11
Rainer J. Hanshe
In an immediate understanding of the dream there is joy, all of its forms speak to us, there is nothing indifferent and unnecessary. Nevertheless, while this dream-reality is at its peak, the feeling creeps in that it is an appearance: [. . .but] reality too is appearance.
– Nietzsche1
In the Birth of Tragedy, Nietzsche claims that it is not the waking but the dreaming half of life that is “the more privileged, important, dignified, and worthy of being lived, indeed the only half that is truly lived.”2 Similarly, in Beyond Good and Evil, he proclaims that what “we experience in dreams, if we experience it often, is in the end just as much a part of the total economy of our soul as is anything we ‘really’ experience.”3 If Nietzsche accords an exceptional degree of significance to the oneiric dimension of life, suggesting that in and of itself it warrants as much if not more value than our waking life, he also maintains that our dreams’ habits guide us during our waking hours and lead us “even in our most cheerful moments.”4 Thus, our predominant monarchs are dreams, navigating forces that direct not only our night journeys but, perhaps more significantly, our day journeys as well. While the structure and overall Stimmung of Thus Spoke Zarathustra are oneiric,5 dreams function precisely as such helpful guides for Zarathustra. They have other functions also, including that of prophecy—as Zarathustra avows: “whoever had to create, he always also had prophetic dreams and astral signs—and believed in belief!”6 While there are four crucial instances when he dreams during his Untergang, Zarathustra engages in one other unique kind of “dreaming” and it always occurs during his “stillest hours.” Since to Zarathustra our “stillest hours” are our greatest events,7 it is imperative to analyze Zarathustra’s own stillest hours, in order to gain insight into precisely what they are constituted of and what Nietzsche reveals through them.
Of the numerous “still hours” in Zarathustra, each has a different function. Zarathustra engages in them to communicate with the earth, to enter into self-reflective states, to raise questions about his teaching during moments of crisis, and as a meditative but intense mode of wide-awake “sleeping,” during which he receives visions, premonitions, wisdom, “still words,” etc., all of which aid him during his Untergang. Of paramount importance is the state of concentrated stillness that Zarathustra enters into, a mode of incubation or temple-sleep practiced by, for instance, Amphiaraos, Parmenides, and Empedocles. Nietzsche would have been intimately familiar with incubation through reading of the devotees of Asclepius and numerous ancient sources from Homer to Strabo and Macrobius as well as, possibly, through Rohde’s research for Psyche.8 Rohde explains that it is through the legend of Amphiaraos “that we have a proof that already in the days when the quasi-Homeric poetry was still popular, people believed in deathless dwellers below the earth and in their active potency in the mantic act.”9 Akin to “a dream but not a dream,” Peter Kingsley describes incubation as actually a “third type of consciousness quite different from either waking or sleeping.”10 In that heightened state of consciousness, Parmenides and Empedocles received the wisdom on which they formulated their teaching as opposed to developing it abstractly. It is not a form of ratiocinative thinking, misinterpreted, Heidegger argues, as rational, but a form of thought that includes feeling or mood, is “more reasonable—that is, more intelligently perceptive—because more open to Being.”11 When one reaches rationality’s limits, it is through the phantastic that in dreams the imagination enables us to comprehend or reach otherwise inaccessible knowledge, sources of knowledge which exceed conscious understanding. In the dream or incubation state, the rational and the irrational intertwine, forcing us to recognize the thresholds of self-knowledge, that everything cannot be discerned through rationality alone.
Often, as Nietzsche elaborates, there is a form of thought more powerful than calculative and logical thought, a faculty Nietzsche refers to as “an alien, illogical power—the power of creative imagination.” Such thought is not ruled by measure, but “leaps from possibility to possibility, using each one as a temporary resting place. . . . But the special strength of imagination is its lightning-quick seizure and illumination of analogies.” Concluding, Nietzsche proclaims that “non-provable philosophic thinking has its value” and in it “lies an impelling force which is the hope of future fruitfulness.”12 This is of course not to say that rationality is opposed in toto by Nietzsche, but he demonstrates the necessity of understanding its limits, especially when it rules out affective perspectives. “Your spirit has been persuaded to despise what is earthly, but not your entrails: and they are what is strongest in you!”13 The opposition to such forms of knowledge has been so strong that Zarathustra must dare us to believe in ourselves, and more, in our “entrails” for in ignoring them we have ignored a fundamental epistemological source. And when Zarathustra proclaims that the will to truth in part means that everything must be “transformed into what is—humanly thinkable—humanly visible—perceptible!”14 he does not anthropomorphize truth but demarcates its earthly boundary. This is to set truth in opposition to metaphysics and all metaphysical modes of knowledge, as well as to extol the senses, intuition, and the imagination as valid epistemological sources. And during the phantasmatic state of dreaming or incubation, Zarathustra received the vision of the eternal return, the very Grundconception of his teaching, as well as other crucial insights about “life” upon which his tragic philosophy is based. In “The Return Home,” Zarathustra directly alludes to incubation when lamenting that few still want “to sit quietly on the nest and hatch the eggs.”15 In Daybreak, when speaking of the venerable art of philology, Nietzsche asserts that the art “demands of its votaries one thing above all: to go aside, to take time, to become still, to become slow.”16 In construing philology as an art of rumination, Nietzsche aligns it with the act of a cow sitting in a field patiently chewing its cud. Since to incubate is to lie down like an animal in a lair, there is a clear parallel between the acts. Analyzing several critical moments in the narrative when Zarathustra incubates will then enable us to illustrate the instrumental role incubation has as a mode of askesis for Zarathustra. Its importance as a philosophical praxis for Nietzsche, who, I believe, seeks to recuperate the pre-Platonic art of incubation, in order to reinstitute a holistic askesis that also embodies intuition and the imagination, can also be demonstrated.17 As part of Nietzsche’s transvaluation of all values, the restitution of incubation is moreover a radical displacement of the orthodox philosophical valuation of reason as the sole legitimate epistemological mode through which knowledge is acquired. For Nietzsche, it is no longer through reason alone that one obtains knowledge, but through a meditative praxis that engages the entire body, which “is a great reason” and “a manifold with one sense,”18 something which gives birth to “alien, illogical powers.” If, as Nietzsche believes, the images of dreams are useful for interpreting life, and the events of dreams are helpful for “practicing life,”19 our literal and incubatory dreams are valid means for obtaining knowledge, integral elements of our total economy. Through such oneiric modes, we gain a type of knowledge that incorporates both thinking and feeling, both the rational and the “irrational” aspects of existence. In opposition to the prevailing abnegation of the body in post-Christian/post-Cartesian culture, this is to honor the body (Leib, not Körper), which contains more reason than our finest wisdom20 and gives free play to the flight of the imagination and its discoveries.
As Kingsley explains, incubation was a “specific and established technique . . . for making the journey to the world of the dead; for dying before you died.” It involves isolating oneself “in a dark place, lying down in complete stillness, [and] staying motionless for hours or days.”21 Henriёtte Boas notes that the importance given to incubatory dreams “arisen out of the earth” was “supported by the view, that, as the earth was full of the seeds of future life, it also contained the mysteries of the future in general, and dreams in particular.”22 Although the passage is vastly overdetermined, Nietzsche speaks of visiting the dead in the intriguing aphorism “Descent into Hades.” In the current context, such a claim receives its perhaps most germane reading, especially since, as Mary Hamilton points out, one of the customary preludes to incubation involved the sacrifice of a ram:23 “I too have been in the underworld, like Odysseus, and will often be there again; and I have not sacrificed only rams to be able to talk with the dead, but have not spared my own blood as well.”24 Zarathustra engages in comparable incubatory activities in his cave and elsewhere, such as under trees at various critical moments throughout Zarathustra, and Boas explains that trees in particular, as well as springs and caves, were some of the sacred spots where one would incubate. When speaking of the divinatory act of visiting the future, Zarathustra professes that he would rather “be a day-laborer in the underworld and among the shades of times past!”25 While incubating, the body and the mind become silent and one gains access to another realm, which Kingsley refers to as “a world of utter paradox” where one possesses “a totally different state of awareness,” such as in dreams during sleep.26 The first time Zarathustra sleeps in the narrative occurs subsequent to his burial of the ropedancer, whose perilous fall and death prefigures Zarathustra’s Untergang. Significantly, it is stressed that both the dawn and the forenoon—two singular temporal moments for Nietzsche—pass over Zarathustra’s countenance as he sleeps. In stating that the new truth came to him between “dawn of morning and dawn of morning,” Nietzsche implies that Zarathustra had been “sleeping” for an entire day, which, as Kingsley and others explain, is precisely the length of time often spent incubating. Boas explains that one of the main points of incubation “was the strengthening effect, and in which revelation came in a more or less direct manner,” often accompanied with dreams.27 After opening his eyes, Zarathustra glances into the forest and the stillness; amazed, he looks into himself and quickly rises “for he has seen a new truth.” This is the first announcement in the narrative of an important new insight or discovery, but Zarathustra does not achieve this insight through the act of abstract thinking. It is something he “receives” while in an awakened state of sleep, and this recalls Nietzsche’s figure of “the genius of the heart who silences all that is loud and self-satisfied, teaching it to listen; who smoothes rough souls and lets them taste a new desire—to lie still as a mirror, that the deep sky may mirror itself in them” (BGE §295; KSA V.237). Nietzsche’s image of the philosopher is similarly characterized as one who “seeks to hear within himself the echoes of the world symphony and to re-project them in the form of concepts. While he is contemplative-perceptive like the artist, compassionate like the religious, a seeker of purposes and causalities like the scientist, even while he feels himself swelling into a macrocosm, he all the while retains a certain self-possession, a way of viewing himself coldly as a mirror of the world” (PTAG §3; KSA I.817). If the psyche’s hidden depths—Nietzsche’s “tiefe Himmel”—are unconcealed in the dream or incubatory state after silencing all that is noisy and disruptive, such wisdom or knowledge would in his terms be knowledge that is nonrational, knowledge free of herd mentality consciousness, knowledge in part discovered through intuition and flights of imagination.
As Nietzsche makes clear, Zarathustra’s mode of sleeping is distinctly different from everyone else’s and it is virtue in particular that shapes the character of one’s sleep. Shapiro describes Zarathustra’s sleep simply as “peculiar” and does not analyze or refer to any other passages on sleep in the book, nor in relation to what he says of sleep, does he refer to the chapter “On the Professorial Chairs of Virtue.”28 There, Zarathustra comes to the realization that what people seek when they seek teachers of virtue is sound and dreamless sleep. Virtue can either be an opiate or stimulant. “For all these much-lauded wise men with their professorial chairs, wisdom was sleep without dreams; they knew no better sense for life.”29 In “At Midday,” which includes another telling incubatory moment, Zarathustra reveals that, in opposition to all others, sleep for him is like a delicate unseen breeze that is feather-light. It is not heavy but dances upon him. “My eyes he does not press closed; my soul he leaves awake. Light is he, verily! feather-light. He persuades me, I know not how? He touches me inwardly with flattering hand, he compels me. Yes, he compels me, that my soul might stretch herself out.”30 Significantly, this passage is said while Zarathustra is incubating: “no sooner was he lying on the ground, in the stillness and secrecy of the colorful grasses, than he forgot his slight thirst and fell asleep. . . . Only his eyes remained open: for they were not tired of seeing and admiring the tree and the love of the vine. But in falling asleep Zarathustra spoke thus to his heart: ‘Still! Still! Did the world not just become perfect?’” And Zarathustra values the dreams that come to him during his sleep, because sleep itself does something to him—it compels him to “stretch out” his soul. In “On the Great Yearning,” Nietzsche clarifies that stretching out the soul is an extraordinary ecstatic event, the release of the past and the future within the body in the present, or the kinetic enactment of the eternal return, which is an instant of gaining power over time.31 Thus, it should be clear that, even if a specific praxis such as “stretching out the soul” is not explicitly delineated in such moments, sleep is a deeply meditative activity—whenever Zarathustra is “sleeping,” it is imperative to remember that part of him remains active and alert and that his soul is “stretching out.”
To return to Zarathustra’s new discovery, by informing us that he has seen a new truth, Nietzsche indicates that Zarathustra observed his new truth in a dream or that it was an inner vision—it is not something consciously thought. This is certainly crucial since, for Nietzsche, pictorial truth is considered of greater veracity than conceptual truth, due to its closer proximity to what it metaphorizes. And since thought that rises to consciousness, as Nietzsche argues, is only “the most superficial and worst part,” presumably, what rises to oneiric consciousness is the most profound and “best” part, for it does not take the form of words, but images, visions generated by the imagination. What we acquire in incubatory states is not what belongs to the social or herd nature, but to individual existence, the psyche’s hidden depths, the “tiefe Himmel.” Thoughts in this state are not governed by the “genius of the species” or the perspective of the herd, but by what Nietzsche believes is “incomparably personal, unique, and infinitely individual.”32 When incubating, one then moves beyond the surface and sign world, beyond the merely utilitarian into “everything strange, unusual, and questionable,”33 what disturbs us because we do not know or understand it, or what we cannot access in waking life, due to the measure that we must observe in it, or to the demand to provide proof. And what the herald of the Übermensch realizes is that he needs living companions who are fellow creators and who inscribe new values on new tablets as opposed to dead companions and corpses. Since the latter only think conceptually instead of with the entirety of their bodies to comprehend his teaching, they are but dead or insensate companions. Further, and this is in line with a thinking not ordered by the “genius of the species,” Zarathustra decides that he will no longer share his teaching with everyone, but only with those he considers his companions; as he, they are to be harvesters and celebrants. When the narrative first commences, Zarathustra avers that in order to bestow and distribute his wisdom—which he gained through a lengthy 10-year retreat during which one can reasonably assume he incubated frequently if not every day—he must as the sun descend into the depths and the underworld. Before embarking on this Untergang, he asks the sun, or Apollo, the “divine protector of those who lie down in lairs,”34 to bless him with his tranquil eye. Thus, it is not Dionysos, but the tutelary figure of those who incubate who Zarathustra first addresses in the Vorrede. If Zarathustra is a “Dionysiac monster,”35 his polestar is Apollo, “the god of all image-making energies” and “of prophecy.”36 Lampert recognizes that there is a relationship between Zarathustra and Apollo, but after his initial comparison and reference to Zarathustra as a healer, he does not pursue the insight further. Soon after seeing his new truth, Zarathustra witnesses his animals searching for him, wondering whether he is still alive, then begins his Untergang, which comprises almost the entirety of the first three books of Zarathustra. The Untergang comes to an end at the close of “On the Convalescent” after Zarathustra experiences the eternal return while in a state of incubation. And the following three chapters that close the third book all occur in absolute silence and stillness, as Zarathustra is incubating and conversing with, respectively, his soul, Life, and Eternity. While Zarathustra’s animals speak to him of his task of teaching the eternal recurrence, he does not hear them because “he lay still with his eyes closed, like one who sleeps, though he was not asleep: for he was just then conversing with his soul. But the serpent and the eagle, on finding him thus silent, honored the great stillness around him and discreetly stole away.”37 This image of Zarathustra in stillness, with eyes closed, sleeping but not sleeping, correlates exactly to the description various scholars give of incubation.
Another of Zarathustra’s stillest hours occurs in “On the Bite of the Adder.” It is the second incubatory moment in the book and transpires while Zarathustra is sleeping under a fig tree. When visited by a serpent, Zarathustra is not tempted nor provoked into an act of transgression but aided, for through the serpent’s bite he is forced awake “at the right time: my way,” he says, “is still long.”38 However, the serpent informs Zarathustra that his way will be short for the poison (Gift) that he injected into his body is deadly. Smiling, Zarathustra informs the snake that, as a “dragon,” he will never die from such poison. As Shapiro first noted in Alcyone, “the German Gift once had the sense of present as well as poison” while “Gabe is either a present or a dose, that is something possibly unpleasant and possibly administered against one’s will.”39 After thanking the snake, Zarathustra commands it to retract its poison, since it is not rich enough to bestow such a gift. The snake obeys him and, in an almost erotic gesture, sucks the poison from out his neck. Zarathustra is not only able to communicate with animals but to command them, too. Instead of being largely commanded by a serpent, as were Adam and Eve, he is the commanding one, an Orpheus able to charm and control even animals.40 Out of this event, Zarathustra creates a story that serves as a poetic pedagogical device for his disciples. It is not through concepts that Zarathustra educates and teaches, but through allegorical tales or images, what is developed largely by the imagination (and encourages further imaginative development by his listeners). “For the genuine poet metaphor is no rhetorical figure, but an image which takes the place of something else, something he can really see before him as a substitute for a concept.”41 To Nietzsche, it is only if one is a bad poet that one resorts to the use of abstractions, for it is through allegory that one rides to every truth.42 Such events, then, illustrate not only that Zarathustra gains valuable wisdom from incubating, but also that each experience he undergoes is a moment wherein his wisdom or his virtue is tested. Further, and more pertinently, these events are transformed into potent images and serve as crystallizations of his teaching, which can be embodied by those to whom it is transmitted. Like Homer, Zarathustra is able to depict things so much more vividly than all other poets because his perception of things is more acute.43
If our stillest hours comprise the greatest events of our lives, one of the greatest events of Zarathustra’s life must surely occur in the chapter of the same name. “The Stillest Hour” is the concluding section of the second book, the moment when Zarathustra leaves his disciples in order to return to his solitude. Specifically, he is returning to his cave, a place of incubation, though he returns to it unhappily. In the next book, he will depart the Isles of the Blest and soon after recount his vision of the eternal return, a riddle that he says he saw. “What happened to me? Who ordered this?—Ah,” Zarathustra explains, “my angry mistress wills it thus, she has spoken to me: have I ever told you her name? Yesterday towards evening there spoke to me my Stillest Hour: that is the name of my terrible mistress.”44 It is not precisely clear what this entity is, if that can ever be clarified, but it may not need to be. Although Shapiro rightfully asserts that it is not the voice of the narrator or of other characters in the story, he proposes that it may be the voice of Zarathustra. Ultimately, he leaves the question open, as it seemingly must remain. Lampert refers to the same dialogue as “an enactment of the double will” but, oddly, does not address the very unique mode of silent communication and why Nietzsche employs it.45 And what is more important than precisely who or what the Stillest Hour might be is how it communicates and is characterized—its silence is instrumental.
Stillness, or hesychia, is the state entered into when incubating. It is the term commonly translated as “the quiet life.” As Kingsley opines though, to translate hesychia as “the quiet life” is misleading. It also elides what may in fact be one of the most central aspects of “the quiet life” that once was the philosopher’s life.46 “For the Greeks,” Kingsley elaborates, “stillness had a whole side to it that they found intensely disquieting—and not just disquieting but also sinister, alien, profoundly inhuman.”47 The “quiet life” then is not a mode of ataraxia, some unperturbed state of pure contemplative ease, but something rife with exceptionally more tension.48 To Nietzsche, philosophy is clearly not quiet in the sense of being peaceful, but disquieting, sinister, alien, and profoundly inhuman—such is living at the extremity of consciousness. In the Untimely Meditations, Nietzsche proclaims that one of the philosopher’s tasks is to disturb49 while in Ecce Homo, he refers to the philosopher as a terrible explosive.50 In addition, to speak of another characteristic of hesychia, Nietzsche speaks of how his sickness compelled him to alter all of his habits; it bestowed on him “the necessity of lying still, of leisure, of waiting and being patient—But that means, of thinking!—” Precisely through this practice of stillness his nethermost self, which he said had “been buried and grown silent under the continual pressure of having to listen to other selves,”51 finally spoke again as opposed to the chattering herd consciousness that generally speaks in us. Lastly, if there is a distinct parallel between the profoundly inhuman and the Übermenschlich, in referring to the Stillest Hour as both his “angry” and “terrible” “mistress,” Nietzsche endows stillness with the disposition of intense disquiet. Relatedly, in reference to Rohde, Boas notes that the earth was “often conceived as a very strong and powerful numen,” the “mistress of life and death,” and it was precisely through “contact with the Earth” that one’s “physical and psychical energies were strengthened” for “the Earth was possessed of oracular power.”52 The episode with the Stillest Hour also betrays something sinister, alien, and profoundly inhuman, and it is imperative to sustain these aspects of stillness whenever thinking of the still and incubatory moments that occur in Zarathustra. Let us further consider the “Stillest Hour.”
“Do you know,” Zarathustra asks his friends, “the terror of him who falls asleep?—He is terrified down to his toes, because the ground gives way and the dream begins.”53 As one whose sleep is not comfortable, as one whose virtue forces him in part to remain awake during sleep, Zarathustra’s stillest hours are direct incubatory encounters with the psyche’s hidden depths, the nethermost self in which the “tiefe Himmel” or “world symphony” is reflected. As Assoun notes, for Nietzsche, “dreams express the essence, the core of truth around which human reality gravitates, whose manifestations are only appearances. In the last analysis, dreams hold this privilege by constituting the appearance of appearance. Reality being appearance, dreams are such only to a second degree; for this reason, they are valued as ‘yet higher satisfactions of the universal aspiration to appearance.’”54 And in the encounter with the Stillest Hour, the intensely disquieting aspect of “the quiet life” is further evident. The stillness that Zarathustra hears around him—evidence that his mode of perception is synesthetic55—is so sinister that “the clock of his life draws breath” and he undergoes terror, which is to say, time ceases—we enter Zarathustra’s time of dying. As noted earlier, incubation is a technique for dying before you die and to Nietzsche, being immortal requires dying “numerous times over the course of your life.”56 In dying multiple deaths, we learn to see anew, to be dead but with “open eyes,” for it is then that we see “much that . . . has never been seen before, and for as far as [one] can see everything is spun into a net of light and as it were buried in it.”57 This continual “dying” is necessary because, as Nietzsche says in the same aphorism, “life” perpetually draws us to itself and occludes our vision. In his continual perishing then, Zarathustra seeks clarity, but this pursuit is not without its dangers. Throughout the encounter with the Stillest Hour, the entity speaks to Zarathustra without voice and her inaudible whispering is so profoundly unsettling that it makes even the courageous hermit of the mountains scream in terror and grow frighteningly pallid in complexion.58 Zarathustra’s angry mistress reveals that he knows some great truth or secret, but will not utter it. Presumably, it is the riddle of the eternal return, which we discover in the following book. When Zarathustra confesses that he does not possess the strength to announce the secret, the Stillest Hour continues to confront him, challenging him to an agon that he must overcome. “Do you not know who is most needed by all? The one who commands great things? To accomplish great things is difficult: but more difficult is to command great things. That is what is most unpardonable in you: you have the power, and you do not want to rule.”59 When Zarathustra replies that he lacks the lion’s voice for commanding,60 the Stillest Hour speaks to him again in her mute whisper, uttering one of the central passages of the book: “It is the stillest words that bring on the storm. Thoughts that come on doves’ feet direct the world. O Zarathustra, you shall go as a shadow of that which must come: thus will you command, and commanding lead the way.”61 The fact that Zarathustra does not hear the voice of the Stillest Hour with his ear, but via some other means, is made emphatically clear by Nietzsche through his repeating ten times that the Stillest Hour speaks to Zarathustra without voice.62 This is the only line in the book that is repeated with such frequency within one chapter but, strangely, to cite just two prominent scholars, neither Lampert nor Shapiro observed this very dramatic and informative repetition.63 Through such calculated and instructive repetitions, Nietzsche not only compels us to apprehend this particular aspect of his thought, but also dramatically asserts its import. As Nietzsche indicates throughout his work and frequently in Zarathustra, things are sensed synesthetically.
After Zarathustra confesses to being ashamed, the Stillest Hour instructs him to become a child free of shame, for that is what he must achieve in order to convey the next stage of his teaching. When he refuses, laughter erupts around him, tears at his entrails, slashes open his heart, betraying bodily repercussions, that he has not been mentally but physically wounded by this ephemeral encounter. Although that may be meant figuratively, Nietzsche may be indicating that oneiric events can have effects as palpable as “real” ones. If dreams are as integral an aspect of the total economy of our lives and even direct our waking hours, that then they can have as palpable an effect as “real” events, is not difficult to accept. “Speaking” to Zarathustra one last time, the Stillest Hour informs him that, while his fruits are ripe, he is not yet ripe enough for them. “‘So you must go back to your solitude: for you are yet to become mellow’ [mürbe].”64 Laughter erupts once more and flees, implying that the Stillest Hour has vanished, just as instantaneously as does the lion in “The Sign.”65 Once the Stillest Hour vanishes, it becomes still around Zarathustra “as if with a twofold stillness. But I lay on the ground, and the sweat poured from my limbs.”66 Aside from this indicating that the entire event occurred while Zarathustra was lying on the ground in an incubatory state, the Stillest Hour also instructs him to return to his cave in order to learn to become a child again. As Krell points out, “On the Vision and the Riddle” was originally to begin “with the sentence (crossed out at the proof-stage), ‘But what is it I dreamt not long ago as I lay on my sickbed?’ The suggestion is that the vision . . . and the riddle . . . are intrinsic to convalescence itself; they are not illnesses that one might leave behind, maladies from which one might totally convalesce.”67 If convalescence is construed as a mode of incubation, and it is viable to do so, what the original beginning of the chapter also reveals is an explicit reference to incubation, of the instructive visions that Zarathustra receives while in altered states of consciousness outside the confines of rational thinking.
Intriguingly, Zarathustra is not yet mürbe (mellow) enough to affirm the eternal return and this in part is what he must learn, a quality that seems out of odds with the brutal cast often given by many commentators to Zarathustra or the Übermensch. It is not through becoming more courageous or warlike as many might expect, or presume, that will enable Zarathustra to affirm the eternal return, but precisely through becoming mürbe.68 What is toughest is what is humble, as the Stillest Hour says to Zarathustra: “‘What do you matter? You are not yet humble enough for me. Humility has the toughest hide.’”69 Yet, this is not perhaps that odd. In Human, All Too Human, Nietzsche observes that, while the most savage forces build pathways and are predominantly destructive, “their work was none the less necessary, in order that later a gentler civilization might raise its house. The frightful energies—those which are called evil—are the cyclopean architects and road-makers of humanity.”70 Similarly, aside from being made out of what is hard and fragrant, the other quality of those who have “turned out well” is that they are delicate.71 And when speaking of the necessity of not expending energy to guard oneself against danger, Nietzsche notes that “to have spikes is an extravagance, a double luxury even if one is free to have no spikes but open hands . . . .”72 It seems justifiable to claim that it is through the praxis of stillness that Zarathustra will accomplish the task of becoming mürbe, for such a mode of meditation would lead to a state of mellowness, the proper physiological frequency necessary for affirming the eternal return. In this episode of the narrative then, one of the functions of stillness or incubation is to aid Zarathustra during a time of crisis. He receives firm counsel at this moment, not pitying comfort, and is driven to fulfill the task he is destined to. As the Stillest Hour declares, he is “most needed by all,” and this reveals the exigency of the situation and the significance of the teaching as well as its import for humanity, or for the creators and companions who will lead humanity toward the creation of the Übermenschen, the creation we might say of a Periclean polis where each individual is a self-governing being who moves between freedom and order and who links both through passion.
To conclude, through the praxis of incubation, Nietzsche enacts and obeys his own injunction to remain loyal to the earth; this enactment is not only figured imaginatively in Nietzsche’s philosophical fiction, but in his own life. In June of 1883, while at work on the second book of Zarathustra, Nietzsche wrote to Carl von Gersdorff that he was “up in the Engadine again, for the third time, and again I feel that here and nowhere else is my proper home and place of incubation. Ah, how much everything lies hidden in me still, and wants to become word and form! Only here is it quiet and high and lonely enough for me to be able to perceive my innermost voices!”73 Through this attentive praxis, quotidian consciousness is surpassed, language is abandoned, and in turning inward, one listens to what Nietzsche calls the “spirits [geisterhaft] that are all around us, every moment of our life” he observes “wants to say something to us, but we refuse to listen to these spirit-voices [Geisterstimme]. We are afraid that, when we are alone and quiet, something will be whispered into our ear, and so we hate quietness and deafen ourselves with sociability.”74 To use a term of Heidegger’s, which may in fact be a transfiguration of Nietzsche’s concept, with invoking the practice of incubation, Nietzsche is calling us to hearken to the earth. As the dweller of the Black Forest notes, to hearken is to be called and to be called is to obey, to dutifully listen “from below.” Not to listen to something below, but to listen from below, from the depths of our being, the psyche’s hidden depths or “tiefe Himmel,” from the deepest strata of the earth,75 from the source which may yield to us something to which we can attune ourselves. This is not to be enraptured, or to refuse to perceive with one’s senses as Nietzsche warns in the Nachlaß, for to be overcome by such fantasies “is an illness of the intellect, not a path to knowledge.”76 Instead, it is to simultaneously perceive with the senses, to permit rationality its proper circumference, and to let the tiefe Himmel or “world symphony” mirror itself in one. If, as Heidegger avows, “to think is before all else to listen, to let ourselves be told something and not to ask questions,”77 there is no thinking without listening—incubating, then, is a mode of thinking; to incubate is to listen, to learn to become mürbe enough to hear the music of Dasein. In On the Essence of Language, Heidegger directly connects hearkening with obedience, thus there is a conceptual parallel with Nietzsche’s notion of staying loyal to the earth, for to sustain such loyalty is to move beyond the egoistic subject and, in Nietzsche’s terms, to think or feel cosmically, to overcome one’s worldly anthropomorphism and submit oneself to the earth—to obey it! It is to move into inorganic realms, to turn into a stone: “Slowly, slowly to become hard like a precious stone—and at last to lie there, silent and a joy to eternity.”78 To do this is to die, to let the human, all too human perish, and to encounter the “tiefe Himmel” or ground of being. This is perhaps to truly think, for as Deleuze and Guattari claim, “thought is sometimes closer to an animal that dies than to a living, even democratic, human being.”79 “Let us not think of the return to the inanimate as a regression!” Nietzsche pronounces. “We become quite true, we perfect ourselves. Death has to be reinterpreted! We thereby reconcile ourselves with what is actual, with the dead world.”80 If to incubate is to lie down like an animal in a cave or open field and meditate, not to think conceptually, as Kofman instructs, it is to allow the foreign and “illogical” forces, such as intuition and imagination, to flash and offer elucidations, allowing “meaning” and clarity to occur on their own and to transfigure us. It is thus that the free spirit, “without turning Jesuit, nonetheless penetrates,” as Nietzsche exults, “the irrational constitution of existence.”81
Notes
1 BT §1; KSA I.26.
2 BT §4; KSA I.38.
3 BGE §193; KSA V.114.
4 Ibid.
5 The sense of temporality in Z is rather ambiguous, with often no precise sense of time’s passage in the narrative. For the most provocative and challenging reading of time in Zarathustra, see Paul S. Loeb, The Death of Nietzsche’s Zarathustra (Cambridge University Press, 2010).
6 Z: II.14; KSA IV.154.
7 Z: II.18; KSA IV.169.
8 Pausanias, the record of the Epidaurian inscriptions, Iamblichus, and Cicero are just a few of the sources through which Nietzsche would have known of incubation. Aristophanes even lampoons it in The Rich Man, pp. 620–49. For transcriptions of the Asclepian testimonies, see Emma and Ludwig Edelstein, Asclepius (Maryland: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1945), I.338–442. For further material on incubation, including later accounts, see Ludovicus Deubner, De Incubatione (Leipzig: Teubneri, 1900), Mary Hamilton, Incubation (London: W. C. Henderson & Son, 1906), E. R. Dodds, The Greeks and the Irrational (California: University of California Press, 1951; 2004), 110–6, Karl Kerenyi, Asklepios (New York: Pantheon Books, 1959), and Patricia Miller, Dreams in Late Antiquity (New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1997).
9 Erwin Rohde, Psyche (London: Routledge, 2000), p. 93. For the passages on incubation, see iii, 8, 28 (sleep and death), 46, 92–3, 104, 106, 107, 133 (heroic oracles of), 140, 150, 151, 260, 289 (prophecy by), 292, 311.
10 Peter Kingsley, Reality (California: Golden Sufi Center, 2003), p. 31.
11 Martin Heidegger, Poetry, Language, Thought (New York: Harper & Row, 1994), p. 24.
12 PTAG §3; KSA I.814. See also PTAG §§ 5, 7, 9, 11, and 12 (KSA I.822–6, 830–3, 835–9, 844–7, 847–50) for other passages on the imagination as well as intuition, both of which Nietzsche sets in opposition to rationality and logic, but without disavowing either of the latter. Although Nietzsche does not use the word intuitiv frequently, Vorstellung occurs nearly 200 times despite Parkes’ contra claim. See Graham Parkes, “Nietzsche and East Asian Thought,” in Bernd Magnus, and Kathleen Marie Higgins eds, The Cambridge Companion to Nietzsche (Cambridge University Press, 1996), p. 365. It seems doubtful too that Nietzsche does not exalt intuition as Parkes also argues in the same text. It would be illuminating to consider the numerous passages where the term Phantasie occurs in Nietzsche’s oeuvre and the relation of each faculty to art; in addition, whenever Nietzsche criticizes rationality, there is an implicit valorization or exalting of intuition or the imagination. For passages on intuition, see TL §2 (KSA I.886–90), D §544 (KSA III.314), TI: SUM §5 (KSA VI.113–4), and the Nachlaß. The passages on Vorstellung are too numerous to list.
13 Z: II.15: KSA IV.157.
14 Z: II.2; KSA IV.109–10.
15 Z: III.9; KSA IV.233.
16 D: P §5; KSA III.17.
17 In his poetic-historical work on the Paleolithic imagination, Juniper Fuse, Clayton Eshleman also points out that various sacred spaces which were once powerful places of incubation have become spaces of but mere docile reception, implying that recuperating such praxes is of fundamental import, what can transform them once again into active sources of power: “The cathedrals and churches in which humankind passively sits today, listening to watered-down statements based on utterances of visionaries and ecstatics, were, before being in effect turned inside out, active underground ‘sanctuaries’ or ‘incubational pits.’”—Clayton Eshleman, Juniper Fuse (Connecticut: Wesleyan University Press, 2003), xxv.
18 Z: I.4: KSA IV.39.
19 BT §1; KSA I.27.
20 Z: I.4; KSA IV.40.
21 Kingsley 2003, p. 31.
22 Henriёtte Boas, Aeneas’ Arrival in Latium (Amsterdam: Hoord-Hollandsche Uitgevers-Mij, 1938), p. 189.
23 Hamilton 1906, 84. See also Pausanias (i.34), Aeneid (vii.8) and Ovid, Fasti (vi.649).
24 AOM §408; KSA II.533–4.
25 The opening lines of “On the Land of Culture” are pertinent (KSA IV.153).
26 For a philosophical investigation of sleep, see Jean-Luc Nancy, Fall of Sleep (New York: Fordham University Press, 2009). Oddly, Nancy does not address Nietzsche or Z in his book. For a few representative passages by Nietzsche on sleep: D §376 (KSA III.246), GS §§ 59, 164 (KSA III.422–4, 498).
27 Boas 1938, p. 191.
28 Z: II.14; KSA IV.154. See Gary Shapiro, Archaeologies of Vision (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2003), pp. 188–9. Joan Stambaugh refers to it more particularly as a “mystical event,” but that remains obscure. T. K. Seung refers to it as mysterious, which does not move beyond ambiguity. For Stambaugh, see The Other Nietzsche (Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 1994), 141–6; for Seung, see Nietzsche’s Epic of the Soul (Kentucky: Lexington Books, 2005), 276–8, passim.
29 Z: I.2; KSA IV.34.
30 Z: IV.10; KSA IV.343.
31 For a further elaboration of this concept, see Rainer J. Hanshe, “Invisibly Revolving— —Inaudibly Revolving: The Riddle of the Double Gedankenstrich,” The Agonist III (1), (spring 2010): 7–26.
32 GS §354; KSA III.590–3.
33 GS §355; KSA III.593–4.
34 Kingsley 2003, p. 42.
35 BT: ASC §7; KSA I.22.
36 BT §1; KSA I.27. On Zarathustra and Asklepius, see Lampert 1986, 74 and 82, and on Zarathustra, Apollo, and rhythm, 216 and 239. See also D.F. Krell, Postponements (Indiana University Press, 1986), and more recently, Babette Babich, Words in Blood, Like Flowers (Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 2006).
37 Z: III.13 §2; KSA IV.277.
38 Z: I.19; KSA IV.87.
39 Gary Shapiro, Alcyone (Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 1991), p. 32.
40 There is a parallel between Z and the Orphic tradition of catabasis. See Yulia Ustinova, Caves and the Ancient Greek Mind (Oxford: Oxford Universty Press, 2009), 239. See also W. K. C. Guthrie, Orpheus and Greek Religion (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1993).
41 BT §8; KSA I.60.
42 Z: III.9; KSA IV.231.
43 BT §8; KSA I.60. This is but one way in which Nietzsche/Zarathustra is different from the poets he critiques. He is a dreaming poet who knows the limits that Apollo draws (see BT §1; KSA I.26–8).
44 Z: II.22; KSA IV.187.
45 Shapiro 1991, 110–1, as well as 58 and 122. Lampert 1986, p. 153.
46 Consider, in relation to this, the role and function of silence and the meaning silence had for the ancient Greeks. For one exploration: Silvia Montiglio, Silence in the Land of Logos (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2000).
47 Peter Kingsley, In the Dark Places of Wisdom (California: Golden Sufi Center, 2001), p. 185.
48 For those who mistrust or doubt Kingsley’s view, in Christian accounts, this aspect of incubation exists too. In hesychia, Christians believe that they are identifying “with the ineffable witness of our unfolding psycho-physical experiences.” It is an understanding that “acts like a ‘two-edged sword’ which ‘cuts so deeply it divides Consciousness from psyche.’” Even from this Christian perspective, hesychia has a disquieting and sinister aspect. See Timothy Freke and Peter Gandy, Jesus and the Lost Goddess (New York: Random House, 2002), p. 176, 288.
49 SE §8; KSA I.426.
50 EH: “Untimelies” §3; KSA VI.320.
51 EH: “Human” §4; KSA VI.326.
52 Boas 1931, pp. 188–9.
53 Z II.22; KSA IV.187.
54 Paul-Laurent Assoun, Freud and Nietzsche (London: Continuum, 2006), p. 121.
55 For a thorough exploration of synesthesia in Nietzsche, see Rainer J. Hanshe, “Nietzsche’s Synaesthetic Epistemology & the Restitution of the Holistic Human,” in Vanessa Lemm (ed.), Nietzsche and the Becoming of Life (New York: Fordham University Press, 2013), forthcoming. A different version of this paper is available here (last accessed on Monday 2 July 2012): http://www.nietzsche.cl/docs/Sesiones__Paralelas_Parallel__Sessions/10.1__RAINER__J.__HANSHE.pdf.
56 EH: “Zarathustra” §5; KSA VI.342.
57 WS §308; KSA II.690.
58 There is a possible relation here with the voice of Faunus. See Boas, p. 193.
59 Z: II.22; KSA IV.189.
60 The enormous difficulty of the task is made clear in the following section—over Zarathustra’s way of greatness “is written: Impossibility” (Z: III.1; KSA IV.194).
61 Ibid.
62 The Stillest Hour actually speaks a total of 11 times, but her last line is not described as silent or voiceless. At that point, it is clear that her mode of communication is unique; therefore, there are 11 repetitions of this phenomenon. Is there not then a connection here with the 11 bell strokes?
63 See Laurence Lampert, Nietzsche’s Teaching (Connecticut: Yale University Press, 1989), 152–4; and Shapiro 1991, 110–1. Robert Gooding-Williams also does not observe the repetition. See his Zarathustra’s Dionysian Modernism (California: Stanford University Press, 2001), pp. 294–5, passim. Although Seung acknowledges that the Stillest Hour is silent, he never asks why it is so. See his Nietzsche’s Epic of the Soul (Kentucky: Lexington Books, 2005), pp. 106–50.
64 Z: II.22; KSA IV.189.
65 The instantaneous disappearance of the lion is but one of many events that forces us to question whether or not such encounters are “real” or whether they all occur within Zarathustra’s consciousness during moments of incubation. This would offer one logical explanation for the vanishing lion and other peculiar events. The connection to the Orphic tradition of the catabasis is again quite palpable. One other possible explanation for such events is that Z is Nietzsche’s Bardo Thodol, a book of the dead, and Z is a representation of Zarathustra’s death journey, his passage from life to life, thus he is actually dead throughout most of the book, until the moment he reenters the cosmic life cycle.
66 Z: II.22; KSA IV.189.
67 Krell 1986, pp. 54–5.
68 Lampert does not observe this explicit instruction or task that the Stillest Hour sets for Zarathustra but simply says that he lacks the “resolve” to fulfill the task; while that may not be inaccurate, it is quite specifically through becoming “mürbe” that Zarathustra will be able to achieve the task. See Lampert 1989, pp. 153–4. Both Seung and Gooding-Williams also neglect to observe the specificity of this instruction.
69 Relatedly, consider Nietzsche’s figuration of Zarathustra’s body as extremely vulnerable and unprotected—he makes him into a reverse Achilles, invulnerable only in his heel. Another passage relates to this physical state: “I must be without caution: thus my lot wills it” (Z: IV.V §2; KSA IV.318).
70 HH §246; KSA II.205. For similarly oriented thoughts, see GS §§19, 313 (KSA III.390, 548), BGE §229 (KSA V.165–7), and TI “Anti-Nature” 3 (KSA VI.84) on the spiritualization of sensuality, which Nietzsche calls love, “a great triumph over Christianity.” Strikingly, it is revealing that no exercise of violence is ever made against anyone by Zarathustra in the book, even against his enemies, whom he passes by with a “sleeping sword.”
71 EH: “Wise” §2; KSA VI.267. Another way in which Nietzsche recognizes that someone has “turned out well” is that they are “good for our senses” (EH: “Books” §2; KSA VI.301–2), once again stressing the sensorial faculty as an orienting episteme. As Large points out in a footnote to his translation of EH, “turned out well” “is a paraphrase of the term ‘Wohlgerathenheit’ (cf. III 1), which is most often applied to children but is also a close translation of the ancient Greek concept of virtue as arête.” There is a clear relation here to the third type (the child) espoused in Z.
72 EH: Clever §8; KSA VI.292.
73 KSB VI.386.
74 SE §5; KSA I.379.
75 For an illuminating analysis of the geological aspect of Nietzsche’s thought, see Graham Parkes, Composing the Soul (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996).
76 KGW V, 4[321], p. 510; 4[152], p. 470.
77 Martin Heidegger, On the Way to Language (New York: Harper One, 1982), p. 76.
78 D §541; KSA III.309.
79 Gilles Deleuze, Felix Guattari, What is Philosophy? (London and New York: Verso Books, 1994), p. 108.
80 KSA 9:11[70].
81 KGW VII, 16[14], p. 529.