Dear Friend,
I have just read your letter, and feel prompted to answer it at once, or rather to send in exchange for it some of the ideas which came into my mind while reading it; for I cannot attempt to answer it in detail; to do so would lead me astray into too much hair-splitting. I perceive that you continue to be an obstinate optimist; and that, like unto your friend the Apostle Paul, Judaism in particular is still deeply rooted in your nature.
As regards myself, for long past it has been only with the greatest difficulty, and by persistent rejection of the teaching of experience, that I had succeeded in maintaining an optimistic attitude towards life. It was thus a mere remnant of Hebrew superstition that had still to be cast out when I encountered the prodigious force of friend Schopenhauer's genius. Only with much travail was this superstition finally exorcised, but in the end there was comfort and that peace which comes to a man who has once for all done with self-deception and has attained the full measure of freedom that is possible to mankind. The deepest truth of Schopenhauer's doctrine, the truth that only the greatest minds have been able to grasp, rests on Kant's important discovery of the subjective character of all phenomena. We, too, must have fully grasped this truth before we can take one step further towards the comprehension of the "thing in itself" (das Ding an sich); held, as you know, by Kant to lie outside the sphere of our knowledge, but designated with convincing force by Schopenhauer as Will. I cannot pretend that I am at all times able to follow the process of the solution of this mighty problem, still less to expound it clearly. The clear realisation of the subjective character of time, space, and causality, as mere forms of perception, argues a mental process of so sublime a nature that, as Schopenhauer proves beyond dispute, it can only be possible to an abnormally organised brain, and under conditions of peculiar excitement. But no sooner have we comprehended this truth than all the illusions which have hitherto darkened our judgment vanish as if by magic, and of a sudden even words fail us to make our position plain; for our words hitherto have been adapted to the service of a far different knowledge than that to which we have now attained. The difficulty now is to communicate our ideas through this confused medium of word-symbols, without every moment giving occasion for misunderstanding. It is therefore wisest to start from the simplest phenomena, namely, from those that lie nearest to our common experience. To have achieved this kind of clearness is Schopenhauer's extraordinary merit. But it is only to those who are capable of following him through those first and most important stages of his reasoning process that his meaning presents no stumbling-block; and it is just in that initial step that the difficulty lies. The following point, however, must be perfectly intelligible to any mind of a superior order, for it has been unanswerably demonstrated, and in fact serves as the point of departure of our modern natural sciences.
In normal man, all his senses, and more especially his organ of perception, namely, his brain, is entirely in the service of his Will. The emancipation of this faculty of perception from the service of the Will is thus an abnormal act, and can only take place with abnormal organisations (having in a sense the stamp of monstrosity). In this exceptional condition, which we recognise in its highest development as genius, the faculty of perception becomes conscious in the first instance of its normal condition, and, being thus liberated from the service of the Will, recognises the state of bondage to which it has been hitherto subjected, and asks itself: How does this dominating, all-controlling Will manifest itself up to this point, when in an abnormal condition of liberated perception it ceases to assert itself? In answer to this question we have to admit, with a deep sense of shame, that this Will has sought nothing but to live, namely, to nourish itself by the extermination of others, and to reproduce itself by propagation. We can discover nothing in Will beyond this blind instinct.
Now in the abnormal condition in which this truth has become clear to us, we are forced to ask ourselves whether there is not some risk in subjecting ourselves to the service of a Will so constituted, and we seek to penetrate further into the meaning of this phenomenon. We then recognise that this Will is identical in all perceptible manifestations, and that consequently all isolated phenomena are nothing but individuations of the same Will, recognisable as such by our faculty of perception, according to its fundamental forms of cognition — individual manifestations, that is to say, of an entity that is continually engaged in self-consumption and self-reproduction. This entity thus appears as something that is perpetually at variance with itself, something that subsists in a discord, of which the only fruit visible to us is pain and suffering.
The question then arises: To what height can this Will attain under the most favourable circumstances? Just to that point which we have reached when we recognise the possibility of the emancipation (that is to say in an abnormal case) of one of its organs, namely, of the faculty of perception, from the service of the Will, and thus to a recognition of its essential character. And in acknowledging this, what do we gain? Clearly we gain the knowledge of the essential, the awful nature of this Will, and at length through this knowledge we attain to sympathy — i.e., compassion with suffering (Mitleiden), for it is characteristic that we have no word to express sympathy with joy. At this point perception gains a moral import which hitherto had been ignored. Under the highest and most favourable conditions we attain to a sympathy with all things living, and by reason of their life, in unconscious bondage to the service of the Will. In this perfect unison with all that has been kept apart from us by the illusion of individuation lies the root of all virtue, the true secret of redemption. This has at all times been the point of departure of religion. But what deliverance is there from the infinite pain of such a sympathy? Is it to be sought in an endeavour to make things easier, to mitigate to a certain extent by humane means this eternal conflict of the Will with itself, this terrible and increasing instinct towards self-consumption and self-reproduction? The man who could believe this and desire it has completely missed the perfect knowledge of which we have spoken; his perception would still be in complete bondage to the Will, as to whose true nature — thanks to the illusory effect of individuation — our enslaved faculties are still deceived. True insight (and it is this that is so difficult to grasp) has only come to us when — in an abnormal condition — we have renounced our individual Will, and thereby repudiated and denied the service of the Will. And there follows as the highest product of this knowledge the recognition that for him who has attained universal sympathy, redemption is to be found only in the deliberate negation of the Will — that is, in realisation of its corrupt nature, and of the necessity of release from participation in its service. And in the first place the only conceivable and practicable way towards this liberation that is open to us lies in the renunciation through sympathy of our individual Will. And that amounts to nothing short of the complete negation, in fact to the annihilation, of the Will. Well, I must confess that this philosophy appeals profoundly to my heart and head — I can conceive of no loftier or truer teaching. All misapprehensions of the apparent disagreement between the individual Will and the Will of all things living outside myself result from the defective understanding of the subjective character of our perceptions, in so far as they are conditioned by the fundamental forms of our cognition (Time, Space, and Causality). The man who has mastered this profoundest of all problems, to whom Time, Space, and Causality are no longer realities, has also grasped the truth that his individuality based on these forms of perception is no reality, and he sees that not in the creation of these notions of Time, Space, and Causality, but in self-renunciation is to be sought the highest act of the Will. It does not occur to Schopenhauer to draw utilitarian and practical conclusions from the truth, or to formulate theories; for he knows that it is not the business of philosophy to conjure up new spirits, but that its mission is, on the contrary, to destroy as far as may be — seeing that our perception is still in bondage — the old phantoms of our enslaved perception. He is in no wise concerned to interfere with the peace of a man who, in order to enjoy life quand même, busies himself with the creation of fresh illusions; he only addresses those who truly desire to know. It follows that Philosophy, the sum total of all the sciences, can only end in negation, whereas all other speculation, being in the service of the Will, seeks truth in affirmation. This affirmation carried out to its logical conclusion at all costs is nothing more nor less than Judaism, grown so powerful again at the present time, and embodying, as it does, the most miserably narrow-minded conception of the world that has ever been imagined.
From all time the minds that have attained, thanks to their abnormal organisation, to a clear perception have turned to the minds of the multitude still in bondage to the Will, and, having compassion on them, have sought a means of communication with them. Foremost among these enlightened spirits have been the founders of religions, and it has been their tragic destiny that they were forced to make use of such a language and of such symbols as are alone intelligible to ordinary unenlightened minds.
Certainly the Indian Prince Buddha spoke the language which most nearly gives expression to that lofty enlightenment. Thanks to recent oriental studies, the scales have fallen from our eyes, and we can form an independent judgment of this wonderful personality, no longer seen through the distorting medium of the Hindoo religion of the present day. If we are to speak in terms understanded of the people of this highest perception, it can only be done under the form of pure and primitive Buddhist teaching. Especially important is the doctrine of the transmigration of souls as the basis of a truly human life — a life whose sympathy extends even to the inconscient animal and vegetable world. Surely this doctrine is the happiest inspiration of a sublimely sympathetic spirit.
The latest scientific inquiries have established beyond dispute that the idea underlying Christianity has its origin in India. The enormous difficulty, nay, the absolute impossibility of grafting on to the barren stock of Judaism this sublime truth, which has as its central thought contempt of the world and negation of the will to live, has alone been the cause of all those contradictions which hitherto have so sadly distorted Christianity that its pure image can scarcely be recognised. For the quintessence of Judaism is that heartless unreasoning optimism, to which all things are right so long as purse and stomach are well-filled; and for this there is no lack of opportunity, provided one sets about it in the right way, accepting the world as it is, and twisting all things to one's own advantage. In contrast to this, how divine is the recognition of the vanity and nothingness of this world manifest in the faith of primitive Christianity, and how sublime is Buddha's doctrine, which makes us one through sympathy with all things living!
In judging other details of Schopenhauer's philosophy — for instance, his treatment of the penal code — you must remember, as I have already said, this philosopher never makes postulates, nor does he express approval or disapproval, but he rests satisfied with establishing the essential character of all phenomena. For instance, he demonstrates what the State is, what justice is, and so on; but not what they ought to be. Far from it, and if you are not satisfied with things as he shows them to be, by so much the more are you at one with Schopenhauer, who turns his back on the whole business, saying, as it were: "See, so much is within your reach, these are the makeshifts which allow you to continue affirming your will to live. It is on sophistries of this nature that are founded what you are pleased to call humane methods for the difficult task of preserving the human race, though you are quite well aware how much 'justice' is in them; but don't imagine that you impose upon me, and, above all, don't prate to me, forsooth, of a State philosophy and similar nonsense." From all which it follows that if we would fain allay the divine thirst for sympathy aroused in us by the clearer insight that has come to us, we must seek satisfaction elsewhere than in any conceivable social and civil institutions.
By-and-by I will send you Schopenhauer's minor writings, among which there is a very exhaustive treatise on Somnambulism, etc. From this you will see with what rare and profound insight this philosopher has dealt with this problem, and how from a phenomenon, in which we are aware of an activity implying a second intuitive faculty, he deduces convincing proof of the subjective character of our ordinary methods of cognition, of the unity of the Will in all things that have life, and of the illusiveness of the sense of individuality, so that the problem of the denial of the Will at once becomes intelligible.
But enough of this. The object of my demonstration was not so much to teach you (for certainly you will do this best yourself), as to clear the whole subject up once more for myself, for I must tell you that this profound philosophy colours my mental processes from day to day, and that I now contemplate the world from a point of view which allows me to recognise facts of deep and irresistible significance — facts in relation to which I used formerly to practise systematic self-deception, in the vain endeavour to remain true to optimistic delusion.
Especially am I deeply moved by contemplation of the position of animals, so shamefully ill-used and ill-treated by mankind, and I am glad to be able to give way without shame to the strong sense of pity which I have always felt, and no longer to have to seek about for sophistries to whitewash the wickedness of men in this respect.
As for the rest, if anything could increase my contempt of the world, it would have been my expedition to London. Suffice it to say briefly, that I have bitterly atoned for my own folly in allowing myself, in spite of experience, and through mere foolish curiosity, to be beguiled into accepting the present engagement. What more can I say? At the best, I have nothing to hope for here, and my presence as conductor of these concerts can only lead to fresh misunderstandings. I have not even had the satisfaction of giving really beautiful performances of Beethoven's works, for each time it has only been possible to have one rehearsal; and even had the orchestra been better, that is not enough to establish a thorough understanding with the players. That the Jewish press here should cut me up is a matter of profound indifference to me; I am all the more glad that other journalists, and particularly my own audiences, do not let themselves be led astray, and do justice to me, in so far as they are able. But I recognise that it is not now possible for them to do so fully, and consequently I heartily repent having come here. Now, I must hold out till the end of June. It is useless to think of having a German opera here (that is, a good one); and even if it were possible, I should not wish for a performance of my own operas. It would not be possible — and what would be the good? It is only the work itself that can interest me now, not its success. Besides, I am always depressed here, and my work gets on very slowly. I see a great deal of Praeger here — a good, crazy fellow. Lately Edward was here on a visit. I am going to him at Bath for a few days' holiday. Did we, or did we not, speak much of you? For the rest, I avoid new acquaintances, but I mean to look up N. S. Tulk. Thanks for the suggestion. Tannhäuser is actually going to be given at Berlin, but without Liszt, as I was not in a position to insist upon it, and could no longer do without the fees. That I intended to conduct it myself was a mere canard; I have heard nothing to that effect, and in all probability shall hear nothing. In summer I return — via Paris — to my beloved Switzerland, which I do not mean ever to leave again. Retirement, beautiful scenery, and work — these constitute the element in which alone I can live and move and have my being, and from which I will never again be dragged away. Excuse more to-day; perhaps I shall soon write again, as there may be something to add on various points. Farewell, and be as ever of good courage.
Your
Richard Wagner.
Source: Richard Wagner's Letters to August Roeckel, trans. Eleanor C. Sellar, with an introductory essay by Houston Stewart Chamberlain (J. W. Arrowsmith, 1897), No. 6