synthesis
17th October 2003, 04:32
It's pretty clear that the following story is similar to one of Aesop's fables... but I found it interesting nonetheless.
_________
Nietzsche meets Marx
‘The Power of Will’
By John McGondel
The following story is a totally un-substantiated account of a conversation which was purportedly held between what many consider to be the two most powerful of the nineteenth century western philosophers: Friedrich Nietzsche and Karl Marx.
The setting for the conversation is a small pub in London called the ‘Black Rose’, and the year is 1882. After this meeting of these two men, Nietzsche was to write his famous ‘Joyful Wisdom’, and go on to write ‘Thus Spoke Zarathustra’ in 1884. Marx was to die the year after this meeting. On this night, though, Marx was 64 and Nietzsche was 38.
For the recording of this short but poignant meeting, we may thank one Richard Starkey, an obscure writer from the late nineteenth century, whom was criticized, following his release of this dialogue, as having put forth a work of an untrue nature. But by then his only source of corroboration, his friend Karl Marx was dead, and Nietzsche refused to comment on the alleged event. The assertions within the conversation have often-times been deemed questionable at best, and were generally accepted more for their humorous aspects than for their historical accuracy…Never-the-less, it remains a short but entertaining discussion. From this point on, is the tale as passed down by Mr. Starkey:
“Well it was a dark and raw night, the kind of night on which men of intelligence should refuse to leave the warmth and security of hearth and family. But not unlike suicidal moths which are drawn to the certain flames of death itself, we British alumni of the University of Bonn, Germany, though scattered about the countryside, steadfastly refused to miss the yearly meeting in London, which was followed by a few faithful with a drink or two at the Inn of the Black Rose. I had contrived to be there at an early hour, so as to reserve a place near the large fireplace, and was engaged in a philosophical discussion with Dr. Freud about the benefits of cocaine over opium, when Friedrich Nietzsche burst in through the doors, along with several of his boisterous and obviously drunken cohorts.
He stopped to survey the scene before him, and snorted derisively in the direction of the few tables of ale-drinking commoners. He made an intentionally half-heard joke behind his hand to his friends, then strode in a most erstwhile and swaggering manner to the table beside Dr. Freud and myself. Glaring around in a mocking, half-smile, he tossed his wet overcoat to a passing hand waiter and settled noisily into his chair. He and his companions became instantly engrossed in a conversation in which the words “lower class," “peasants," and “aristocrats” were heard loudly and repeatedly, and which were usually followed by snickering and other derogatory sounds.
It became quickly obvious to myself and the good doctor that the so-called “commoners” that Nietzsche referred to were, to say the least, less than pleased by the loud and scurrilous comments on Mr. Nietzsche's part. His words were obviously intended to goad someone into a verbal confrontation, and Dr. Freud and I had to exercise our powers of will to their extreme in order to not allow ourselves to be drawn whole-heartedly into the fray. To us, it seemed obvious that Mr. Nietzsche and his companions had been partaking of the spirit of drink for the better part of the day, and were out to instigate a fight of some sort.
It was shortly thereafter that I saw a rather elderly gentleman get up from a table in the far corner of the room. It was a quiet corner of low light. This man walked with the help of a walking stick, slowly but steadily over to the table that Nietzsche had commandeered and sat down with a tip of his hat to all whom sat there.
“And whom, sir, might you be?” asked Nietzsche in an overly polite and intentionally sarcastic manner.
To which the older man cleared his throat and answered in a loud, clear voice: “I am Karl Marx, and you are Friedrich Nietzsche.” This was said as a statement and not in any way like a question.
Nietzsche’s friends became instantly most humbled, while Nietzsche said, “Well well, I am honored Mr. Marx! I have head much about you. Please, join our modest discussion concerning the current state of the working classes.”
Marx, who was rather frail and needed his walking stick to keep his balance, spoke his thanks to Nietzsche and sat down, declining the free ale offered by one of the others at the table. Nietzsche was smirking openly.
“Well my dear Karl, but I find it a bit shameful to be forced to share my drinking environment with the likes of peasants such as we have here.” He waved his arm around to indicate the other tables where the regulars were drinking their beer and muttering under their breaths.
Marx merely looked at Nietzsche through his very clear and bright eyes and slowly nodded his head in a non-committal gesture.
Nietzsche took this as a sign to go on. “After all, Karl, we aristocrats would not exist unless we were deserved to be above the level of the peasant class. Survival of the fittest and all that.” Marx just nodded and said, “Please, go on.”
Nietzsche looked sneeringly at his companions and in an aloof manner, continued: “There are those few of us whom are destined by birth to be masters, while the vast common run of the people are predestined to be only of a slave class, to which they are imminently most suitable.”
Marx looked over at Dr. Freud and me and winked, almost imperceptibly. Somehow this warmed and excited me.
Nietzsche went on to expound upon the ability of only the aristocratic class to distinguish between good and evil, and of the theory that creativity is the privilege of the aristocracy, then he went on about the inherent resentment of the aristocracy by the ‘slave class.’ And all the while that young Friedrich Nietzsche was baiting the elderly Karl Marx, I was able to marvel at Marx’s imperturbability.
Nietzsche went on: “Peace and equality are the ideals of fools. Exploration and cruelty are the very keys to life itself.” All the while that Nietzsche was talking and drinking he had been getting louder, while Marx had been mostly silent. Nietzsche had not noticed that a considerable group of the regulars had gathered about him and now were blocking his way to the restrooms and exit door.
His rather tardy realization of that fact seemed to both shock and dismay him. Observing the look on Nietzsche’s face, Karl Marx finally cleared his mouth and spoke up.
“Young Friedrich, I must thank you most profusely for proving my point in such a poignant manner.”
Nietzsche was suddenly looking rather uncomfortable. Marx went on, “You see about you a group of people whom you have referred to as ‘lower class’. They realize that people like you control the product of their labor, and that to you they are mere objects. Perhaps you can feel their alienation, especially since you have just loudly and obnoxiously reminded them of this. Their loss of personal dignity causes them to feel as if reduced from the level of human beings to the level of lower animals, work horses if you will.”
Marx’s eyes were twinkling now, for he was in his element, but Nietzsche was showing signs of being noticeably shaken.
“For you see, young Friedrich, the only course of true freedom open to them is that which happens when they take control of the instruments of production. Only then, when society has no class structure, can the alienation be allowed to dissipate.”
The crowd had become louder as Marx had been talking. The room was hot and thick with animosity. We could see that Nietzsche was very nervous and was looking about himself quite apprehensively.
Marx was leaning back in his chair, tired but with a most satisfied expression on his face.
“I think that now you begin to see the truth of things, Heinrich. Only by overthrowing their masters can the so-called ‘peasants’ achieve equality. The killing of their former masters will release them from their feelings of alienation. Can you feel that alienation, Mr. Nietzsche?”
Nietzsche’s friends had surreptitiously left, one by one. He was now alone, and badly shaken. He nodded yes, his eyes cast down, a properly humbled man.
“Good, Heinrich, good.” Karl Marx stood up and winked at me again. I winked back, smiling. He moved as if to leave, and the crowd parted instantly before him. Nietzsche was rooted in his chair, sweating, red-faced, and trapped like the rat that he was. Marx turned around and spoke to Nietzsche: “Come, Friedrich, I shall walk you to your carriage.” This was said off handedly, almost as a second thought. Nietzsche stood up quickly and grabbed his cloak, and the two men walked out the door together, Nietzsche trembling in fear and Marx leaning on his cane. (I followed at close range lest I miss something.)
At Nietzsche’s carriage, Marx shook his hand and wished him well. And they went their very different ways, never to meet in this world again. Nietzsche’s ears rang for hours afterward with Marx’s last comment: “When the ‘peasants’ want control badly enough, they will take it, and nothing will be able to stop them.” I watched this and then I went back into the pub. The barkeep was cleaning Nietzsche’s soiled chair.
I chuckled to myself and wrote down this tale of that meeting on a piece of bar-linen. I now have rewritten it, before I get too old. Nietzsche suffered a serious and violent seizure last year, in 1889, which was the termination of his career, due to the resulting insanity.” That is the end of Starkey’s tale.
It is my opinion that while Nietzsche spoke of the ‘Will to power’, it paled in comparison to Marx’s ‘Power of the Will’
_________
Nietzsche meets Marx
‘The Power of Will’
By John McGondel
The following story is a totally un-substantiated account of a conversation which was purportedly held between what many consider to be the two most powerful of the nineteenth century western philosophers: Friedrich Nietzsche and Karl Marx.
The setting for the conversation is a small pub in London called the ‘Black Rose’, and the year is 1882. After this meeting of these two men, Nietzsche was to write his famous ‘Joyful Wisdom’, and go on to write ‘Thus Spoke Zarathustra’ in 1884. Marx was to die the year after this meeting. On this night, though, Marx was 64 and Nietzsche was 38.
For the recording of this short but poignant meeting, we may thank one Richard Starkey, an obscure writer from the late nineteenth century, whom was criticized, following his release of this dialogue, as having put forth a work of an untrue nature. But by then his only source of corroboration, his friend Karl Marx was dead, and Nietzsche refused to comment on the alleged event. The assertions within the conversation have often-times been deemed questionable at best, and were generally accepted more for their humorous aspects than for their historical accuracy…Never-the-less, it remains a short but entertaining discussion. From this point on, is the tale as passed down by Mr. Starkey:
“Well it was a dark and raw night, the kind of night on which men of intelligence should refuse to leave the warmth and security of hearth and family. But not unlike suicidal moths which are drawn to the certain flames of death itself, we British alumni of the University of Bonn, Germany, though scattered about the countryside, steadfastly refused to miss the yearly meeting in London, which was followed by a few faithful with a drink or two at the Inn of the Black Rose. I had contrived to be there at an early hour, so as to reserve a place near the large fireplace, and was engaged in a philosophical discussion with Dr. Freud about the benefits of cocaine over opium, when Friedrich Nietzsche burst in through the doors, along with several of his boisterous and obviously drunken cohorts.
He stopped to survey the scene before him, and snorted derisively in the direction of the few tables of ale-drinking commoners. He made an intentionally half-heard joke behind his hand to his friends, then strode in a most erstwhile and swaggering manner to the table beside Dr. Freud and myself. Glaring around in a mocking, half-smile, he tossed his wet overcoat to a passing hand waiter and settled noisily into his chair. He and his companions became instantly engrossed in a conversation in which the words “lower class," “peasants," and “aristocrats” were heard loudly and repeatedly, and which were usually followed by snickering and other derogatory sounds.
It became quickly obvious to myself and the good doctor that the so-called “commoners” that Nietzsche referred to were, to say the least, less than pleased by the loud and scurrilous comments on Mr. Nietzsche's part. His words were obviously intended to goad someone into a verbal confrontation, and Dr. Freud and I had to exercise our powers of will to their extreme in order to not allow ourselves to be drawn whole-heartedly into the fray. To us, it seemed obvious that Mr. Nietzsche and his companions had been partaking of the spirit of drink for the better part of the day, and were out to instigate a fight of some sort.
It was shortly thereafter that I saw a rather elderly gentleman get up from a table in the far corner of the room. It was a quiet corner of low light. This man walked with the help of a walking stick, slowly but steadily over to the table that Nietzsche had commandeered and sat down with a tip of his hat to all whom sat there.
“And whom, sir, might you be?” asked Nietzsche in an overly polite and intentionally sarcastic manner.
To which the older man cleared his throat and answered in a loud, clear voice: “I am Karl Marx, and you are Friedrich Nietzsche.” This was said as a statement and not in any way like a question.
Nietzsche’s friends became instantly most humbled, while Nietzsche said, “Well well, I am honored Mr. Marx! I have head much about you. Please, join our modest discussion concerning the current state of the working classes.”
Marx, who was rather frail and needed his walking stick to keep his balance, spoke his thanks to Nietzsche and sat down, declining the free ale offered by one of the others at the table. Nietzsche was smirking openly.
“Well my dear Karl, but I find it a bit shameful to be forced to share my drinking environment with the likes of peasants such as we have here.” He waved his arm around to indicate the other tables where the regulars were drinking their beer and muttering under their breaths.
Marx merely looked at Nietzsche through his very clear and bright eyes and slowly nodded his head in a non-committal gesture.
Nietzsche took this as a sign to go on. “After all, Karl, we aristocrats would not exist unless we were deserved to be above the level of the peasant class. Survival of the fittest and all that.” Marx just nodded and said, “Please, go on.”
Nietzsche looked sneeringly at his companions and in an aloof manner, continued: “There are those few of us whom are destined by birth to be masters, while the vast common run of the people are predestined to be only of a slave class, to which they are imminently most suitable.”
Marx looked over at Dr. Freud and me and winked, almost imperceptibly. Somehow this warmed and excited me.
Nietzsche went on to expound upon the ability of only the aristocratic class to distinguish between good and evil, and of the theory that creativity is the privilege of the aristocracy, then he went on about the inherent resentment of the aristocracy by the ‘slave class.’ And all the while that young Friedrich Nietzsche was baiting the elderly Karl Marx, I was able to marvel at Marx’s imperturbability.
Nietzsche went on: “Peace and equality are the ideals of fools. Exploration and cruelty are the very keys to life itself.” All the while that Nietzsche was talking and drinking he had been getting louder, while Marx had been mostly silent. Nietzsche had not noticed that a considerable group of the regulars had gathered about him and now were blocking his way to the restrooms and exit door.
His rather tardy realization of that fact seemed to both shock and dismay him. Observing the look on Nietzsche’s face, Karl Marx finally cleared his mouth and spoke up.
“Young Friedrich, I must thank you most profusely for proving my point in such a poignant manner.”
Nietzsche was suddenly looking rather uncomfortable. Marx went on, “You see about you a group of people whom you have referred to as ‘lower class’. They realize that people like you control the product of their labor, and that to you they are mere objects. Perhaps you can feel their alienation, especially since you have just loudly and obnoxiously reminded them of this. Their loss of personal dignity causes them to feel as if reduced from the level of human beings to the level of lower animals, work horses if you will.”
Marx’s eyes were twinkling now, for he was in his element, but Nietzsche was showing signs of being noticeably shaken.
“For you see, young Friedrich, the only course of true freedom open to them is that which happens when they take control of the instruments of production. Only then, when society has no class structure, can the alienation be allowed to dissipate.”
The crowd had become louder as Marx had been talking. The room was hot and thick with animosity. We could see that Nietzsche was very nervous and was looking about himself quite apprehensively.
Marx was leaning back in his chair, tired but with a most satisfied expression on his face.
“I think that now you begin to see the truth of things, Heinrich. Only by overthrowing their masters can the so-called ‘peasants’ achieve equality. The killing of their former masters will release them from their feelings of alienation. Can you feel that alienation, Mr. Nietzsche?”
Nietzsche’s friends had surreptitiously left, one by one. He was now alone, and badly shaken. He nodded yes, his eyes cast down, a properly humbled man.
“Good, Heinrich, good.” Karl Marx stood up and winked at me again. I winked back, smiling. He moved as if to leave, and the crowd parted instantly before him. Nietzsche was rooted in his chair, sweating, red-faced, and trapped like the rat that he was. Marx turned around and spoke to Nietzsche: “Come, Friedrich, I shall walk you to your carriage.” This was said off handedly, almost as a second thought. Nietzsche stood up quickly and grabbed his cloak, and the two men walked out the door together, Nietzsche trembling in fear and Marx leaning on his cane. (I followed at close range lest I miss something.)
At Nietzsche’s carriage, Marx shook his hand and wished him well. And they went their very different ways, never to meet in this world again. Nietzsche’s ears rang for hours afterward with Marx’s last comment: “When the ‘peasants’ want control badly enough, they will take it, and nothing will be able to stop them.” I watched this and then I went back into the pub. The barkeep was cleaning Nietzsche’s soiled chair.
I chuckled to myself and wrote down this tale of that meeting on a piece of bar-linen. I now have rewritten it, before I get too old. Nietzsche suffered a serious and violent seizure last year, in 1889, which was the termination of his career, due to the resulting insanity.” That is the end of Starkey’s tale.
It is my opinion that while Nietzsche spoke of the ‘Will to power’, it paled in comparison to Marx’s ‘Power of the Will’