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world-shaping culture. Jesus was not the launch of a Christian world; he was the
anti-cultural redeemer (A 30–35), who perfected anti-natural asceticism into a
deliberate repudiation of all normal endeavors in life (sex, family, law, judgment,
contestation). In effect, Nietzsche is giving a naturalistic account of Jesus, a man
who came forth to proclaim the virtue of turning against the world and culture,
not a promise of another life, not the establishment of a church, but simply the
peace and pleasure of withdrawing from the ways of the world (A 30).
Jesus could be called a “free spirit,” using the phrase somewhat loosely—he does
not care for solid things: the word kills, everything solid kills. The concept, the
experience of “life” as only he knew it, repelled every type of word, formula, law,
faith, or dogma. He spoke only about what was inside him most deeply. . . . He
saw everything else, the whole of reality, the whole of nature, language itself, as
having value only as a sign, a parable. . . . This sort of symbolism par excellence is
positioned outside all religion, all cult concepts, all history, all natural science,
all experience of the world, all knowledge, all politics, all psychology, all books,
all art. . . . He does not know anything about culture, even in passing, he does
not need to struggle against it, he does not negate it. The same is true about the
state, about the whole civic order and society, about work, about war. (A 32)
This is why Nietzsche can say that “there was really only one Christian, and
he died on the cross” (A 39). Jesus simply taught a way of life, a passive
renunciation of normal existence, even to the point of inviting harm (A 34–36),
as in turning the other cheek. From this standpoint, Christianity is essentially
a practice, not a set of beliefs or institutions—a practice that Nietzsche says is
indeed possible, even needful for some, today (A 39).3 Jesus therefore represents
the most extreme “cure” for the sick animal of humanity: short of suicide, he
finds meaning in living against life—not unlike, I think, the consummation in
Schopenhauer’s pessimism of willing not to will.4
Nietzsche offers that Jesus did not render moral judgments or talk of guilt
(A 33); he simply proclaimed the living unity of God and man, an egoless
withdrawal from matters of the world into divine quiescence (A 41). Christianity
became judgmental and moralistic after the humiliating death of Jesus, when
revenge set in against a world that could denigrate and destroy such a man (A
40). For Nietzsche, it was Paul who embodied this vengeance and set the stage
for the Christian church, the system that came to condemn and reform natural
life energies.
The disastrous fate of the evangel was sealed with his death, it hung on the
“cross.” . . . It took this death, this unexpected, ignominious death, it took the
cross, which was generally reserved for the rabble, it took this horrible paradox
to bring the disciples face-to-face with the true riddle: “Who was that? What
was that?” . . . Who killed him? Who was his natural enemy? . . . At this point,
people started to feel as if they were in revolt against the order, they started
to understand Jesus as having been in revolt against the order. Before this, his
image had not had any belligerent, no-saying, no-doing features at all; in fact,
he was the opposite of all this. . . . But his disciples were far from being able to
forgive this death, which would have been evangelical in the highest sense; . . .
Revenge resurfaced, the most unevangelical feeling of all. It was impossible for
this death to be the end of the matter: “retaliation” was needed. (A 40)
In order for revenge to take hold and prosper, the scheme of an afterlife was
required, in which earthly wickedness would be punished and otherworldly
faith rewarded.
From now on, a number of different things started seeping into the type of the
redeemer: the doctrines of judgment and return, the doctrine of death as a
sacrifice, and the doctrine of the resurrection; . . . With the rabbinical impudence
that characterizes everything about him, Paul put this interpretation, this
perversion of an interpretation into a logical form: “if Christ did not rise from
the dead, then our faith is in vain.” And in one fell swoop, the evangel becomes
the most contemptible of all unfulfillable promises, the outrageous doctrine of
personal immortality. . . . Paul himself still taught it as a reward! (A 41)
Although Nietzsche does not say so explicitly, it seems evident that Paul
is a prime example of the ascetic priest in GM, who fashions retributive
psychological power over noble values in order to shore up the prospects of
slave morality and reform the world according to anti-natural values.5 In any
case, Paul compensates for the demise of Jesus by emphasizing a life after
death where the righteous will enjoy eternal bliss and the wicked will suffer
eternal damnation. The promise of personal immortality and divine retribution
far exceeds the abdicating bliss of Jesus by actively advancing against worldly
power and elevating the virtues of the weak (A 42–43).
Christianity spread, according to Nietzsche, not because the pagan world was
corrupt but because Paul fought against healthy instincts and lured pagans by
“summing up and surpassing” existing “subterranean cults” in the ancient world
with powerful visions of cosmic retribution and transformation (A 58). Here
and in other texts, Nietzsche is happy to focus on Christian narratives of power
reversal, where virtues of the weak are rewarded not only with salvation but also
the glorious destruction of a fallen world and retaliation against evildoers. One
Christianity has been the worst thing to happen to humanity so far. (A 51)
Parasitism is the church’s only practice, drinking all the blood, all the love, all
the hope out of life with its ideals of anemia and “sanctity.” . . . I call Christianity
the one great curse, the one great innermost corruption, the one great instinct
of revenge . . . the one immortal blot on humanity. (A 62)
There is nothing here of the subtlety in GM, but rather outright condemnation.
The assault is likely targeting not every aspect of Christianity (recall the positive
account of Jesus), but the world-transforming effects of the church and its
historical permutations of institutional control—with only some exceptions like
the Renaissance, which however was rebuked by Luther for “corruption” that
was in fact its life-embracing vitality (A 61). In any case, Nietzsche is happy
3 A God revived?
I was the first one to take seriously that wonderful phenomenon that bears the
name “Dionysus.” . . . The fundamental fact of the Hellenic instinct—its “will
to life”—expresses itself only in the Dionysian mysteries, in the psychology of
the Dionysian state. What did the Hellenes guarantee for themselves with these
mysteries? Eternal life. . . . The true life as the overall continuation of life through
procreation, through the mysteries of sexuality . . . the word “Dionysus” . . . gives
religious expression to the most profound instinct of life, directed toward the
future of life, the eternity of life—the pathway to life, procreation as the sacred
path (heilige Weg). . . . It was Christianity, with its fundamental ressentiment
against life that first made sexuality something unclean.
And this contemporary (1888) passage from the notebooks depicts two religious
responses to the “sick animal” that is humanity:
The two types: Dionysus and the Crucified One. . . . Is not the pagan cult a
form of thanking and affirming life? Ought not its highest representative be a
vindication and deification of life? . . . This is where I set the Dionysus of the
Greeks: the religious affirmation of life, of life as a whole, [which] awakens
depth, mystery, and reverential awe (Ehrfurcht). (KSA 13, 265–66)
That God on the cross became the enduring symbol of Christianity is, for
Nietzsche, indicative of its rancor toward the world and its dismissal of earthly
life (A 51). In particular, it is the Christian condemnation of the pagan world as
“vanity” that most offends Nietzsche’s historical sense.
The entire work of the ancient world in vain: I do not have words to express
my feelings at something so enormous. . . . All of this in vain! Turned overnight
into just a memory! Greeks! Romans! The nobility of the instincts and of taste,
methodological research, genius in organization and administration, the belief,
the will to a future of humanity, the great yes to all things made visible as the
imperium Romanum, made visible to all the senses, the great style no longer just
as art, but turned into reality, truth, life. . . . And not buried overnight by some
natural event! . . . But instead defiled by sly, secretive, invisible, anemic vampires!
Not defeated, just sucked dry! The hidden need for revenge, petty jealousy come
to power! Everything miserable, suffering from itself, plagued by bad feelings,
the whole ghetto world of the soul risen to the top in a single stroke! (A 59)
With the image of Dionysus, Nietzsche gathers his passion for the pagan world,
his prosecution of Christian revenge, and his hopes for an affirmative posture
toward earthly existence.
Nietzsche’s clear self-association with Dionysus is expressed in BGE 296,
where he refers to Dionysus as a “genius of the heart,” a kind of conscience
that nourishes and inspires new possibilities, “new wills and currents.” He calls
himself “the last disciple and initiate of the god Dionysus,” who is “that great
ambiguity and tempter/experimenter god (Versucher-Gott),” to whom he offered
as a sacrifice his “firstborn in all secrecy and reverence” (which is a reference to
his first book, BT). Addressing his readers, Nietzsche expresses hesitancy about
his pronouncement because
I have heard that you do not like believing in God and gods these days. And
perhaps in recounting my story, I will have to take frankness further than will
always be agreeable to the strict habits of your ears?
Despite his reverent praise for Dionysus, Nietzsche imagines the god demurring
at public honor and counseling him to “Keep this for yourself.” Yet, despite the
ambivalence implied here, Nietzsche seems comfortable expressing a kind of
religious attitude toward Dionysus.
It is well known that Nietzsche expresses the affirmation of life in terms of amor
fati and its articulation in eternal recurrence.
Amor fati: let that be my love from now on! . . . All in all and on the whole: some
day I want only to be a Yes-sayer! (GS 276)
My formula for human greatness is amor fati: that you do not want anything
to be different, not forewords, not backwards, not for all eternity. Not just to
tolerate necessity, . . . but to love it. (EH Clever, 10)
Eternal recurrence is a picture of world-time that pushes amor fati to the limit.
Genuine affirmation of life says yes to everything that happens by willing its
eternal repetition, which cannot find relief in transcendent hopes. Yet, the
recurrence scheme also forbids a worldly teleological script of perfection, the
pessimistic relief of nothingness, and even the possibility of eternal novelty.11
As I have argued in the past, such affirmation does not entail the approval
of all things, because according to the agonistic structure of will to power—
which is directly implicated in eternal recurrence (Z II On Redemption)—
one’s own meaning is necessarily linked to overcoming counter-meanings.
So, eternal repetition includes eternal resistance to counter-meanings.12 In
this way, one affirms a life that includes limits to one’s interests, limits that
have spawned all the life-averse outlooks challenged by Nietzsche.
Amor fati and eternal recurrence could be ascertained apart from any religious
or sacred reference. Yet, Nietzsche specifically links eternal recurrence to the god
Dionysus in Ecce Homo Books: Z, 6. In TI, directly after the aforementioned
declaration of the Dionysian giving “religious expression to the most profound
instinct of life, . . . the eternity of life” (TI Ancients, 4), Nietzsche recalls his early
interest in Greek tragedy and calls the Dionysian a yes-saying “counter-example”
to Schopenhauerian pessimism. Continuing, he writes that BT
was my first revaluation of all values: and now I am back on that soil where my
desires, my abilities grow—I, the last disciple of the philosopher Dionysus—I,
the teacher of eternal recurrence. (TI Ancients, 5)
the sacrilegious did too. Sacrilege against the earth is now the most terrible
thing” (Z Prologue, 3). When we are called to “remain faithful to the earth” (Z
Prologue, 3), in effect Nietzsche proclaims the “glad tidings” of life before death.
Notes
1 Natural science cannot be a proving ground for atheism because it is still attached
to Christian value judgments (KSA 12, 108). Nietzsche does on occasion identify
himself with atheism (EH Clever, 1; EH Books, Untimely Ones, 2), but it seems
to be in opposition to existing religious systems; and in any case, it is not a matter
of cognitive critique but contesting Christian ways of life and ideals with counter-
ideals.
2 See GM III, 13 and Hatab 2008: 143–46.
3 See also BGE 61.
4 Indeed, Schopenhauer claimed that the pessimistic denial of the will to live is not
his invention because it has been the core of Christian asceticism. His philosophy
simply gives conceptual form to this core without any mythological depiction of
eternal life to come (1958: 383).
5 For the connection between Paul and the ascetic priest, see Conway 2008: 128–34.
6 See Shapiro 2016: Ch. 6. Especially helpful is a discussion of Franz Overbeck,
a friend of Nietzsche’s who wrote about the shift in Christianity from early
renunciation to an appropriation of pagan philosophy and institutions in order to
justify its place in a fallen world and fight off heresies and rival religions (188–95).
7 In an 1881 note, Nietzsche calls political secularization a “delusion” (KSA 9, 504).
8 See Hatab 1990.
9 See Hatab 2001: 45–56.
10 See Hatab 1990: Ch. 5.
11 For a discussion, see Hatab 2005: 85–89.
12 See Hatab 2005: 137–43.
13 See Shapiro 2016: 180–81.
Works cited
Augustine, St. (1950), The City of God, M. Dodds (trans.). New York: Random House.
Conway, D. (2008), Nietzsche’s “On the Genealogy of Morals”: A Reader’s Guide.
London: Bloomsbury.
Hatab, L. (1990), Myth and Philosophy: A Contest of Truths. Chicago, IL: Open Court.