Read Ebook: Homer and Classical Philology by Nietzsche Friedrich Wilhelm Levy Oscar Editor Kennedy J M John McFarland Translator

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Ebook has 118 lines and 12112 words, and 3 pages

Editor: Oscar Levy

Translator: J. M. Kennedy

HOMER AND CLASSICAL PHILOLOGY.

At the present day no clear and consistent opinion seems to be held regarding Classical Philology. We are conscious of this in the circles of the learned just as much as among the followers of that science itself. The cause of this lies in its many-sided character, in the lack of an abstract unity, and in the inorganic aggregation of heterogeneous scientific activities which are connected with one another only by the name "Philology." It must be freely admitted that philology is to some extent borrowed from several other sciences, and is mixed together like a magic potion from the most outlandish liquors, ores, and bones. It may even be added that it likewise conceals within itself an artistic element, one which, on aesthetic and ethical grounds, may be called imperatival--an element that acts in opposition to its purely scientific behaviour. Philology is composed of history just as much as of natural science or aesthetics: history, in so far as it endeavours to comprehend the manifestations of the individualities of peoples in ever new images, and the prevailing law in the disappearance of phenomena; natural science, in so far as it strives to fathom the deepest instinct of man, that of speech; aesthetics, finally, because from various antiquities at our disposal it endeavours to pick out the so-called "classical" antiquity, with the view and pretension of excavating the ideal world buried under it, and to hold up to the present the mirror of the classical and everlasting standards. That these wholly different scientific and aesthetico-ethical impulses have been associated under a common name, a kind of sham monarchy, is shown especially by the fact that philology at every period from its origin onwards was at the same time pedagogical. From the standpoint of the pedagogue, a choice was offered of those elements which were of the greatest educational value; and thus that science, or at least that scientific aim, which we call philology, gradually developed out of the practical calling originated by the exigencies of that science itself.

Whilst philology as a whole is looked on with jealous eyes by these two classes of opponents, there are numerous and varied hostilities in other directions of philology; philologists themselves are quarrelling with one another; internal dissensions are caused by useless disputes about precedence and mutual jealousies, but especially by the differences--even enmities--comprised in the name of philology, which are not, however, by any means naturally harmonised instincts.

With subtle wit you took away Our former adoration: The Iliad, you may us say, Was mere conglomeration. Think it not crime in any way: Youth's fervent adoration Leads us to know the verity, And feel the poet's unity.

The difficulty of answering this question, however, is increased when we seek a reply in another direction, from the standpoint of the poems themselves which have come down to us. As it is difficult for us at the present day, and necessitates a serious effort on our part, to understand the law of gravitation clearly--that the earth alters its form of motion when another heavenly body changes its position in space, although no material connection unites one to the other--it likewise costs us some trouble to obtain a clear impression of that wonderful problem which, like a coin long passed from hand to hand, has lost its original and highly conspicuous stamp. Poetical works, which cause the hearts of even the greatest geniuses to fail when they endeavour to vie with them, and in which unsurpassable images are held up for the admiration of posterity--and yet the poet who wrote them with only a hollow, shaky name, whenever we do lay hold on him; nowhere the solid kernel of a powerful personality. "For who would wage war with the gods: who, even with the one god?" asks Goethe even, who, though a genius, strove in vain to solve that mysterious problem of the Homeric inaccessibility.

Such a conception justly made people suspicious. Could it be possible that that same Nature who so sparingly distributed her rarest and most precious production--genius--should suddenly take the notion of lavishing her gifts in one sole direction? And here the thorny question again made its appearance: Could we not get along with one genius only, and explain the present existence of that unattainable excellence? And now eyes were keenly on the lookout for whatever that excellence and singularity might consist of. Impossible for it to be in the construction of the complete works, said one party, for this is far from faultless; but doubtless to be found in single songs: in the single pieces above all; not in the whole. A second party, on the other hand, sheltered themselves beneath the authority of Aristotle, who especially admired Homer's "divine" nature in the choice of his entire subject, and the manner in which he planned and carried it out. If, however, this construction was not clearly seen, this fault was due to the way the poems were handed down to posterity and not to the poet himself--it was the result of retouchings and interpolations, owing to which the original setting of the work gradually became obscured. The more the first school looked for inequalities, contradictions, perplexities, the more energetically did the other school brush aside what in their opinion obscured the original plan, in order, if possible, that nothing might be left remaining but the actual words of the original epic itself. The second school of thought of course held fast by the conception of an epoch-making genius as the composer of the great works. The first school, on the other hand, wavered between the supposition of one genius plus a number of minor poets, and another hypothesis which assumed only a number of superior and even mediocre individual bards, but also postulated a mysterious discharging, a deep, national, artistic impulse, which shows itself in individual minstrels as an almost indifferent medium. It is to this latter school that we must attribute the representation of the Homeric poems as the expression of that mysterious impulse.

Of course Nietzsche saw afterwards that this was not so.--TR.

If we apply all these principles to the Homeric poems, it follows that we gain nothing with our theory of the poetising soul of the people, and that we are always referred back to the poetical individual. We are thus confronted with the task of distinguishing that which can have originated only in a single poetical mind from that which is, so to speak, swept up by the tide of oral tradition, and which is a highly important constituent part of the Homeric poems.

All those deviations, everything dull and below the ordinary standard which scholars think they perceive in the Homeric poems, were attributed to tradition, which thus became the scapegoat. What was left of Homer's own individual work? Nothing but a series of beautiful and prominent passages chosen in accordance with subjective taste. The sum total of aesthetic singularity which every individual scholar perceived with his own artistic gifts, he now called Homer.

He will succeed in this all the better the more he is familiar with the fundamental principles of aesthetics: he will even make some believe that he made himself master of the entire subject by a single powerful glance.

Let it be noted that the insight into the most diverse operations of the instinctive and the conscious changes the position of the Homeric problem; and in my opinion throws light upon it.

The decision on this point has already been given. The generation that invented those numerous Homeric fables, that poetised the myth of the contest between Homer and Hesiod, and looked upon all the poems of the epic cycle as Homeric, did not feel an aesthetic but a material singularity when it pronounced the name "Homer." This period regards Homer as belonging to the ranks of artists like Orpheus, Eumolpus, Daedalus, and Olympus, the mythical discoverers of a new branch of art, to whom, therefore, all the later fruits which grew from the new branch were thankfully dedicated.

Up to this point, gentlemen, I think I have been able to put before you the fundamental philosophical and aesthetic characteristics of the problem of the personality of Homer, keeping all minor details rigorously at a distance, on the supposition that the primary form of this widespread and honeycombed mountain known as the Homeric question can be most clearly observed by looking down at it from a far-off height. But I have also, I imagine, recalled two facts to those friends of antiquity who take such delight in accusing us philologists of lack of piety for great conceptions and an unproductive zeal for destruction. In the first place, those "great" conceptions--such, for example, as that of the indivisible and inviolable poetic genius, Homer--were during the pre-Wolfian period only too great, and hence inwardly altogether empty and elusive when we now try to grasp them. If classical philology goes back again to the same conceptions, and once more tries to pour new wine into old bottles, it is only on the surface that the conceptions are the same: everything has really become new; bottle and mind, wine and word. We everywhere find traces of the fact that philology has lived in company with poets, thinkers, and artists for the last hundred years: whence it has now come about that the heap of ashes formerly pointed to as classical philology is now turned into fruitful and even rich soil.

Nietzsche perceived later on that this statement was, unfortunately, not justified.--TR.

And there is a second fact which I should like to recall to the memory of those friends of antiquity who turn their dissatisfied backs on classical philology. You honour the immortal masterpieces of the Hellenic mind in poetry and sculpture, and think yourselves so much more fortunate than preceding generations, which had to do without them; but you must not forget that this whole fairyland once lay buried under mountains of prejudice, and that the blood and sweat and arduous labour of innumerable followers of our science were all necessary to lift up that world from the chasm into which it had sunk. We grant that philology is not the creator of this world, not the composer of that immortal music; but is it not a merit, and a great merit, to be a mere virtuoso, and let the world for the first time hear that music which lay so long in obscurity, despised and undecipherable? Who was Homer previously to Wolf's brilliant investigations? A good old man, known at best as a "natural genius," at all events the child of a barbaric age, replete with faults against good taste and good morals. Let us hear how a learned man of the first rank writes about Homer even so late as 1783: "Where does the good man live? Why did he remain so long incognito? Apropos, can't you get me a silhouette of him?"

It is time to close; yet before I do so a few words of a personal character must be added, justified, I hope, by the occasion of this lecture.

It is but right that a philologist should describe his end and the means to it in the short formula of a confession of faith; and let this be done in the saying of Seneca which I thus reverse--

"Philosophia facta est quae philologia fuit."

As quick as a flash, the instant he caught sight of them, Patsy crouched back of a vine-covered trellis near the corner of the house. He could see them plainly through the drooping foliage, which effectively hid himself, nevertheless, and a single glance convinced him that he had found one retreat, at least, of the much-desired quarry.

"Duffy's wife--Margaret Duffy, instead of Margaret Hanson," he said to himself. "Little Jimmie Duffy, too, who made the abduction trick possible. They have entered him young on the criminal-trotting circuit, but I'll nip him in the first heat and backtrack him. H'm, what now?"

Kate Crandall had stopped short upon reaching the front gate. Through the meshes of her dainty veil Patsy could see the gleam and glitter of her intense black eyes, and the peculiar pallor of her clear, velvety complexion. She spoke when turning, saying a bit sharply:

"You do what I have told you, Maggie, and you'll make no mistake. We have framed up this job too perfectly for any slip-up to occur. You go out there with the kid and wait until we come. Gleason will take us out after the preliminaries are arranged. That done, we shall not be long in landing the coin. I know, Maggie; you can bet on that."

"Well, I'm banking on your judgment, Kate, though I'm a bit skeery," Maggie Duffy vouchsafed. "I'll take Jimmie along, all the same, and wait until you come."

"We'll show up soon after dark," Kate assured her. "I must be off, now, to phone to Conroy. He'll be in the air by this time. I'm to join him later and go out with them in the car."

"I know about that, Kate."

"Get a move on, then, and look after the goods. There is nothing to fear, so don't lose your sand. We'll win out a mansion in Easy Street, Maggie, take my word for it."

Kate Crandall turned with the last and walked rapidly away.

Maggie Duffy hurried the red-headed youngster away in the opposite direction.

Patsy Garvan paused only briefly to determine what he would do.

"Gleason must be Duffy's chauffeur," he quickly reasoned. "He is going to take this bunch of blacklegs somewhere in an automobile. I might find it impossible to follow them. I'd better trail the Duffy woman, then, since their destination is the same. Yes, by Jove, it's Maggie Duffy for mine!"

Patsy broke cover with the last. He had no time to telephone to Nick, but he reasoned that he would do so later. He stole out of the yard, crouching to avoid observation, and then started in close pursuit of Maggie Duffy and her youthful Rufus.

They were heading for the nearest subway station.

THE MAN IN A FIGURED VEST.

It was after twelve o'clock when Nick received from Patsy Garvan, the telephone communication informing him what his assistant had learned up to the time he visited the garage, as stated, and this soon was followed by the return of Danny with additional information concerning Patsy's doings and designs.

"We will wait for his next report, or a communication from David Mack," Nick said simply.

Chick gazed at him for several moments, but his inquiring look brought no response from the detective.

Nick Carter had, in fact, been unusually absorbed during the long period of waiting. He had been sitting at his desk, gazing vacantly at it, with his brows knit and his mind concentrated upon the case engaging him, weighing all of the circumstances and seeking, as only Nick Carter's mind could seek, for something under the surface.

Half an hour brought no further report from Patsy, but it brought the expected communication from the banker.

Nick seized the telephone the instant the bell began to ring.

"Hello!" he called.

The answer came quickly:

"This is Mack talking. Is that you, Nick?"

"Yes."

"I am talking from my private office. I have heard from Redlaw."

"Tell me. Come on with it."

"I am directed to go out Westchester way at six o'clock this evening, alone in my runabout, and to follow the New Rochelle road till I am stopped by a man wearing a figured vest and carrying a red silk handkerchief in his hand. That's all. Not another word was said. What shall I do?"

"Do what he has directed," said Nick promptly.

"And follow your instructions of this morning?"

"To the letter."

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