“Nietzsche, the Death of Will, and Consumer Shinto”

by existential Calvinist on 2005年08月18日 02:49 AM

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The world has grown too large. Ours is a planet of not millions but billions. Billions who are painfully aware of each other and, what is more, obligated by relationships of commerce and blood that no one person could fathom. Against this law of averages true exceptionality is almost impossible, and even then it is extremely limited in its scope. You can be Michael Jordan but not simultaneously Yo-Yo Ma. You can be either Bill Gates or Madonna, never both. The world has grown too large, and anyone who attempts to impose her pure will on it indiscriminately will be torn to bits by the millions who existence she is invaliding by the mere fact of her power. The last person that one can truly say inscribed his will upon countless millions was Hitler, a slavish man powered by ressentment and fear, who ended by taking his life at his own hands. In the aftermath of his life, everything he hoped to accomplish was scraped and reversed. A Zionist state was founded specifically to spite his memory. The communists he loathed controlled much of Europe. Today, the only disciples of his memory are laughable imbeciles, punks, and those even he would classify as “degenerates.” In seemingly achieving his dreams, Hitler had sown the seeds for their complete destruction. If he had remained a two-bit Fascist politician on the periphery of German politics, he would have lived out his days to their natural end, convinced of his own righteousness, smug in his hatred of his enemies, and satisfied with his small cadre of acolytes. Instead, his will overwhelmed the German public, and for a brief second, its application allowed him to grasp all for which he had once hoped. Naturally, the world, being too large for him, turned upon him, crushed him utterly, and not content to blot out his name, made him into a timeless laughing stock, an object of derision for centuries to come. Hitler’s rise to the top only served only to make him vulnerable to new denigrations unimaginable to a struggling artist in Vienna. The world is too large, and as such all ambitions today must come at modest size if they are to hold forth against the shear tonnage of humanity’s ferocious girth.

It is this bloated world to which Nietzsche directed his discerning eye. On the Genealogy of Morality is Nietzsche’s attempt to chronicle the evolution of the ethic he calls Morality. In the distant past, the “blond beasts” were ruled by a Noble Ethic. They did not divide the world into good and evil, but rather appraised themselves and called those qualities “good.” To those who lacked the qualities, the label “bad” was affixed only secondarily. However, the slaves were filled with a deep sense of ressentment about the suffering to which they naturally endured, and so they formulated a revenge of the imagination. It was the Nobles, they decided, who were the evil source of their suffering. Their new conception of “good and evil” took a firm hold on the slaves, spread slowly to the Nobles, and finally dominated the consciousness of Western civilization. Unlike the active self-affirmation of the old Noble ethic, the new ethic that developed was reactionary, the self emerging only as an opposition to the Other. It was a spineless psuedo-revenge, entirely perpetrated in the mind. And yet, it succeeded, leaving the ranks of the Nobles decimated.

However, with the Nobles effectively castrated, the slaves could not avoid a growing awareness of the absurdity of blaming their suffering on the Nobles. A sense of nihilism loomed threateningly at the edge of society’s consciousness. Thus, in the third treatise, Nietzsche examines the leap that was taken to overcome this contradiction. The Ascetic Priest, a class of tortured individuals trapped between their slavish natures and Noble aspirations, created a bold new ideal. The ascetic ideal proposed that the ascetic practices which had served those embarking on a Noble endeavor were merely a starting point. The goal of such practices was the bending of the will, but the ascetic ideal goes beyond, making the object of the will to its own nullification. Each desire is turned back on itself, canceling out its own power. It was an innovation at once brilliant and chilling. Threatened with nihilism on the one side and the ascetic ideal on the other, civilization chose the ascetic ideal for, as Nietzsche closes the Genealogy, “man would much rather will nothingness than not will …” (118). Thus the ascetic ideal is, in Nietzsche’s view, the only true ideal which humanity has created thus far. It is a sickness like pregnancy, in Nietzche’s terms. For the ascetic ideal has given man a sense of purpose in his sufferings, sufferings which are an intractable part of the diseased human existence. However, the purpose served by those sufferings is the destruction of the self in advance of rebirth in a more ultimate realm, heaven, the forms, Nirvana.

Like the universal solvent, the acid force of the ascetic ideal eats through one container after another. Thus, Christian dogma is supplanted by Christian morality. Christian morality is stripped of its spirit by the scientist’s will to truth. Though the scientist may think she is escaping the metaphysical restrictions of the ascetic ideal, in actuality, she has failed, for the will to truth is an ultimate realization of Plato’s equating truth with good. Thus the scientist blindly pulls man back down to the level a wounded animal with no real means to ease human suffering, only more anesthetics. It is in this state that we now find ourselves. Science in its blind pursuit of truth has left man with no comfort in the world. Thus, humankind is once more threatened by nihilism, as it was at the dawn of the ascetic ideal. This new nihilism takes the form of an all consuming thirst for pleasure and “happiness.” The world is now awash in a tide of goods meant to lessen the pain of diseased man, but each is more impotent than its forebear. Given the world’s massive size, the howling search for relief cannot be silenced. It is for this reason that a new ideal must be forged.

To understand the task of replacing the ascetic ideal, it is first important to notice the hallmark of the old dogmas that utilized the ascetic ideal. A key feature among all is the centrality of a divine mystery, an apparent contradiction, a paradox that gives tension and strength to an ideal. Thus, the Buddhist who seeks to gratify his desires, must first nullify them. The Christian who desires to be like God, must first give up his prideful attempts to be God. The scientist who seeks truth must destroy his own metaphysic. The linguist must deconstruct meaning. Peter must deny Christ in order to become a saint. These paradoxes are all necessary expressions of the will to nothingness at the core of Western consciousness. In order to resolve the problem of the individual with her suffering and the ultimate realm with its perfect nature, there must be a contradiction that precipitates the transformation of suffering from an effect of living into a cause of greatness. The resolution of the present state of being in suffering must be due to a greater process of becoming part of the ultimate realm, whatever that ideology calls it. However, being and becoming continually pull at the ends of the ideology, stretching it until it is forced to concede to its will to nothingness, and the ideology is reconstituted. Dialectic processes are an effect of the compromise of suffering and transcendence. Thus, in the archetypal pattern of a will that wills itself into not willing, a thousand paradoxes are woven.

Perhaps then, it is time for society to move back. Perhaps civilization has gone too far in isolating the individual, and a return to communal life is called for. Certainly, those Nobles of yore, the blond beasts, lived a communal existence and drew great strength from it. Moreover, human kind is instinctively drawn toward the reestablishment of communal life, the population naturally subdividing into sewing circles and book clubs, fraternities and biker gangs. Communities can give a sense of identity, an escape from the anonymous enormity of the swollen world. In a community, each individual can build an exceptional persona, something for the will to say yes to actively, rather than a reactionary no to anonymity. But observe, the world has already changed too much to be restored. Modern community is merely an anesthetic reflection of the true community in which mankind once resided. In that world, there was no inner life. As Nietzsche and Freud note, the inner life only emerged in response to the internalization of impulses deemed unacceptable to society. Now that it has taken root, the full expression of unrestrained strength over fellow humans has become an impermissible solipsism, a denial of the dualistic nature of modern man’s mind, which is both predator and prey. Thus, though the hawk and lion may feed on the mouse and lamb, men can no more feed solely on one another than a hawk can feed on hawks. The world is too large for such naive ethics. The Nobles could naively posit that the Other is bad, but a modern community must reactively segregate itself from the world if it is to remain distinctive. Observe the residents of Bob Jones University; their identity has become a negation of that which lives beyond its gates, rather than a celebration of what is within them. That is the sorrowful state of all attempts to return to community after the establishment of the modern consciousness.

If community cannot provide a release, maybe the will can be directed toward some new ideal. Science is a tempting ideal, but Nietzsche has already laid bare its Platonic roots. Science is nothing more than a question for cold truth, a corpse of knowledge that moves forward jerkingly like an unstoppable zombie. There is no problem to which science’s answer is not more research and testing. If it is scientifically possible to build a bigger bomb or create a new gene, it soon becomes practically impossible to not. Science is a rock rolling downhill, and at the bottom is nihilism.

If science is mortified by its will to truth, perhaps art, the celebration of the lie, can provide an escape. Nietzsche himself expressed some hope that art could provide the catalyst for the overthrow of the ascetic ideal, while warning that “nothing is more corruptible than an artist” (111). It is the artist’s will to deception that so threatened Plato and turned him against Homer. Perhaps then the artist can take the experience of suffering and use it as a tool in the shaping of human life itself as art. The form of this art, however, remains a mystery to us. The shape taken by this suffering inspired art must be dictated by the context of the society in which it is created. Therefore, let us consider again the shape of this too large world.

Society today is possessed by a kind of Consumer Shintoism. Brand lifestyle identification has become the cornerstone of identity. In Madison Avenue, the advertising gurus and swamis are on the verge of a great synthesis. Budweiser has adopted the slogan “True” to persuade the intoxicated masses to abandon the senses with the help of their brand of beer. Coca-a-Cola is advertised with the slogans “Real,” “Always,” and “Enjoy.” That is to say, Coke is the ontologically pure substance which has existed in the realm of the forms since time immemorial and has only now come down to humanity to provide the fulfilling enjoyment that mankind has always craved. Terms that were once the domain of the priest and the philosopher have been taken up by the soda jerk. Pronouncements about the nature of reality and one’s place in it, are utilized in a bid to convert consumers to a particular brand of sugar water. Perhaps, one might say, this is merely an advertising fad, a transitory phenomenon, signifying nothing. No, it goes beyond these visible expressions. This phenomenon is just the first outward manifestation of a deification process that has been at work for some time. In Japan, a country perhaps more American than America, Coke’s slogan is the English phrase “No Reason.” It is clear that even without understanding the meaning of the words, the Japanese consumer is meant to identify Coke with the hip, the modern, and the Western and by enjoying Coke purely for its essential nature without reference to outside reasons or rationales, partake in those properties with which Coke is somehow (magically?) imbued. Coke is now a talisman, which promises to protect its users from the cruelties of life outside of the comfort of cool and happiness from enjoyment. Observe that in America, there are undoubtedly more young people with a firm preference for either Coke or Pepsi than for Democrats or Republicans. Further, brand considerations do not end with beverage choices. Every aspect of life is subsumed under the rubric of consumer choices. The agora and the Pantheon have merged, and there are now many gods for consumer citizens to choose among. We live in a polytheistic age. There were the gods of the sea and the harvest for the Romans. Today, there are gods who promise help with the back swing, those who promise eternally stylish fashion solutions, others who promise freedom from embarrassing halitosis (a disease identified and cured on the same day!). Once, men said, ‘I am an Athenian; I serve Athena.’ For Americans, the most mobile of all peoples, the gods they serve determine not just their towns and homes, but their jobs, their clothes, their music and entertainment. These gods are at times fluid, and resist the jealousy that made Yahweh such a bore at parties, but each promises the same thing: freedom from suffering, danger, pain, and ennui. The pursuit of happiness has cowed all other pursuits into its fold. Churches have become centers for “empowerment,” in which an Oprah-spirituality delivers promises of high fidelity audio in this life and the life to come. Like its namesake, Consumer Shintoism never has a more powerful hold on the hearts and practices of its adherents as it does when it is unacknowledged. There is no escape from Consumer Shinto to be found in bargain bins of Goodwill or the homespun goods of the craft store. Even thrift is another lifestyle, another god in the marketplace awaiting sacrifice. Hobo-chic is an acceptable fashion choice. Vintage, kitsch, and punk are just more styles to try on when deciding which god is the strongest champion in the fight against endemic suffering. Dephi’s is not the only oracle, and neither are yuppies the only new Shintoists. The attempt to modify consuming habits to avoid Consumer Shinto is a struggle against quicksand. As soon as the identity is confounded with possessions, it is too late. One cannot purchase freedom from the zeitgeist, the world is too large to allow any escape so simple in execution.

With all of this commentary on the nature of the world as it is now or soon will be in mind, consider again the artist who desires to see her will transcend suffering. First of all, the error of the Consumer Shintoist is clear. Suffering cannot be overcome by any god, physical or metaphysical. Consumer Shinto threatens a kind of bovine humanity, chewing the cud of happiness. This is the nihilism that must be overcome. Second, the artist must bear in mind the example of Hitler. All ambitions must be kept out of the notice of the bulk of the world. The artist must not seek to save the world, it is far too late for that. All attempts to save the world today are met by the betrayal of all the ideals and principles that meant to save it. Thirdly, neither may the artist merely establish an alternative community of kindred sufferers. Such a community is sure to begin feeding on a sense of self-righteous ressentment, and thus become subject to the dissolving powers of the ascetic ideal. The end result will be the community will be embraced by the world as another daring fashion choice and added to the Pantheon. It has happened many times in the Twentieth Century, most obviously to rock and roll.

All now that remains is suffering, suffering itself. Exerting her will to damnation, the artist of high Consumerism must practice post-irony with steady determination. Post-irony is the contradiction that will give her ideal tension and life. In the transition between the ages, the ironist comes to fore to expose the contradictions of the current system and in preparation to the coming of a new path. Socrates was, of course, the greatest ironist of them all. However, the next age requires not irony but post-irony. Irony merely overcomes the world; post-irony must overcome itself. Post-irony begins with the process of recognizing the futility of an action and the futility of trying to respond to futility through an act of irony. With the realization of the existence of a recursive depth of ironic response comes the emergence of post-irony, a measured knowingness that subtly distorts not action (which is interchangeably ironic or ordinary) but the intentionality of action. Yet, post-irony is a glorious post-solipsism, in which the meaning of communication is unreal even to its originator. Thus, consumption, which has become a religious ritual for most, becomes a release through the denying of its intention. The meaning of consumption to the artist of the will to damnation is not the cessation of suffering, but just the opposite, the glutting thereof. There is no greater source of pain or sorrow that which has as its object happiness. As John Keats writes in “Ode on Melancholy,”

No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss’d
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow’s mysteries;
For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.

But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.

She dwells with Beauty - Beauty that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight
Veil’d Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy’s grape against his palate fine;
His soul shall taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung.

Keats has recognized that the pleasure is an endless source of bounteous suffering, an endless melancholy. This is the art which the post-ironist seeks. Keats begins his poem by denouncing suicide (the will to nothingness) and continues by elaborating the effects and source of melancholy. A world of redolent pleasures is a world of still greater sorrows. Consumption is then the natural medium of an artist in such an age. Society has misvalued melancholy. Melancholy is not a terrible curse, it is a bountiful gift, a celebration of human life’s capacity for both pleasure and pain. It is in this that the will must exert itself through giving existential to the bleak choices of the supermarket shelf. It is not an easy task, but it is the inescapable conclusion of the artist in Consumer Shinto society. The world is too large to accommodate any other solution.

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