Philosophy of the Modern Era

Nietzsche

Nietzsche (1844—1900) justifiably considered himself a follower of Schopenhauer, yet he surpasses Schopenhauer in many respects, particularly because his teachings are consistent and coherent. Schopenhauer's Eastern ethics of self-denial did not align with his metaphysics of the omnipotence of will. In Nietzsche's philosophy, the will is primary not only metaphysically but also ethically. Although Nietzsche held a professorial position, he was more of a literary philosopher than an academic one. He did not invent any new specialized theories in ontology or epistemology; rather, his most significant contributions lie primarily in ethics and his incisive historical critique. I will largely confine my discussion to his ethics and critique of religion, as these aspects of his work have rendered him influential.

Nietzsche's life was simple. His father was a Protestant pastor, and Nietzsche received a deeply religious upbringing. He excelled in classical studies and philology at the university to such an extent that, in 1869, even before obtaining his degree, he was offered a professorship in philology at Basel, which he accepted. He never enjoyed good health and, after several sick leaves, was compelled to retire in 1879. Following this, Nietzsche lived in Switzerland and Italy. In 1888, he suffered a mental breakdown, remaining in that condition until his death. Nietzsche passionately admired Wagner, but their relationship soured after the composition of the opera "Parsifal," which Nietzsche found overly Christian and imbued with self-denial. After their falling out, he harshly criticized Wagner, even going so far as to accuse him of being Jewish. Nonetheless, Nietzsche's overarching worldview remained closely aligned with Wagner's, reflected in the latter's musical cycle "The Ring of the Nibelung." Nietzsche's concept of the Übermensch closely resembles Siegfried, except for the fact that he knows Greek. This may seem strange, but it is not my fault.

Nietzsche was not consciously a Romantic; in fact, he often critiques Romantics sharply. Consciously, his worldview was Hellenic, yet devoid of an orphic element. He expressed admiration for the pre-Socratics, with the exception of Pythagoras, and harbored a particular inclination towards Heraclitus. Aristotle's magnanimous man bears a strong resemblance to Nietzsche's "noble man," yet Nietzsche primarily contends that Greek philosophers, from Socrates onward, fell short of their predecessors. He could not forgive Socrates for his plebeian origins, labeling him a "roturier" and accusing him of corrupting the noble Athenian youth with democratic moral principles. He especially condemns Plato for his tendency toward moralizing. However, it is clear that Nietzsche does not want to condemn Plato entirely; in an attempt to excuse him, he speculates that Plato was likely insincere and preached virtue merely as a means of keeping the lower classes in obedience. He once referred to him as "the great Cagliostro." Nietzsche appreciates Democritus and Epicurus, but his allegiance to the latter seems illogical unless interpreted as a genuine admiration for Lucretius.

As one might expect, Nietzsche held a low opinion of Kant, whom he called "a moral fanatic à la Rousseau." Despite critiquing the Romantics, Nietzsche's worldview owes much to them: it is an aristocratic anarchism of the Byronic type, and no one would be surprised to learn that Nietzsche admired Byron. He sought to unite two types of values that do not easily harmonize: on one hand, he favored ruthlessness, war, and aristocratic pride; on the other, he cherished philosophy, literature, art, and especially music. Historically, these values coexisted during the Renaissance; Pope Julius II, who conquered Bologna and utilized Michelangelo's talents, serves as an example of the kind of leader Nietzsche would wish to see at the helm of government. It is natural to compare Nietzsche with Machiavelli, despite the significant differences between the two. These differences lie in the fact that Machiavelli was a man of action, whose opinions were shaped in close contact with societal affairs and kept pace with his era; he was neither pedantic nor systematic, and his political philosophy does not form a coherent whole. Nietzsche, by contrast, was a professor, essentially a scholar, a philosopher consciously opposing the dominant political and ethical currents of his time. However, their similarities run deeper. Nietzsche's political philosophy is analogous to the political philosophy articulated in "The Prince" (but not in the "Discourses"), though it is developed and applied more broadly. Both Nietzsche and Machiavelli possess an ethical framework directed toward power and intentionally anti-Christian in character, with Nietzsche's anti-Christian stance being more pronounced. For Nietzsche, Napoleon was to be regarded in the same light as Cesare Borgia was for Machiavelli: a great man vanquished by petty adversaries.

Nietzsche's critique of religion and philosophy is entirely governed by ethical motives. He admires certain qualities that, he believed (perhaps rightly), are attainable only by an aristocratic minority; the majority, in his view, should serve as a means to elevate this minority, and should not be regarded as having any independent claims to happiness or well-being. Nietzsche frequently refers to ordinary people as "bungled and botched" and expresses no objection to their suffering if it is necessary for the emergence of a great individual. Thus, the entire significance of the period from 1789 to 1815 is encapsulated in Napoleon. The revolution was what made Napoleon possible—this is its justification. We should desire the anarchic collapse of our entire civilization if its outcome would yield such a reward. Napoleon made nationalism possible—this is the excuse for it. Nearly all the elevated hopes of the nineteenth century, Nietzsche writes, owe their genesis to Napoleon.

Nietzsche relishes speaking in paradoxes, intending to shock the average reader. He does this by using the words "good" and "evil" in their usual meanings, only to declare his preference for evil over good. In his book "Beyond Good and Evil," he genuinely seeks to alter readers' perceptions of good and evil, all while presenting the matter in such a way that he appears to praise evil and condemn good, except for certain moments. For instance, he asserts that it is erroneous to consider it one’s duty to champion the victory of good and the eradication of evil, a distinctly English perspective typical of "that blockhead John Stuart Mill"—a man for whom Nietzsche harbored particular loathing. He wrote of him: "I detest the vulgarity of this man when he says: 'What is right for one person is right for another.'—'Do not do to others what you do not want done to yourself.' Based on these principles, human relations would be gladly established on mutual services, such that each action would serve as a cash payment for something done for us. This hypothesis is base to the utmost degree. It presupposes without proof that there exists some form of equality between the value of my actions and yours."

True virtue, in contrast to the ordinary, is not for everyone; it must remain the property of only an aristocratic minority. It is neither advantageous nor prudent; it separates its possessor from others; it is hostile to order and harms those who stand below. The highest individuals must wage war against the masses and resist the democratic tendencies of the age, as mediocre people unite in all directions to seize dominance. "All that enervates, that softens, and that brings 'the people' or 'women' to the fore acts in favor of universal suffrage, that is, the dominance of 'lower' people." Rousseau was a corruptor, making women interesting, followed by Harriet Beecher Stowe with her slaves, and then the socialists with their protection of workers and the poor. All of this must be fought against.

Nietzsche's ethics does not conform to the ethics of self-justification in any conventional sense. He believes in Spartan discipline and the capacity to endure as well as inflict pain for a significant purpose. He elevates the will to power above all else. "I evaluate the strength of the will," he asserts, "by the amount of resistance it can muster, by the quantity of pain and torture it can withstand, and I know how to turn it to its own advantage. I do not point an accusing finger at the evil and suffering of existence; rather, I nourish the hope that life may one day become even more wicked and more full of suffering than ever before." He viewed compassion as a weakness to be combated: "The task is to attain the immense energy of greatness that can forge the future man through discipline and the destruction of millions of the 'unfinished and imperfect,' while still being able to endure and not perish in the face of the suffering thus created, the likes of which have never been seen before." With jubilant foretelling, he proclaims an era of great wars; it is intriguing to consider whether he would have rejoiced had he lived to witness the fulfillment of his prophecy.

However, he is by no means a worshiper of the state; on the contrary, he is a passionate individualist who believes in the hero. The misfortunes of an entire nation, he declares, matter less than the suffering of a great individual: "All the hardships of these little people, taken together, do not add up as a whole, except in the feelings of powerful individuals."

Nietzsche is not a nationalist, nor does he exhibit excessive admiration for Germany. He seeks an international ruling race that shall dominate the earth—a "new broad aristocracy based on the most rigorous self-discipline, where the will of philosopher-rulers and artist-tyrants shall be engraved for thousands of years."

He is not an anti-Semite, though he believes that Germany has as many Jews as it can assimilate and that further influx should not be permitted. He holds no love for the New Testament but speaks with great admiration of the Old. To do justice to Nietzsche, it must be noted that many contemporary theories that bear a certain relation to his overarching ethical views are contrary to his clearly expressed opinions.

Two aspects of his ethics merit attention: first, his aversion to women; second, his scathing critique of Christianity. He never tires of vehemently denouncing women. In his pseudo-prophetic work "Thus Spoke Zarathustra," he writes that women are still incapable of friendship: they remain akin to cats and birds or, at best, cows. "Man must be trained for war, woman for the repose of the warrior. Everything else is nonsense." This repose of the warrior must be rather peculiar, if judged by Nietzsche's most expressive aphorism on the matter: "Are you going to a woman? Don't forget the whip!"

He is not always so fierce, though he is uniformly contemptuous. In "The Will to Power," he writes, "We find pleasure in women as in more elegant, more delicate, and ethereal beings. What delight to encounter a creature whose head is filled only with dances, nonsense, and finery! Women have always been a pleasure for every strong and profound male soul." However, even these appealing qualities can only be found in women as long as they are kept in subjection by manly men; as soon as women achieve any form of independence, they become unbearable. "Women have so many reasons for shame; in a woman lie so many pedantic, superficial traits, the mannerisms of a schoolmistress, petty self-assurance, debauchery, and immodesty... All this has been best restrained and suppressed until now by fear of men." So he writes in "Beyond Good and Evil" and adds that women must be viewed as property, following the example of Eastern peoples. All his vituperations against women are presented as self-evident truths; they are not supported by historical evidence or by his own experience of knowing women, which was almost entirely confined to his sister.

Nietzsche objects to Christianity because it embraces what he terms "slave morality." It is interesting to trace the sharp distinction between his arguments and those of the French philosophers who preceded the revolution. They hold that the dogmas of Christianity are false, that Christianity teaches submission to what is perceived as the will of God, whereas a self-respecting human being should not bow to any higher authority, and that Christian churches have become allies of tyrants, aiding the enemies of democracy in denying freedom and perpetuating the oppression of the poor. Nietzsche is uninterested in the metaphysical truth of either Christianity or any other religion; being convinced that no religion is truly valid, he judges all religions solely by their social consequences. He agrees with the French philosophers in their protest against submission to the supposed will of God, but he replaces this with the will of earthly "artist-tyrants." Submission is commendable (for everyone except these superhumans), but not submission to the Christian God. As for the alliance of Christian churches with tyrants and enemies of democracy, he argues that this is directly contrary to the truth. According to him, the French Revolution and socialism are, in spirit, identical to Christianity. He denies all this for the same reason: he refuses to regard all people as equals in any respect.

Buddhism and Christianity, he asserts, are equally "nihilistic" religions in that they deny the original distinction of value between one individual and another, yet Buddhism provokes less objection. Christianity is degenerative, filled with decaying elements; its driving force is a revolt of the "unfinished and imperfect." This revolt was initiated by the Jews and was carried into Christianity by "holy epileptics" like St. Paul, who is stripped of all honesty. "The New Testament is the gospel of entirely despicable varieties of humanity." Christianity is the most fatal and seductive lie that has ever existed. No notable individual has ever resembled the Christian ideal, not even the heroes of Plutarch's "Lives." Christianity must be condemned for its denial of the value of "pride, the passion of distance, great responsibility, overflowing exuberance, the beautiful bestiality, the instincts of war and conquest, the deification of passion, revenge, anger, sensuality, risk, and knowledge." All these things are good, and Christianity condemns them as bad—this is Nietzsche's assertion.

Christianity, he argues, seeks to humble the human heart, but this is a mistake. In the wild beast lies something magnificent, which it loses when tamed. The criminals with whom Dostoevsky mingled were superior, as they possessed greater self-respect. Nietzsche instills repulsion, penance, and redemption, which he refers to as "folie circulaire." It is difficult for us to free ourselves from such a way of thinking about human behavior: "We are the heirs of two thousand years of vivisection of consciousness and self-crucifixion." I shall quote a particularly eloquent passage regarding Pascal, deserving of citation, as it best illustrates Nietzsche's negative attitude towards Christianity: "Why do we contend against Christianity? Because it seeks to destroy the strong, to break their spirit, to exploit moments of fatigue and weakness, to transform their proud confidence into anxiety and distress; because it knows how to poison the noblest instincts and infect them with illness until their strength, their will to power turns against them, until the strong perish from excessive self-contempt and self-sacrifice—an abhorrent mode of destruction, the most infamous example of which is Pascal."

In place of the Christian saint, Nietzsche wishes to see what he calls the "noble" man, but not as a representative of all, rather as a ruling aristocrat. The "noble" man is capable of cruelty and, when the occasion arises, of what is vulgarly regarded as crime. He possesses a sense of duty only towards those equal to himself. He patronizes artists and poets and all who possess some craft, but does so as a being of a higher order than those who merely know how to do something. Through the example of warriors, he has learned to associate death with the interests for which he fights, to sacrifice much, and to regard the matter with sufficient seriousness to spare no one, adhering to relentless discipline and allowing himself violence and treachery in war. He recognizes the role that cruelty plays in aristocratic superiority: "Almost everything we call 'higher culture' is based on the spiritualization and intensification of cruelty." The "noble" man is, in essence, the embodiment of the will to power.

What ought we to think of Nietzsche's teachings? How true are they? Are they, in some respects, beneficial? Is there anything objective within them, or are they merely the fantasies of a sick mind obsessed with power?

One cannot deny Nietzsche's immense influence, yet it has been felt more by artists and writers than by professional philosophers. It must also be acknowledged that his prophecies about the future have proven more accurate than those of liberals and socialists. If Nietzsche is simply a symptom of a disease, it must be one that is widely prevalent in the modern world. Nevertheless, there is much within his thought that must be dismissed as mere megalomania. Speaking of Spinoza, he writes: “What personal timidity and vulnerability this masquerade of a sick recluse reveals!” The same can be said of him, though with less hesitation, for he had no qualms about expressing such sentiments toward Spinoza. It is evident that in his waking dreams, he imagined himself a warrior, not a professor, and that all the individuals he admired were military figures. His opinions about women, like those of many men, reflect an objectification of the feelings he harbored towards them, which was, evidently, a feeling of fear. “Don’t forget the whip!”—yet nine out of ten women would wrest that whip from him, and he knew it; hence he kept his distance from them, indulging his wounded vanity with cruel remarks.

He condemns Christian love because he perceives it as a result of fear: I fear my neighbor may offend me, thus I assure him of my love. Were I stronger and braver, I would openly display my contempt for him, which I undoubtedly feel. It is clear that Nietzsche could not conceive of a person genuinely loving all of humanity, for he himself experienced only hatred and fear, which he was compelled to mask under a guise of arrogant indifference. His “noble” man, the figure he aspired to embody in his dreams, is entirely devoid of compassion, merciless, cunning, malevolent, occupied solely with his own power. King Lear, on the brink of madness, uttered:

… I do not yet know How I shall take my revenge, but it will be Something more terrible than anything the world has seen.

In a few words, this encapsulates Nietzsche's entire philosophy.

Nietzsche never considered that the desire for power, which he ascribes to his Übermensch, is itself born of fear. Those who do not fear their neighbors see no need to dominate them. People who have conquered their fear lack the frenzied capacity of Nietzsche’s “tyrannical artists” to seek pleasure in music and massacre, while their hearts are filled with dread at the inevitable palace coup. I shall not deny that, in part due to the spread of Nietzsche’s doctrine, the real world has come to resemble his nightmare; however, this nightmare does not become any less repugnant as a result.

It must be acknowledged that there exists a certain type of Christian ethics to which Nietzsche's scathing critique may justly apply. Pascal and Dostoevsky, whom he himself cites as examples, both possess something pitiable in their virtue. Pascal sacrificed his magnificent mathematical mind to his God, thus attributing to God the cruelty that is a cosmic extension of his own painful inner torments. Dostoevsky wished to have no connection with “personal pride”; he would sin merely to repent and experience the pleasure of confession. I shall not delve into the extent to which such mental aberrations should be attributed to Christianity, but I concur with Nietzsche in deeming Dostoevsky’s prostration contemptible. I must also agree that directness, pride, and even a measure of self-assertion are elements of the finest character. One cannot admire a virtue grounded in fear.

There are two kinds of saints: the saint by nature and the saint by fear. The saint by nature genuinely and directly loves humanity; he does good because it brings him happiness. The saint by fear, on the contrary, is like a man who refrains from stealing because he fears the police, and who would be wicked were it not for his thoughts of hellfire or retribution from his neighbors. Nietzsche could envision only the latter type of saint: he is so filled with fear and hatred that sincere love for humanity seems to him impossible. He could never imagine a person who, possessing the utter fearlessness and stubborn pride of the Übermensch, nonetheless inflicts no suffering because he has no desire to do so. Could it ever occur to anyone that Lincoln acted as he did out of fear of hellish torments? And yet for Nietzsche, Lincoln is pitiable, while Napoleon is great.

We must now consider the central ethical problem posed by Nietzsche: should ethics be aristocratic, or is it equally applicable to all people in certain respects? This question, as I have just framed it, lacks clear meaning, and it is evident that our first step must be to attempt to make the subject of discussion more precise.

First, we must strive to distinguish aristocratic ethics from aristocratic political theory. An advocate of the Benthamite principle of the greatest happiness for the greatest number of people operates from a democratic ethic; however, he may believe that general happiness is best secured by an aristocratic form of governance. But Nietzsche’s position is not thus. He asserts that the happiness of the common people is not part of the good as such. Everything that is good or bad in itself exists solely for the aristocratic minority; the fate of the rest does not matter.

The next question is: how can we define the superior minority? In practice, it is usually the race of conquerors or hereditary aristocrats, and those classified as aristocrats are generally, at least in theory, descendants of the conquering race. I believe Nietzsche would concur with this definition. “No morality is possible without good lineage,” he tells us. He contends that the noble caste is initially always barbaric, but that each elevation of humanity owes itself to aristocratic society.

It is unclear whether Nietzsche viewed the superiority of the aristocrat as innate or as conditioned by upbringing and environment. If the latter is true, it is difficult to justify why the others are deprived of all the advantages they might ex hypothesi claim equally. From this, I conclude that he considers the aristocrats, as conquerors and their descendants, biologically superior to their subjects, much like humans are above domesticated animals, albeit to a lesser degree.

What shall we mean by “biologically superior”? We shall interpret, in accordance with Nietzsche, that individuals of the superior race and their descendants stand closer to the “noble” in Nietzschean terms: they possess greater willpower, more courage, a stronger drive for power, less empathy, and diminished fear and softness.

We can now articulate Nietzsche's ethics. I believe the following represents an impartial analysis of it: victors in war and their descendants are generally biologically superior to the vanquished; hence it is desirable for all power to reside in their hands, and governance to be conducted solely in their own interests.

Here, we must also consider the term "desirable." What does "desirable" signify in Nietzsche's philosophy? From an outsider's perspective, Nietzsche labels as "desirable" that which he himself desires. Under this interpretation, Nietzsche's teachings could be expressed more simply and honestly in one sentence: "I would like to have lived in Athens during the time of Pericles or in Florence during the Medici." However, this is not philosophy; it is merely a fact of a certain individual's biography. The term "desirable" is not synonymous with "that which I desire"; it carries a certain claim, albeit obscured, to legislative universality. A theist might assert that what is desirable is what God desires, but Nietzsche cannot make such a claim. He could say that he knows what is good through ethical intuition, yet he would not express it this way, as it sounds too Kantian. In explaining the term "desirable," he might articulate the following: "If people read my works, a certain percentage of readers will come to share my desires regarding the organization of society. These individuals, inspired by the energy and determination my philosophy provides, may preserve and restore aristocracy, either as aristocrats themselves or (like me) as sycophants of the aristocracy. Thus, they will achieve a more fulfilled life than they would have as servants of the masses."

Nietzsche possesses another element that closely resembles the objections raised by "stubborn individualists" against trade unions. The victor in the struggle of all against all likely possesses certain qualities that Nietzsche admires, such as courage, resourcefulness, and willpower. However, if individuals lacking these aristocratic qualities (who constitute a vast majority) unite, they may prevail, despite their individual inferiority. In this conflict between the united masses and the aristocrats, Christianity serves as the ideological front, much like the French Revolution was a battleground. Therefore, we should resist any form of alliance among the individually weak, fearing that their combined strength may surpass that of the strong individuals. Conversely, we should promote the union of steadfast and courageous elements within the populace. The first step toward creating such a union is to preach Nietzsche's philosophy. We see that it is not so easy to maintain a distinction between ethics and politics.

Suppose we wish—and I genuinely wish—to find arguments against Nietzsche's ethics and politics; what arguments might we uncover? There are substantial practical arguments demonstrating that the attempt to achieve the goals Nietzsche set would ultimately lead to something entirely different. Aristocrats by birth are now discredited. The only practically feasible form of aristocracy is that of a fascist or Nazi party. Such an organization invites opposition and will likely be defeated in war; but even if it is not defeated, it must soon devolve into nothing more than a police state, where rulers live in constant fear of being murdered, and heroes are confined to concentration camps. In such a society, trust and honesty are eroded by informants, and the supposed aristocracy of superhumans degenerates into a clique of trembling cowards.

These, however, are arguments of our time; they would not have held true in the past, when aristocracy was unchallenged. The government of Egypt governed according to Nietzschean principles for several millennia. The governments of nearly all great states were aristocratic until the American and French Revolutions. Therefore, we must ask ourselves: Are there sufficient reasons to prefer democracy over a form of governance that boasts such a long and prosperous history? Or rather, since we engage in philosophy rather than politics, are there objective grounds to reject the ethics through which Nietzsche supports aristocracy?

The ethical question, in contrast to the political one, concerns sympathy. Sympathy is manifested in the feeling of unhappiness arising from the suffering of others, and this is somewhat natural to the human condition. Little children feel sorrow when they hear other children cry. However, the development of this sentiment varies among individuals. Some take pleasure in causing suffering, while others, like the Buddha, feel they cannot be entirely happy while any living being suffers. Most people emotionally divide humanity into friends and enemies, sympathizing with the former but not the latter. Ethical systems such as Christianity and Buddhism contain within their emotional foundations a universal sympathy, while Nietzsche's ethics exhibit a complete absence of sympathy. (Nietzsche's sermons often target compassion, and it is evident that he found it easy to adhere to his commandments in this regard.)

The question arises: if a dispute were to be arranged between the Buddha and Nietzsche, would either be able to present an argument appealing to an impartial listener? I do not mean political arguments. We can imagine them both standing before the Almighty, much like Satan in the opening chapter of the Book of Job, offering counsel on the kind of world He should create. What might each say?

The Buddha would begin the discourse by speaking of the lepers, the outcasts, the homeless, and the wretched; of the poor, whose weary hands ache as they barely sustain their lives on meager rations; of the wounded in battle, dying in slow agony; of orphans mistreated by cruel guardians, and even of the most fortunate, yet haunted by thoughts of ruin and death. From this burden of sorrow, he would assert, we must find a path to salvation, and salvation can only come through love.

Nietzsche, whose interruption could only be curtailed by the omnipotence of God, would unleash his response when it was his turn: "Oh, Lord! Humanity, you must learn to develop thicker skin. Why lament the suffering of the common folk, or even the suffering of great individuals? The common folk suffer mundanely; the sufferings of the great are noble and do not require pity. Your ideal is purely negative—the absence of suffering, which can only be fully realized in non-existence. I, however, have positive ideals: I admire Alcibiades, Emperor Frederick II, and Napoleon. For such individuals, any suffering is justified. I call upon You, God, as the greatest of creative artists; do not let Your artistic impulses be restrained by the degenerative, fear-fueled prattle of this wretched psychopath."

The Buddha, who in heaven had the opportunity to study the history of all that transpired after his death and had mastered the art of marveling at knowledge while lamenting its misuse by humanity, would respond with calm politeness: "You are mistaken, Professor Nietzsche, in thinking that my ideal is purely negative. Indeed, it encompasses a negative element—the absence of suffering—but in addition, it embodies as much positivity as can be found in your teachings. Although I do not particularly admire Alcibiades and Napoleon, I too have my heroes: my disciple Jesus, because he taught people to love their enemies; those who discovered how to harness the forces of nature and expend less labor in procuring food; the doctors who found cures for diseases; the poets, artists, and musicians who bear the mark of divine bliss. Love, knowledge, and the enjoyment of beauty are not negations; they are sufficient to fill the lives of the greatest individuals to have ever lived."

"Nevertheless," Nietzsche would reply, "your world would be bland. You should study Heraclitus, whose works remain fully preserved in the heavenly library. Your love is nothing more than pity engendered by compassion; your truth, if you are honest, is unpleasant, only to be known through suffering; and as for beauty, what is more beautiful than the tiger, whose magnificence lies in its ferocity? No, I fear that if the Lord prefers your world, we shall all perish from boredom."

"Perhaps you will perish," the Buddha responds, "because you love suffering, while your love of life is mere pretense. But those who truly love life would be happy in ways that no one can be happy in the present world."

As for me, I align myself with the Buddha, with the Buddha I have depicted. Yet, I do not know how to prove his correctness through arguments akin to those in mathematical or scientific disputes. I am repelled by Nietzsche because he takes pleasure in contemplating suffering, because he has elevated vanity to the level of duty, because the people he admires most are conquerors, famed for their ability to deprive others of life. However, I believe the decisive argument against Nietzsche's philosophy, as against any unpleasant yet internally coherent ethics, lies not in the realm of facts, but in the realm of emotions. Nietzsche scorns universal love, while I consider it the driving force behind all that I desire for the world. Nietzsche's followers have had their successes, but we may hope that their time will soon come to an end.