nietzsche’s 1886–87 prefaces that he added to the second editions of his previously published works, and I would explain the fact that Nietzsche turns to commenting on his own works in these prefaces as well as in Ecce Homo by noting that this is just what comic poets do: They interpret their past efforts in a way that rhetorically inflates the prowess of their own persona and the significance of their artistic and cultural achievements.⁶¹⁸ The other feature of Aristophanic comedy that can be linked to Nietzsche’s 1888 works is the agon or contest.⁶¹⁹ As a formal feature, the agon is the part of the play that exhibits some sort of confrontation or debate, usually between the main charac617 Meyer (2012). 618 See Rosen (2000). 619 See Acampora (2013) for a general account of the role of the agon in Nietzsche’s work. Also see Gerhardt (1996, pp. 115–117).

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ter and some opposing force, e.g., another character, the chorus, part of the chorus, etc. As a general ethos, the agon pervades the comic performance and even the competition between the comic poets.⁶²⁰ Not only do the main characters confront and overcome the various challenges that face them in their adventures, the comic poets would use the parabasis as an opportunity to challenge and even slander their poetic rivals. As Acampora has shown, the spirit of the agon permeates Nietzsche’s writings from 1888, most evidenced by his (Aristophanic) slander of Socrates in Twilight of the Idols, his attacks on Wagner in The Case of Wagner and Nietzsche Contra Wagner, and his condemnation of Christianity in The Antichrist.⁶²¹ So if one wonders why Nietzsche decides to launch attacks on Wagner and his music some twelve years after Nietzsche left Bayreuth and some five years after Wagner’s death, I argue that this is just what comic poets do: They generate humor at the expense of their artistic, cultural, and political rivals.⁶²²

Preface V: The Revaluation of Values and Dionysus versus the Crucified In the previous “preface,” I moved rather quickly from the beginning of Beyond Good and Evil to Nietzsche’s 1888 works. Even if it is right to read these latter works as a comedy, a more substantive account would need to be provided as to how Beyond Good and Evil and the Genealogy relate to and even prepare the ground for Nietzsche’s activity as a comic poet. Thus far, one reason has been given in support of this idea: The structure of Beyond Good and Evil, and here I would add the Genealogy, seems to parallel the structure of Human, All Too Human, and here I would add Daybreak, and so there is reason to think that Beyond Good and Evil and the Genealogy play the same role in relation to Nietzsche’s comedy as Human, All Too Human and Daybreak play in relation to Nietzsche’s tragedy. There is, however, a further reason that can be given, and it relates to the antithesis that Nietzsche establishes at the end of Ecce Homo between Dionysus and the Crucified and how this defines Nietzsche’s project of a revaluation of values. Nietzsche concludes Ecce Homo asking repeatedly, “Have I been understood?” (EH Destiny 7–9). This repeated questioning culminates with a statement of the fundamental opposition that is supposed to define his thought, “Dionysus versus the Crucified” (EH Destiny 9). Typical of his style, Nietzsche provides no explicit remarks on what this opposition might mean and why it is so important for understanding

620 See Biles (2011) for an account of Aristophanic comedy that emphasizes the agonistic or competitive nature of the genre. 621 See Acampora (2013), especially chapters four and five. 622 Nietzsche refers to The Case of Wagner as a “farce” in an 1888 letter to Naumann (KGB III/5, Bf. 1103).

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what he wants to say. Nevertheless, it has been argued that this antithesis can be traced back to the final chapter of Beyond Good and Evil, where Nietzsche distinguishes between Jesus as the “knower of the heart” (BGE 269) and Dionysus as the “genius of the heart” (BGE 295).⁶²³ On its own, this claim is enough to link the conclusion of Ecce Homo to the final chapter of Beyond Good and Evil and therefore provide a reason for incorporating the Genealogy into a larger project of replacing or revaluing the values of Christianity with the values he associates with Dionysus. Still, this says little about what these values are, and why Dionysus should be opposed to the Crucified. The key, I think, lies in the fact that each of these figures has something to do with the heart, which, as BGE 269 indicates, has to do with a proper understanding of love. What I have in mind here is the very antithesis that Schopenhauer identifies at the end of the first volume of The World as Will and Representation, namely, the distinction between a self-denying agape and a life-affirming eros (WWR I 67).⁶²⁴ For my purposes, what is important is that Schopenhauer translates agape as pity (Mitleid) and eros as selfishness (Selbstsucht). As Richardson has argued, the contrast between pity and selfishness is central to Nietzsche’s project of a revaluation of values.⁶²⁵ Here, I would add to this distinction the claim put forth in the final section of the previous chapter that the will to power is a form of Dionysian eros. So understood, the contrast between Dionysus and the Crucified can be understood as a contrast between the will to power and altruism or pity. Not only can such a contrast be found at the beginning of The Antichrist, where Nietzsche opposes pity to power and the feeling of power (A 2), but it is shot through the three essays of the Genealogy, each of which Nietzsche understands to be a contribution to the revaluation of all values (EH Books GM). Specifically, it can be argued that each essay is an attempt to understand and explain various phenomena associated with Christianity, e.g., love as self-sacrifice, guilt and the bad conscience, and asceticism, as sick and self-destructive manifestations of the will to power or, equivalently, Greek eros.⁶²⁶ So understood, the Genealogy should be read as contributing to the antithesis between Dionysus and the Crucified, and therefore should be seen as one part of a

623 Kornberger (1998). 624 Schopenhauer explicitly associates agape and the ethics of life-denial that emerges from it with Christ (WWR I  70). Although he does not explicitly mention Dionysus, he does associate the phallus worship of the ancient Greeks with eros and the celebration of life (WWR I 60). Phallus worship was, of course, a key feature of Dionysian worship and a notable feature of the comic performance. See Nygren (1953, pp. 57f.) for an attempt to cast Nietzsche’s revaluation of all values in terms of the distinction between eros and agape. 625 Richardson (2004, p. 134). Also see Conway (2002) on the contrast between eros and agape in Nietzsche and Acampora (2013, pp. 163ff.) for the contrast between a selfishness that Nietzsche endorses and a selflessness Nietzsche rejects. 626 Janaway (2007, pp. 143f.) has argued that the will to power plays a key explanatory role in each of the three essays of the Genealogy.

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larger project that stretches from the concluding sections of Beyond Good and Evil to Nietzsche’s final pronouncements in Ecce Homo and in The Antichrist.⁶²⁷ As a final point, one might wonder how understanding Nietzsche’s 1888 works as a comedy might relate to his project of a revaluation of values and further worry that such a reading of these works might undermine the seriousness of Nietzsche’s project. There are three responses to this concern. First, Nietzsche boasts that his name will one day be associated with “a crisis without equal on earth, the most profound collision of conscience, a decision that was conjured up against everything that had been believed, demanded, hallowed so far” (EH Destiny 1). The crisis of which Nietzsche speaks seems to be a reference to his revaluation of values and so the decision that humanity must confront between Dionysus and the Crucified. This crisis can be associated with comedy because it has the form of a literary krisis, and Emmanuela Bakola has shown that a literary krisis is a re-occuring feature of Old comedy. According to Bakola, the author of a literary krisis establishes and exaggerates an opposition between two individuals or two literary genres or even two ideologies and then renders a judgment (krinein) that privileges one opponent at the expense of the other. This not only occurs in Aristophanes’ Frogs, in which the talents of Aeschylus are opposed to and privileged over the work of Euripides, but also in Cratinus’ comedy Archilochoi, in which the poetry of Archilochus is opposed to and privileged over the epic poetry of Homer and Hesiod.⁶²⁸ Because the opposition that Nietzsche establishes between Dionysus and the Crucified has the form of a literary krisis and because a literary krisis is a common feature of Old comedy, Nietzsche’s revaluation of values can be understood as part of his own comedy. The second point is that Aristophanic comedy is Dionysian, and so Dionysus can be seen as a figure that links comedy to the will to power, which I have argued is a form of Dionysian eros. Furthermore, much of the laughter that Old Comedy generates comes at the expense of some opponent and gives expression to a feeling of superiority vis-à-vis the opponent.⁶²⁹ In this sense, Dionysian laughter can be understood as an expression of the psychological experience of overcoming resistance and therefore of the will to power. Moreover, Schopenhauer explicitly states that comedy arises from and gives expression to an exuberant and overflowing affirmation of life (WWR I 37). Taken together, Dionysian comedy can be understood as a genre that affirms and celebrates life and the will to power. 627 As Stegmaier (1992, p. 163) rightly argues, now that Colli and Montinari have decisively shown that The Will to Power is not Nietzsche’s Hauptwerk, one must ask whether The Antichrist and Ecce Homo have a systematic significance in Nietzsche’s philosophical project. Stegmaier and Hödl (2009, p. 465) think it does, and I agree. 628 Bakola (2010, ch. 1.6). Bakola also traces this tradition of literary criticism back to the Contest between Homer and Hesiod. We know that Nietzsche knew this work well because he published a twopart philological article on it in the Rheinisches Museum in 1870 and 1873. 629 That Nietzsche has a superiority theory of laughter in mind is evidenced by his reference to Hobbes in BGE 294.

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As a final point, it should be noted that the primary object of Nietzsche’s attacks and the so-called “butt” of his jokes is a Christianity that looked suspiciously on laughter precisely because laughter was understood as a sign of taking pleasure in a fallen world.⁶³⁰ Indeed, Nietzsche explicitly contrasts the metaphysical comfort of Christianity with the this-worldly comfort of Dionysian laughter in the final section of his 1886 preface to The Birth of Tragedy (BT Attempt 7). In this sense, Nietzsche’s comedy gives expression to an affirmation of life and, at the same time, does so by mocking a religion that sought to replace the this-worldly comfort of laughter with hopes for redemption in a metaphysical beyond.

Concluding Remarks This epilogue should be understood as a mere sketch of how to approach Nietzsche’s published works. The reason for sketching this framework is that my efforts in this work should be understood as an attempt to defend at least one aspect of this larger interpretation and, in turn, that this larger interpretation makes sense of and magnifies the significance of my efforts in the central chapters of this work. Specifically, it is this framework that identifies the unity of opposites and the related doctrine of becoming at the beginning of two works, Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil, which themselves form the beginning of two series of works that culminate in a tragedy and comedy, respectively. Furthermore, this framework also points to a textual connection between Nietzsche’s efforts as a philosopher and his activity as a poet, and this connection, in turn, indicates that there might also be a theoretical connection between Nietzsche’s philosophy and his poetry. Although I have indicated, at the conclusion of the introduction, that both Nietzsche and Plato link the relational ontology of Heraclitus and Protagoras to the tragic and comic poetry of Aeschylus and Aristophanes, respectively, it is not entirely clear, at least not to me at this point, what this relationship is supposed to be. What does seem to be clear, however, is that Nietzsche’s post-1877 works, starting with Human, All Too Human and ending with his Dionysian Dithyrambs, can be read as a continuous whole divided into two parts. On the one hand, they tell a single story of how Nietzsche becomes who he is. On the other hand, they provide us with a two-sided story of what can be called the tragedy and comedy of life.⁶³¹ In both cases, it is the story of someone who has the right to be understood not only as a “tragic philosopher” (EH Books BT 3), but also as “the last disciple of the philosopher Dionysus” (TI Ancients 5).⁶³²

630 See Halliwell (2008, ch. 10) for more on the anti-gelastic thrust of early Christianity. 631 See Hatab (1988). 632 See Hödl (2009).

Appendix The Periodization of Nietzsche’s Works⁶³³ I.

The Rebirth of Tragedy at Richard Wagner’s Festival in Bayreuth (1872–1876) A. The Birth of Tragedy out of the Spirit of Music (1872) B. Two Unpublished Essays:⁶³⁴ 1. “On Truth and Lie in an Extra-Moral Sense” (1873) 2. Philosophy in the Tragic Age of the Greeks (1873) C. Untimely Meditations (1873–1876): 1. David Strauss, the Confessor and the Writer (1873) 2. On the Uses and Disadvantages of History for Life (1874) 3. Schopenhauer as Educator (1874) 4. Richard Wagner in Bayreuth (1876)

II. The Tragedy and Comedy of Life or How Nietzsche Becomes Who He Is (1878–1888) A. The Free Spirit and Nietzsche’s Rebirth of Tragedy (1878–1885) 1. The Free Spirit (1878–1882) a. The Cycle of Human, All Too Human I and II (1878–1880) i. Human, All Too Human (1878) ii. Human, All Too Human II (1879-1880) 1. Assorted Opinions and Maxims (1879) 2. The Wanderer and His Shadow (1880) b. Daybreak (1881) c. Idylls from Messina (1882) d. The Gay Science I-IV (1882) 2. The Rebirth of Tragedy (1883–1885) a. The Tragedy: Thus Spoke Zarathustra I-III (1883–1884) b. The Satyr Play: Thus Spoke Zarathustra IV (1885) B. The Philosophy of the Future and the Rebirth of Old Comedy (1886–1888) 1. Prelude to a Philosophy of the Future (1886–1887) a. Beyond Good and Evil (1886) b. The Gay Science V (1887) c. On the Genealogy of Morals (1887)

633 The divisions marked here are my own. The works are not listed in exact chronological order. For a complete list of Nietzsche’s works along with publication dates and publishers, see KSA 14, pp. 22ff. 634 Because these are unpublished essays, the dates listed are those of composition, not publication.

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2.

3.

The Rebirth of Old Comedy (1888)⁶³⁵ a. The Comic Agon i. The Case of Wagner (1888) ii. Twilight of the Idols (1888) iii. The Antichrist (1888) iv. Nietzsche contra Wagner (1888) b. The Comic Parabasis: Ecce Homo (1888) Dionysian Dithyrambs (1888)

635 For the 1888 works, the years given are the dates of composition, not the year of publication.

Bibliography Primary Texts and Translations Works by Aristotle Unless otherwise noted, all translations of Aristotle’s texts are taken from: The Complete Works of Aristotle: Revised Oxford Translation [ROT]. Ed. J. Barnes, 2 vols. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984. The Greek text consulted for the Metaphysics is: Aristotle’s Metaphysics. Ed. W. D. Ross, 2 vols. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1958.

Works by Nietzsche Reference Editions of Nietzsche’s Works Friedrich Nietzsche: Werke. Kritische Gesamtausgabe. Edition founded by G. Colli and M. Montinari, continued by V. Gerhardt, N. Miller, W. Müller-Lauter and K. Pestalozzi. Berlin, New York: Walter de Gruyter 1967ff. Friedrich Nietzsche: Briefewechsel. Kritische Gesamtausgabe. Edition founded by G. Colli and M. Montinari, continued by N. Miller and A. Pieper. Berlin, New York: Walter de Gruyter 1975ff. Friedrich Nietzsche: Sämtliche Werke: Kritische Studienausgabe. Ed. G. Colli and M. Montinari, 15 vols. Berlin, New York, Munich: DTV, De Gruyter 1999.

Translations of Nietzsche’s Works Friedrich Nietzsche (1954): “The Antichrist.” In The Portable Nietzsche, pp. 565–656. Friedrich Nietzsche (1996): “Assorted Opinions and Maxims.” In Human, All Too Human: A Book for Free Spirits, pp. 215–299. Friedrich Nietzsche (1989): “Beyond Good and Evil.” Trans. W. Kaufmann. New York: Random House. Friedrich Nietzsche (1967): “The Birth of Tragedy out of the Spirit of Music.” In The Birth of Tragedy and The Case of Wagner, pp. 15–151. Friedrich Nietzsche (1967): The Birth of Tragedy and the Case of Wagner. Trans. W. Kaufmann. New York: Vintage Books. Friedrich Nietzsche (1967): “The Case of Wagner.” In The Birth of Tragedy and The Case of Wagner, pp. 153–192. Friedrich Nietzsche (1967): “David Strauss, the Writer and Confessor.” In Untimely Meditations, pp. 1–55. Friedrich Nietzsche (1982): Daybreak. Trans. R. J. Hollingdale. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Friedrich Nietzsche (1989): “Ecce Homo.” In On the Genealogy of Morals and Ecce Homo, pp. 215–335. Friedrich Nietzsche (1974): The Gay Science. Trans. W. Kaufmann. New York: Random House. Friedrich Nietzsche (1996): “Human, All Too Human I.” In Human, All Too Human: A Book for Free Spirits, pp. 1–205.

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Friedrich Nietzsche (1996): Human, All Too Human: A Book for Free Spirits. Trans. R. J. Hollingdale. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Friedrich Nietzsche (1989): “On the Genealogy of Morals.” In On the Genealogy of Morals and Ecce Homo, pp. 13–163. Friedrich Nietzsche (1989): On the Genealogy of Morals and Ecce Homo. Trans. W. Kaufmann. New York: Random House. Friedrich Nietzsche (1979): “On the Pathos of Truth.” In Philosophy and Truth: Selections from Nietzsche’s Notebooks of the Early 1870’s, ed. and trans. D. Breazeale. New Jersey: Humanities Press, pp. 61–68. Friedrich Nietzsche (1967): “On the Uses and Disadvantages of History for Life.” In Untimely Meditations, pp. 57–123. Friedrich Nietzsche (1979): “On Truth and Lie in an Extra-Moral Sense.” In Philosophy and Truth: Selections from Nietzsche’s Notebooks of the Early 1870’s, trans. D. Breazeale. New Jersey: Humanities Press, pp. 77–97. (Note: The title is alternatively translated as “On Truth and Lies in a Nonmoral Sense”). Friedrich Nietzsche (1962): Philosophy in the Tragic Age of the Greeks. Trans. M. Cowan. Washington, D. C.: Gateway. Friedrich Nietzsche (1954): The Portable Nietzsche, ed. and trans. W. Kaufmann. New York: Viking Press. Friedrich Nietzsche (2001): The Pre-Platonic Philosophers. Trans. G. Whitlock. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press. Friedrich Nietzsche (1967): “Richard Wagner in Bayreuth.” In Untimely Meditations, pp. 195–254. Friedrich Nietzsche (1967): “Schopenhauer as Educator.” In Untimely Meditations, pp. 125–194. Friedrich Nietzsche (1954): “Thus Spoke Zarathustra.” In The Portable Nietzsche, pp. 103–439. Friedrich Nietzsche (1954): “Twilight of the Idols.” In The Portable Nietzsche, pp. 463–564. Friedrich Nietzsche (1967): Untimely Meditations. Trans. R. J. Hollingdale. New York: Vintage Books. Friedrich Nietzsche (1996): “The Wanderer and His Shadow.” In Human, All Too Human: A Book for Free Spirits, pp. 301–395. Friedrich Nietzsche (1990): “We Classicists.” In Unmodern Observations (Unzeitgemässe Betrachtungen), ed. and trans. W. Arrowsmith. New Haven: Yale University Press, pp. 305–387. Friedrich Nietzsche (1968): The Will to Power, compiled by E. Förster-Nietzsche and H. Köselitz. Trans. W. Kaufmann and R. J. Hollingdale. New York: Vintage Books.

Works by Plato With the exception of the Theaetetus, all translations from Plato’s works are taken from: Plato: The Complete Works. Ed. J. M. Cooper. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing, 1997. The translation used for the Theaetetus is: The Theaetetus of Plato. Trans. M. J. Levett, rev. M. F. Burnyeat, with an introduction by M. F. Burnyeat. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing, 1990. The Greek text consulted for the Theaetetus can be found in: Opera. Vol. I. Ed. Duke, Hicken, Nicoll, Robinson, and Strachan. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995.

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Works by Schopenhauer Reference Edition of Schopenhauer’s Works: Arthur Schopenhauer: Sämtliche Werke. Ed. Wolfgang Frhr. von Löhneysen, 5 vols. Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1986. Arthur Schopenhauer (1974): On the Fourfold Root of the Principle of Sufficient Reason. Trans. E. J. F. Payne. La Salle: Open Court. Arthur Schopenhauer (1969): The World as Will and Representation. Vols. 1 and 2. Trans. E. J. F. Payne. New York: Dover.

Works by Other Classical Authors The translation consulted for Aristophanes is: Aristophanes: Birds, Lysistrata, Assembly-Women, Wealth. Trans. Stephen Halliwell. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997. The translation consulted for Thucydides is: The Landmark Thucydides: A Comprehensive Guide to The Peloponnesian War. Ed. R. S. Strassler and trans. R. Crawley. New York: Touchstone, 1996. For fragments from pre-Socratic philosophers, I cite: Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker. Eds. A. Diels and W. Kranz, reprint of the sixth edition, 3 vols. Berlin: Weidmann, 1985.

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Index Abel, Günter 5, 6, 72–73, 125n.292, 204–205, 242n.552, 245n.556, 246n.565 aestheticism 31–32 (see also justification) affirmation 34, 37, 62, 244, 261 – artistic 63, 131, 152, 270 – of existence (life) 10, 19, 22, 37–38, 43n.131, 55, 68, 72, 131, 148–149, 150–152, 205n.463, 245–246, 256n.586, 263n.607, 268, 270, 274–276 – of statements 82, 86, 90, 97–100 agape (see love) agon 23, 42n.129, 61–62, 272–273 Alcibiades 261–263 alloiôsis 109–110, 112, 189 (see also change) Anaxagoras 42, 105 Anaximander 7, 28n.102, 42, 43n.131, 54–57, 63, 68, 130n.312, 136, 142 anthropomorphism 2n.7, 21, 23, 40, 118, 124–125, 127, 134, 137, 139, 146, 148, 151–152, 201, 225–226, 235, 245–246, 255, 257, 259 – logical 66, 127, 134 Apollo (Apollonian) 37–38, 267 appearance 39, 113, 124, 136, 142–143, 163, 179–180, 196, 213, 222, 242, 253, 257, 270 – conflicting 160–163, 175, 196, 212 – and reality 11, 30, 40, 48–49, 123, 153, 164–165, 175, 196, 203, 207, 211, 215n.511, 241–242, 248 – truth of 108–114, 193 – world of 38–39, 46, 124, 142, 213, 215n.511, 222 Aristophanes 23–24, 221n.520, 260, 263–264, 272–273, 275–276 Aristotle 2, 8–10, 24–25, 27n.90, 30, 33, 40, 50, 60, 62, 74–117, 123–124, 126, 137, 144, 147, 153, 156, 161, 171n.386, 179, 189, 194, 195–196, 207n.480, 211, 230, 257, 265 art 19, 21–22, 37–38, 40, 50, 63, 70, 72, 130–131, 133, 148, 151–152, 199, 259n.592, 268, 270 (see also poetry, philosophy, and affirmation) – creation of 3, 19, 152, 222 – Dionysian 37–38, 44, 55 – tragic 36–38, 199, 266–267, 269–270 (see also tragedy)

artist 32, 41, 61–62, 68 – philosopher as 152 asceticism 224, 238, 274 – as ideal 2 atom 58, 81, 115, 124–126, 144–147, 201, 211, 213, 226–228, 232, 239 – time 129 atomism 43, 124–128, 135, 171, 226–228, 232 – soul 81, 226 Bär, Karl Ernst von 43, 129 becoming 2, 3n.12–13, 6, 7, 20n.67, 26, 28, 34–75, 79–82, 105, 122, 129, 134–148, 153, 156, 161, 165–168, 174, 177, 189–192, 204, 219, 222, 236, 243 – doctrine of 2, 10, 25, 35, 43, 46, 51, 53, 63, 69, 76, 79, 116–117, 134, 138, 145, 156, 223, 265, 269, 276 – Heraclitean 2, 9–10, 28, 36, 43–44, 51–52, 54, 56, 62, 68–69, 78, 81, 129, 134, 136–138, 142–143, 145, 153, 199, 204 – innocence of 26, 32, 55n.164, 62 being 3n.13, 7–8, 26, 28, 34, 42, 50–52, 55–59, 63–67, 79, 82, 84, 104–105, 115–116, 134, 136–137, 142–145, 158, 161, 164, 167, 170, 177, 203, 211, 214, 219, 222–223, 231n.541, 243, 251 – denial of 56, 58–59, 129, 143 – isomorphism of thinking and 8, 65–66, 74–75, 78, 81–82, 91, 115, 127, 143, 153, 228, 231 – knowledge must be of 192–195 Bernays, Jacob 64–65 Berry, Jessica 28–30, 44, 209n.493 Borsche, Tilman 1n.3, 26–27, 40n.126, 67–72 Boscovich, Roger 123–128, 130n.312, 144–145, 218, 226–228, 232, 234, 243, 251, 256 Brobjer, Thomas 157 Burnyeat, Myles 159, 175n.393, 181–183, 191 Callicles 260–261 causality 45–47, 226, 232, 257–258 cause 144 – and effect 225–226, 258 – final 222, 247 (see teleology) – of sensations (representations) 45–48, 120, 142, 172–173

298   

   Index

change 2, 7, 35, 49–55, 59–61, 63, 65, 77–78, 81–82, 102–108, 110–112, 114–115, 122, 129, 138, 142–144, 147, 164, 166–172, 189–190, 195, 253, 257 chaos 49, 203, 225 – of sensations (see sensation) chemistry 128, 133, 269 child 32, 55, 62, 68, 72 Christianity vii, 30, 67, 72–73, 151, 199n.434, 226, 238, 261, 263, 270, 273–276 (see also God, love, and morality) Clark, Maudemarie 1, 4, 15–17, 19–21, 28–29, 40, 41n.127, 44, 79n.207, 81n.218, 118–124, 130n.312, 145, 206–209, 214, 225, 229, 258–259 – and David Dudrick 6n.25, 210n.496, 211n.498, 221n.521, 222n.522, 224n.525, 226n.529, 228n.532, 239n.546, 246n.565, 263n.607 Colli, Giorgio 69, 131, 275n.627 comedy 14, 23, 32, 221n.520, 231, 264, 266n.611, 271–276 (see also poetry) consciousness 40, 202–203, 214–216, 227, 230, 242–243 contradiction (see principle of non–contradiction) Copernicus, Nicolaus 123, 127, 139, 228 Cornford, Francis 171n.384, 193n.429, 194n.430, 261 Cox, Christoph 1, 3, 28, 44–50, 52, 61, 209, 211, 213, 218 Cratylus 78, 90, 94, 103, 105–108, 111, 117, 189 crucified (see Jesus) Danto, Arthur 1, 2n.6, 11, 14, 17–19, 24, 28, 40, 45, 205–207, 254n.583 Davis Acampora, Christa 61n.170, 70, 272n.619, 273, 274n.625 Democritus 43, 61, 101, 105, 115, 123–126, 128, 135, 171n.385, 198, 211 despair 9, 39, 62, 101, 103, 117, 134, 148–149, 152 Dionysus 13–14, 24, 27, 32, 34, 37–39, 44, 72, 221, 260, 262–266, 271–276 (see also art, poetry, and wisdom) – as genius of the heart 262, 274 dissonance (see music) dithyramb 14, 23, 267 Dodds, Eric 260, 262

dogmatism 29n.107, 153, 155, 199–200, 202, 206, 209–211, 213, 232–235, 238, 244, 253 dualism 39, 42, 45, 48–49, 54–57 (see also appearance) dunamis (see power) Empedocles 24, 32, 71, 74, 101, 109, 268 empiricism 2, 7, 9, 30, 32, 35, 56–57, 82–83, 115, 118, 119n.277, 122, 127, 151, 156, 161, 195–196, 211n.498, 227–229, 241, 249 (see also world) – strict 78, 83, 102–104, 108, 114, 193–194 epistêmê (see knowledge) eros (see love and will to power) essence 31, 39, 48, 54, 58–59, 66, 77, 48, 95–97, 104n.262, 111, 143, 208, 219, 245, 250n.576, 258 essentialism 50, 104 eternal recurrence (return) 25, 34, 72, 79, 128, 150, 203, 260n.595, 264, 267 Euripides 24, 63, 275 explanation 2n.7, 31, 60, 77, 146, 148, 201, 207, 227, 236, 245, 247–253, 256–259, 274n.626 facts 1–3, 5, 86, 92, 94, 122, 139–140, 147, 183–186, 197, 201, 206–207, 216, 223, 232, 235, 240–241 (see also relativism) falsification thesis 9, 34, 40n.126, 117–124, 135, 141, 145, 174, 197–198, 205, 214, 222–232, 242, 256–257, 259 Figl, Johann vii, 14, 44n.133, 59, 204, 217n.513, 229n.537, 245n.555, 250n.576, 251n.577 Fine, Gail 170n.382, 182, 184 Fink, Eugen 26, 32 force 35, 39, 47–48, 57–61, 115, 122–129, 138, 144, 201, 204, 207n.480, 215–219, 226–232, 240, 242, 244–254, 257–258 (see also ontology) Forms (Plato’s theory of) 53, 58, 193–194, 211 free spirit 22–23, 72, 119, 131–133, 148, 150–152, 198, 221, 238, 255–257, 266n.611 – works of the 13, 20–22, 133, 198–199, 221, 238, 269–271 genius of the heart (see Dionysus) Gerhardt, Volker 20n.67, 44, 58n.167, 203, 214n.509, 245n.556, 246n.563, 259n.588, 261

Index   

   299

Glatzeder, Britta 6n.25, 7, 41, 66, 127, 134–136, 150 God 140, 151, 222–223, 238, 241, 247, 251 (see also Dionysus) – death of 19, 21–22, 55n.164, 118, 152, 198, 238, 270–271 Green, Michael Steven 28n.100, 80–81n.218, 120–122, 141–142, 144n.328, 210n.496

Jaspers, Karl 19n.64, 25, 27, 202, 204, 259n.589 Jesus, – as the crucified 263, 273–275 – as knower of the heart 262, 274 justification 38, 72 – as an aesthetic phenomenon 37, 40, 55, 152 – of existence 55–56, 72, 152

Hales, Steven 3, 14, 18, 28, 47n.139, 80, 209n.493, 226n.531 Heidegger, Martin 14–15, 17, 26, 251n.577, 259 Heller, Peter 7, 41, 133–134, 136 Helmholtz, Hermann von 43, 126, 129 Heraclitus 2, 6–15, 20, 23–36, 39–69, 72, 75–78, 81–82, 94, 101, 103–108, 111, 114–118, 125–130, 133–147, 151–162, 164–174, 178, 189–205, 209–210, 219–225, 229–232, 234–235, 239, 251, 261, 264–265, 269, 276 (see also becoming, ontology, opposites, and worldview) history 36–37, 71, 116, 198–199, 268 Homer (Homeric) 32–33, 77, 142, 156, 168, 178, 263–264, 275 homo mensura 10–11, 25–26, 154, 156–158, 162–168, 178–189, 196, 200–201, 205, 239–240 (see also perspectivism and relativism) horizon 10, 199, 268 Hussain, Nadeem 47n.138, 118, 120, 122n.286, 210n.496, 229–230

Kant, Immanuel (Kantian) 24, 37–38, 42, 44–47, 58n.165, 66, 68, 71, 119, 122, 124, 128, 132, 145, 202–203, 205, 210–211, 215, 225, 248 Kaufmann, Walter 27–28, 205n.466, 262 kinêsis 108, 167–168, 171 knower of the heart (see Jesus) knowledge 2–3, 45–46, 50, 66, 81, 101, 103, 118–119, 123, 132–133, 140–141, 143, 146–152, 154, 175, 200–201, 215n.512, 229–231, 234–237, 243–246, 252, 255–257, 259 – denial (impossibility) of 39–41, 46, 147–148 (see also skepticism) – as epistêmê 2–4, 46, 50, 84, 104, 192–193 – as experiment 21, 152, 257 – as perception 78n.205, 156, 158–165, 175–178, 181, 189–197, 241 – perspectival 2, 4, 12, 21, 23, 154, 206–211, 218–219, 236, 245–246, 255–256, 259 – of self 233, 244 – as tragic 62, 133, 149–150

idealism 29, 47, 56, 111, 113, 165, 208, 229 – materio 127–128, 145 identity 45 (see also principle of identity) – qualitative 109 – self–, 59, 80, 139, 141, 144–147, 166, 200, 243 image, manifest and scientific 49, 207n.480 indeterminacy (indeterminate) 2, 11–12, 31, 100–102, 171–172, 191n.427, 196, 207 interpretation 2, 5–6, 12, 18, 139, 152, 202–209, 216–217, 219, 227–228, 232, 241–242, 245–246, 253–255, 258–259 (see also perspectivism, relativism, and will to power) isomorphism of thinking and being (see being)

Ladyman, James 4, 226n.530 Lange, F. A. 24, 47–48, 125–130, 144–146, 202, 230 laughter 142, 152, 221, 263, 271–272, 275–276 law 150 (see also law of excluded middle, principle of identity, principle of non– contradiction) – of nature 139, 225, 228, 253–255 – of thought 35, 65–67, 76, 81–82, 127, 139, 143 law of excluded middle (LEM) 77, 86, 88, 98–99 Lee, Mi-Kyoung 10n.29, 30, 78, 101n.258, 103, 109–110, 111n.271, 113n.273, 159n.350, 160, 163n.361, 164–166, 172n.388, 174–175, 183, 185n.416

300   

   Index

Leiter, Brian 1, 2n.6, n.7, and n.8, 4, 15–17, 30–32, 104, 156, 206–209, 211, 220, 223n.523, 225–226, 261 life 4, 10, 12–13, 21–23, 37, 43n.131, 50, 117–118, 130, 149–154, 198–199, 201–202, 205, 222, 225, 232–234, 236–239, 242–244, 246–249, 255–258, 266 (see also will to live) – affirmation of (see affirmation) – denial of 37–38, 55, 68, 147, 150, 152, 197, 237, 263n.607, 270, 274n.624 – preservation and promotion of 5, 10, 198–199, 232, 238–239, 259, 268 – tragic tension with truth (see truth) – value of 22, 147, 149, 152 life-world (Lebenswelt) 12, 118, 199, 212, 224, 235, 241–243 Loeb, Paul 14n.38, 267 logos 89–90, 92, 94, 100 love 261–263, 266, 274 – as agape 263, 274 – as eros 24, 64, 201, 250, 260–264, 274–275 (see also will to power) – of self (see selfishness) – of truth 224, 237 Löwith, Karl 19–21, 72–73 Lukasiewicz, Jan 84–85, 88n.234, 89, 95n.251, 96–97 Mach, Ernst 210n.496, 229–230 Mann, Joel 10n.30, 156–157, 240 materialism 48, 125–128, 145, 171 matter 47–48, 107, 123–128, 213, 223, 228, 232, 243 metaphysics 4, 8, 11, 13, 36, 39–42, 54–56, 63, 76, 80, 82–83, 115, 118, 130n.312, 133, 136–137, 140, 147, 150, 154–155, 202, 221–222, 227, 245, 249–251, 259, 276 (see also being, philosophy, and world) – principles of 20, 38, 165n.367, 268 – tradition of 25, 27n.90, 43, 50, 78, 82, 125, 135, 153, 257 Montinari, Mazzino 16n.52, 131, 275n.627 morality 32, 62, 68, 133, 198–199, 236, 243, 255, 270 – of truth and science 21–23, 41n.127, 50, 118, 151–152, 198, 201, 221, 237, 255, 257, 270

Müller-Lauter, Wolfgang 1n.3, 6, 14, 15n.42, 16n.51, 28, 79, 204, 217n.513, 245n.556, 249–251 music 22, 266, 273 (see also Socrates) – dissonance 37 Nachlass (status of) 14–17 (see also priority principle) naturalism 1–4, 9–10, 27, 30–32, 41, 49, 63, 82, 115, 119, 130n.312, 195–196, 227, 246, 252n.578, 253n.582, 256, 265 (see also physiologoi and science) – and aestheticism 31–32 – ontological 78, 83, 102–104, 108, 110–111, 114–115, 161 Nehamas, Alexander 1, 3, 6, 28, 31, 205–207, 209, 210n.496, 211, 254n.583 Nestle, Wilhelm 25, 260, 262 nihilism 3–4, 117n.274, 148, 237, 263n.607 objectivity 201, 203, 208, 218–220 – as an ideal 2, 204n.459 – scientific 2n.7, 236–238 Oedipus 62, 149–150, 238 ontic structural realism 4 ontology 7, 28, 44, 47, 53, 55, 58, 60, 76, 82, 96–97, 106, 165–166, 173–174, 178, 203–204, 254, 261 (see also being and becoming) – of dynamic relations 9, 11–13, 24, 29–30, 34, 41, 45, 49, 75, 80, 116, 118–119, 125, 128, 134, 171, 200–202, 205, 223–226, 229–230, 234–235 – of force 6n.23, 79, 244–245 (see also force) – Heraclitean 6, 9–12, 36, 41, 47, 54, 61, 94, 101, 116–118, 123–130, 135–147, 150–156, 160–161, 164–165, 168, 170–175, 189–192, 196–202, 209–210, 220, 222–260 – realist 29, 50, 165 – relational 2–7, 11–12, 14, 28, 32, 35–36, 41, 50, 56, 108, 115, 122, 137, 140, 175–176, 195, 205, 218, 223–224, 230, 235, 239n.546, 242, 254, 265, 276 – substance–property 47, 60, 84, 97, 108 opera 13, 37–38, 269 opposites 79, 82, 134n.318 – co–presence of 61, 104–106, 163 – denial of 79, 150, 223, 227, 265, 272

Index   

– problem (question) of 6–7, 9, 17, 35, 41, 54, 60, 63, 104–105, 114–117, 133n.318, 134–136, 140, 150, 222, 222n.522, 223, 265 – separation of 7, 57, 223 – strife/struggle of 26, 57, 60–61 – unity of 2, 6–8, 27, 30, 34–36, 39, 45, 54, 57–61, 75–76, 115–117, 136–140, 150, 153, 156, 159, 165n.367, 221–223, 227, 239, 256, 265–266, 269, 272, 276 optimism 81, 132n.316, 148, 268 – Socratic 30, 37–38, 42, 63, 131, 132, 238, 269 (see also Socrates) Parmenides 7–8, 24, 27n.90, 32, 35–37, 42, 50, 62–67, 69, 75, 81, 116, 124, 134, 136–137, 142–144, 146, 156, 168, 211, 222–223, 228, 230, 262 perception 45, 59, 65, 77–78, 101–104, 108–115, 120, 160–164, 167–178, 188–196, 211, 217–220, 229, 231, 240–242 – distinction between thought and 101, 108–110 – knowledge is (see knowledge) – infallibility of 162–164, 175–178 – secret theory of 165n.370, 168–178 perspectivism 2, 3, 6, 10–12, 17, 29, 31, 34, 41, 47, 100, 135, 139, 150, 152–158, 161, 179–181, 195–220, 232–244, 265, 268 (see also homo mensura, horizon, interpretation, relativism) – Heraclitean reading of 203–205 – Kantian reading of 202–203, 205 – paradox of 11, 154–155, 179–180, 205, 210–211 – as point of view 208, 209n.493, 212, 218, 240 – as projection 2, 11–12, 200, 210–211, 213–216, 218–219, 235, 243, 245 – as self–refuting 11, 29n.107, 154, 185, 200, 205–206, 210 pessimism 34, 55, 148 – evaluative 37n.122, 55 – factual 37n.122, 42, 132n.316, 149 phantasia 109–110, 163, 176 philosophy 38, 123, 202, 224, 233, 243–244, 262 – ancient Greek 7, 24, 26, 27n.90, 63, 67–68, 71–74, 126, 128, 135, 154

   301

– as artistic creation 3, 222, 233, 244 – of the future 4, 23, 118, 152, 199, 201, 221, 233, 236–238, 244, 246, 253, 257, 259, 262, 272 – historical 7, 54n.163, 116, 134, 137, 143, 145 – metaphysical 7, 116, 134, 136–137 (see also metaphysics) – optimistic 37, 132 (see also optimism) – and poetry 24–25, 33, 40, 70, 276 (see also quarrel) – tragic 9, 19–20, 24, 36–39, 41–42, 50, 62, 77, 94, 117, 119, 130, 135, 147–150, 153, 198–199, 270 (see also wisdom and worldview) physics 19, 57, 123, 125, 128, 226–228, 239, 249, 251, 253, 255–256 physiologoi 2, 50, 103–104 pity 220, 274 Plato 2–3, 4n.13, 9–11, 24, 26n.87, 27n.90, 32–33, 50, 53n.158, 54, 63, 68–69, 73–74, 89, 101, 114, 136, 144, 146–147, 151–198, 200, 211, 222, 223n.524, 225, 227–228, 233–234, 237–238, 241, 260–265, 270, 276 play 26, 32, 62, 68 pleonexia 25, 201, 260–262, 264 Poellner, Peter 6, 14, 19–20, 26, 28, 44, 79, 252n.581, 262 poetry 14, 22, 24–25, 30, 32–33, 36, 40, 67–72, 260, 263–264, 275–276 (see also art) – comic 68, 263, 276 (see also comedy) – Dionysian 13–14, 19, 23–24, 32, 38, 55, 69, 260n.595, 265 (see also Dionysus) – quarrel with philosophy (see also philosophy and quarrel) – tragic 63, 131, 267, 276 (see also tragedy) post–modernism (postmodern) vii, 1–3, 9–10, 15n.44, 18, 31 power 215, 217, 247–248, 250n.576, 253 (see also will to power) – as dunamis 11, 105, 155–156, 170–172, 174–175, 177, 196–197, 264 – feeling of 5n.22, 274 principle of bivalence 77, 87–88, 98–99, 187 principle of identity 8, 66, 80–81, 93, 141 principle of non–contradiction 2, 6–7, 26, 56, 62, 65–66, 74–117, 137, 153, 156, 230, 265

302   

   Index

– Aristotle’s elenctic refutation of 8, 83, 88–95, 97, 100, 102 – definition of 84–88 – logical 8, 76, 80, 82, 84–88, 93, 97, 114 – logical (Aristotle) 76, 83–88, 98–99 – Nietzsche’s critique of 66, 78–83 – ontological 8, 9, 76–81, 83–90, 93–102, 105–106, 108–114, 116–117, 153, 189 – psychological 82, 84–85 – strong denial 96–97, 101, 106, 111 priority principle 17, 71 Protagoras 2, 9–11, 24–26, 30, 32, 78, 104, 108–115, 152–165, 171, 178–188, 191, 195–198, 200–201, 205, 223, 230, 239–240, 261, 264, 276 (see also homo mensura) psychology 12, 207, 255, 257, 260–262, 264 quarrel, – between philosophy and poetry 33 rationalism 7, 35, 42, 115, 137, 227, 231 (see also metaphysics) Reginster, Bernard viii, 15, 17, 117n.274, 155, 250 relations 3–13, 31–32, 35, 40, 58–60, 62, 112–115, 122–124, 137, 139, 147, 155–156, 162–163, 165–177, 196, 204–205, 210, 212–213, 215–217, 223–227, 235, 237, 240–241, 251, 254, 265 (see also ontology) – dynamic 7, 9, 11–13, 24, 29, 33–35, 41, 45–49, 60, 75, 80, 115–116, 118–119, 123, 125, 128, 134, 171, 200–202, 205, 207n.480, 223–226, 229–230, 232, 234–235 relativism vii, 154–156, 161, 163, 181, 183, 187, 206, 209 (see also homo mensura, interpretation, perspectivism and relativity principle) – of fact 183–185, 197 – of truth 31, 112, 155, 182–186, 188, 197, 209n.493, 235 relativity principle 156, 159–161, 163–169, 171, 173–174, 177–178, 195–196, 212, 251n.577 (see also relativism) revaluation of values (see value) Riccardi, Mattia 6, 58n.165, 210n.496, 231 Richardson, John 11, 14, 18–20, 28, 44, 50–54, 56–57, 60–61, 79, 247–248, 259, 274

Rolph, William 249 Rorty, Richard 1, 4 Roux, Wilhelm 249–250 rule of contradictory pairs 86–88, 98–99 satyr play 13–14, 23, 267, 271 Schacht, Richard 1, 14, 18–20, 28, 44, 48n.142, 79n.207 Schlechta, Karl 16n.51, 128 Schopenhauer, Arthur 3, 20, 24, 37–39, 41–43, 55–56, 60, 68, 70–71, 119n.277, 120, 128, 130n.312, 132, 142, 149, 157, 245, 247–253, 256, 262, 268–270, 274–275 Schrift, Alan 206–207, 209 science 1–2, 12, 19, 21–23, 38, 43, 50, 71, 119n.277, 119n.278, 122–125, 130, 132–133, 140, 142–144, 146–148, 150–152, 198–201, 207n.480, 209n.490, 226, 228, 252, 255–256, 268–269 – as epistêmê (see knowledge) – gay 21, 152 – mechanistic 12, 48, 144 – modern 43, 74, 115, 123, 125–127, 135, 137, 145–146, 171n.385, 204n.459, 220, 252n.581 – morality of (see morality) – natural 1–2, 4, 5n.16, 6n.23, 9–10, 12, 31–32, 43, 50, 118, 119n.278, 125–135, 137, 144–146, 151, 200–204, 207n.480, 209, 213, 226, 234, 245, 247, 249, 251–254, 256 – as Wissenschaft 256 self 4, 152, 222, 229, 237–238, 267 self–identity (see identity) selfishness (Selbstsucht) 274 sensation 11, 29, 40, 47–48, 113, 120–123, 133, 210–220, 229–230, 241–242, 251 – chaos of 12, 48, 79, 121–122, 200, 211, 214–215, 229, 242–243 significant speech 8, 77, 83, 88–94, 102–103, 117, 189, 191–192 Silenus 20, 37, 42, 149 (see also wisdom) skepticism 9, 29, 34, 38, 40, 41n.127, 45, 70, 77, 101, 103, 117, 124, 146, 153, 193–194, 216, 226, 237, 252 – paradoxical 101, 196 – Pyrrhonian 29–30 Socrates 10, 24, 26n.87, 28, 32, 34, 38, 41, 69, 72, 89, 95, 149, 159–197, 200, 261, 273 – music–playing 22, 32, 266n.611, 269–270

Index   

– optimism of (see optimism) – as turning point in history 30n.111, 36, 63, 68, 131 Sophists 25, 27n.90, 30–32, 156, 198 soul (psuchê) 1, 91, 110–111, 150, 156, 158–159, 161, 194–195, 214, 218, 226–227, 232, 237, 241 – atomism of (see atomism) – noble 221, 244 Spinoza 246–248 Spir, Afrikan 24, 58n.165, 80–81, 141–144, 210n.496, 211n.498 Stegmaier, Werner viii, 5n.19, 15n.43, 17n.53, 18–19, 25n.78, 40n.126, 203, 210n.495, 215n.511, 275n.627 Stoicism 224, 244 Strong, Tracy 69–71, 73n.199 subjectivity 21, 118, 151 substance 35, 45, 51–52, 56, 58, 60–61, 76–78, 81–83, 96–97, 107, 122, 124, 126, 140, 142–144, 165, 200, 204, 210–214, 223, 241, 243 substratum 77, 107–108, 111, 115, 144, 147, 213 suffering 37–39, 61–62, 72, 132n.316, 149–150, 250 Teichmüller, Gustav 10–12, 24, 153, 157–158, 200–201, 209–216, 218, 234–235, 241, 243 teleology 246–247 thing–in–itself 2–4, 20, 28n.102, 29–30, 33, 35, 38, 40, 41n.127, 44–46, 55, 77, 84, 104, 108, 113–115, 118–124, 130n.312, 137, 142–143, 196, 200–201, 205, 208, 210, 212, 215n.511, 222–223, 226, 229–231, 235, 237, 248–249, 251 Thrasymachus 260–261 tragedy 13–14, 23, 30n.111, 32, 37–38, 62, 68, 72, 117, 131, 133, 149, 266–271, 273, 276 (see also art, poetry, philosophy, wisdom, and worldview) – rebirth of 13, 22, 37, 70, 117, 131–132, 151, 266–271 truth 2–5, 8–9, 13, 21–22, 32, 38, 40–43, 66, 72, 82, 101, 103, 119–120, 131–132, 145–148, 152–153, 182–183, 192–193, 198–201, 204–206, 220n.518, 222, 236–239, 255–256, 270 (see also will to truth)

   303

– absolute (final) 1n.3, 3n.12, 139–140, 151, 183, 204, 209–210 – correspondence theory of 5, 120, 183, 205 – as deadly 9–10, 94, 117, 199 – denial of 2–3, 112, 139 – morality of (see morality) – objective 5, 154, 203–204, 206, 255 (see objectivity) – relativity of (see relativism) – tragic tension with life 5n.22, 9–10, 34, 37, 117, 130, 132–133, 148–149, 152, 198–199, 224, 227, 233–234, 238, 268 (see also wisdom and worldview) – value of 2, 10, 21–22, 118, 151, 198–199, 238, 255 – as woman 233, 238 Übermensch 25, 79, 267 unity of opposites (see opposites) value(s) 12, 30, 74, 119n.277, 151, 154, 222–223, 234–235, 237–240, 242–244, 246, 255 – creation (projection) of 201, 233, 235, 240n.547, 243–246, 259n.592 – of life (see life) – life–affirming 245–246, 263n.607 – measure (standard) of 217, 222–223, 225, 239–240 – revaluation of 220, 264, 273–275 – of truth (see truth) Wagner, Richard 13, 38, 70–71, 131, 268–269, 273 Wedin, Michael 78, 88n.234, 91, 93, 95–97, 99 Welshon, Rex 3, 14, 18, 28, 47n.139, 80, 183n.410, 209n.490 and n.493, 226n.531 Whitaker, C. W. A. 84n.222, 85n.226, 86, 87n.231 Wilcox, John 28–29, 44 will to live 245, 247–250, 253, 262, 264 will to power 2n.7, 5, 17, 24, 28, 31n.116, 44, 54, 128, 135, 150, 201, 203–205, 217, 219–220, 226, 236, 238, 244–264, 274–275 – cosmological version of 16, 245, 251, 255, 257–259 – as eros 24, 201, 260–264, 274–275 – as an explanatory principle 201, 214, 245, 247–250, 253–254, 259

304   

   Index

– as interpretation 5, 12, 202–205, 210, 245–246, 253–255, 259 – as pleonexia 25, 201, 260–264 will to truth 2, 201, 220, 236–238, 244, 262–263 wisdom 179–180, 186, 238, 262 – Dionysian 38 – Silenic 150 – tragic 34, 37, 270 world, – apparent 10, 20, 48, 82, 153, 157, 211–214, 241 – commonsense 4, 47–49, 122–124, 140–141, 146, 167, 172–175, 196, 211, 226, 229–230, 235, 241, 243, 256 – empirical (sensible) 7, 20, 36, 56–57, 65–67, 75, 78, 103–104, 106, 110, 115, 123–124, 140, 143, 168, 193, 195, 212–216, 241

– life (see life-world) – metaphysical 3n.12, 8, 56, 82, 118, 124, 130n.312, 140, 144–146, 240n.547 – scientific 47, 49, 123, 145, 232, 254 – true 2–4, 20, 48–49, 81, 143, 256 worldview 9, 32–33, 41, 63, 73, 128, 170, 183, 199–200, 234, 240, 263–265 – dynamic 125–126, 152, 171, 226–228, 232 – Heraclitean 9, 32, 61, 130n.312, 204 (see becoming and ontology) – mechanistic 124, 145, 213, 226, 228, 257 – tragic 13, 23–24, 33, 36, 38, 43–44, 62–63, 69, 78, 131, 196, 265, 267–270, 272 Zeno 66–67 Zittel, Claus 5, 21n.71