Let’s read Nietzsche!

(translated from my Chinese blog)

This is my new project, “Nietzschean Philology”. In each installment, I’ll read a passage from Nietzsche’s original writings. By practicing text analysis, we can enhance our ability to understand the world.

 As the beginning of this series, let’s discuss the origins, concept, and objectives behind this idea. We’ll also talk about how reading and writing serve the purpose of enabling better thinking. Additionally, we’ll explore the relationship between Nietzsche and modern language education.

I’ve wanted to work on this project for a very long time.

At first, I noticed that on the Chinese Internet, or rather in the world of “vernacular Chinese,” the quality of written expression was generally very poor. In the comment sections [of my Chinese blog], it was rare to find people who could organize their thoughts clearly and express their arguments in a logical manner. (Let’s not expect logical arguments for now. Many people simply list points one by one, without caring whether the points are repetitive or even contradictory.) I think this is one of the main reasons why I’ve gradually lost interest in public accounts. After all, readers are supposed to be people who have received a proper education in language and literature. So why is it so difficult for them to understand and express themselves? Is there something fundamentally wrong with our language education? And if so, how can it be improved?

This is probably even more difficult than teaching subjects like mathematics, physics, and chemistry. After all, hardly any adult is willing to admit that they have problems with understanding or expressing text. But many people are willing to admit that they’re not good at math, and they’re willing to accept the opinions of experts in these fields. As a result, language education is limited to the school years. Children are forced to read beautiful texts, write empty essays, and memorize techniques for answering reading comprehension questions. All this is done under the guise of “being good at language skills.” [I’m not an expert in language education. I haven’t studied how today’s language education system came to be, why these strange “aesthetic” standards are used, or whether it has anything to do with exam scores or the unwritten convention of avoiding discussions about politics, economy, and society. I’d like to hear from those who are experts in this field.]

Many people have this misconception: they assume that “being good at language arts” means being “emotional” (like Yu Dan*), “writing beautifully” or “being able to express ideas vividly.” In terms of current educational standards, this might seem true. But in reality, this means that our language-arts education is put on its head. After all, language arts is about the proper use of words. To be “good at language arts” simply means being able to use words effectively to accomplish various tasks. In most situations in life, "writing beautifully" isn’t particularly important. What’s more important is using language to express needs, share opinions, and present ideas at work (in today’s world, where documents play a key role in communication, language skills are crucial). It’s also important for resolving conflicts in relationships, exchanging ideas with friends, and, occasionally, giving speeches in public settings like celebrations or interviews. All these situations require us to understand others’ words accurately and use them to express our own thoughts and intentions clearly. It’s all about clarity, conciseness, and accuracy—nothing to do with being emotional or having fancy writing skills. This shows just how deeply society misunderstands the concept of “language arts.” And the negative effects of this misunderstanding are likely just beginning.

The issues related to language education have always been present in the depths of my consciousness. It wasn’t until I came across Nietzsche’s early work, “We Philologists,” that I thought perhaps Nietzsche’s writings could be used to improve our reading comprehension skills. However, due to various other factors, this idea was put on hold for now. One of the main problems is that what Nietzsche meant by “philology” isn’t the same as what we usually mean by “language education”. In simple terms, Nietzsche specialized in the study of Western classical languages, focusing on the linguistic aspects of Ancient Greek and Latin. While there are some similarities between these languages and the classical Chinese we study, they’re still very different languages. Just this cultural difference alone is enough to make many people reluctant to use Nietzsche as a model for language education. Of course, it’s even harder to imagine using Zhu Xi** as a model for language education. After all, at least in terms of era, Nietzsche and we live in the same modern world. We both live in an era where “God is dead”, and we’re both troubled by nihilism and despair. But these are all issues that Zhu Xi could never have imagined. (Some might ask: Should linguistics be tied to the times? Aren’t language and words, to some extent, beyond the bounds of time? After all, can’t we still understand works like “Water Margin” and “Zhu Xi’s Collected Sayings” today? If we were to discuss this issue in detail, it would require a long explanation. I can only make an unreliable promise: This issue will definitely be addressed later on.)

There were two main reasons that helped me dispel these doubts. The first was my own needs. I needed a simple and stable space for writing. For me, both reading and writing are forms of thinking. I no longer believe in those existential clichés like “Reading is a way of life” or “Writing has its own meaning.” Writing is simply a way of thinking as clearly as possible. Reading, on the other hand, is about imitating the author’s way of thinking. Apart from their role in the thinking process, reading and writing have no meaning at all. Of course, you can keep writing trivial things day after day, while telling yourself that “writing has its own meaning,” without ever considering whether you’ve improved the depth and breadth of your own thinking in the process.

Even those who are committed to literary creation cannot ignore the era and society in which they live, nor can they ignore the historical context in which they operate. How can we understand Kafka without considering the historical context of his time? How can we comprehend “One Hundred Years of Solitude” without taking into account Latin America’s colonial history? Many people still think that modern literature is meant for the general public, that it’s like traditional stories that can be easily understood upon reading. They focus on character relationships and plot developments. But times have changed. Modern literature has shattered all previous expectations regarding storytelling. Characters have become symbols, and plots have melted away within streams of consciousness or narrative networks. As a result, modern art has become an art form meant for artists alone. The general public simply cannot understand it unless they do their homework first. All they can do is “feel” the work. This is, of course, the ultimate irony of the literary approaches used in modern language education: reading comprehension involves identifying plot elements, character relationships, emotional expressions, and descriptive details, and then applying various “formulas” to analyze the text. But this approach is completely ineffective when dealing with modern literature. Modern literature represents a rebellion against 19th-century realism, yet what we teach in language classes is mostly how to read texts using realism-based methods. Writers like Joyce, Faulkner, and Proust wrote their works precisely to prevent readers from understanding them in the traditional way.

I think there’s a kind of arrogant attitude toward history at work here. People believe in a rigid, unchanging way of understanding history, and thus believe that realism, “art for politics,” or literature that reflects class positions constitute the ultimate forms of artistic expression. At the same time, there’s also a sense of inferiority and fear regarding history. It’s believed that if writing isn’t used for political purposes (which is already handled by others who aren’t accessible to the general public), then it should be kept as far away from our understanding of the times and society as possible. So, whenever writing is mentioned, it’s assumed to refer to literary creation, to telling stories or crafting plots. Any other form of writing, i.e., non-fictional writing, is either considered academic research or something like news or editorials—forms of writing that aren’t particularly valued. I’ve always wondered whether this idea that “writing is essentially literary creation” stems from the overemphasis on literature in our primary and secondary school education. But it’s strange that, in the college entrance exams, essays are required to be argumentative in nature. Yet, it seems that examiners don’t really expect students to write insightful arguments. Instead, the topics are predetermined, creating what could be called “prescribed essays.”Or perhaps it’s that reality which everyone assumes to exist, but no one dares to speak about: namely, “All writing that isn’t literary creation is dangerous.” As a result, in an effort to avoid this “danger,” writing becomes tame, boring, and unoffensive. Of course, the kind of writing that best meets this criterion is what’s referred to in language education as “beautiful and excellent prose.”

Nietzsche, on the other hand, represents the complete opposite of such expectations. No matter how much the modern media tries to “gentle” Nietzsche’s ideas or turn his warnings into harmless aphorisms, any careful reading of his works quickly dispels these misconceptions. Nietzsche’s famous statement in “Twilight of the Idols”—that “Plato is boring”—forces us to judge all philosophers by the same standard. If Nietzsche isn’t the most “wise,” the greatest, or the most insightful philosopher—attributes that certainly don’t apply to him—he’s at least the least boring. In the history of Western philosophy, Plato represents everything that’s “virtuous” and “respectable.” Nietzsche, on the other hand, represents everything that’s rebellious and unconventional. There are already too many people who are “virtuous” and “respectable” around us. Let’s read Nietzsche instead.

Writing is a deliberate way of thinking. Because it’s deliberate, it’s also concrete, clear, and tangible. For me, writing is simply about organizing the chaotic and intangible thoughts in one’s mind. Beyond that, writing has no other purpose. For example, many people use writing to show off their knowledge or to make a profit from it. This isn’t necessarily wrong, as long as one’s writing truly provides valuable insights that others are willing to pay for. In that case, we can certainly “respect the laws of the market”. But these uses of writing are merely secondary benefits of the thought process itself. After all, a person’s writing reflects their own thoughts, and those thoughts have value in themselves. Only then can writing be used for showing off or making a profit. Many people fail to understand this and think they can bypass the thought process and go straight to showing off or making money. Of course, almost no one admits this, because most people aren’t aware of it and never really think about it (i.e., never put their thoughts into writing).

For example, why do so many people find writing to be difficult and painful? I think it’s likely because they’re too ashamed of their own thoughts. In any case, what’s written down at the end is simply a manifestation of one’s thought process. But lack of confidence makes people subconsciously avoid expressing their thoughts openly. At such times, one can choose to copy someone else’s thought process, acting as a “carrier” of another person’s ideas, thereby distancing oneself from one’s own thoughts. Alternatively, one can use AI to write. But in that case, there’s no trace of human thought involved. It’s not really anyone’s thought process at all. The result is the same either way.

This brings us back to the question of why we read. To acquire knowledge? For entertainment? I once gave an answer like this:

A vicious answer: Reading is simply a way of peeking into other people’s lives. What’s wrong with that? After all, since we can never truly observe our own lives from the perspective of an outsider, isn’t it okay to look at other people’s lives instead?[……]

[……Reading] isn’t really a mental or cognitive activity at all. It’s a life-changing experience. Just as a painter goes to an art exhibition not only to admire the masterpieces but also to learn from them and create better works of his own, we should approach reading in the same way—not to grasp truths, but to improve our own lives.

To gain insight into others’ lives, so as to improve our own lives. In other words, we read in order to learn from the authors how to live. This is why what AI writes never holds any real interest. There’s no human life behind those writings, so we can’t learn how to live from AI. All we get are mere imitations or replicas of real life. On the most basic levels, like “how to wash fruits” or “how to choose furniture”, AI can provide useful answers. But at the end of the day, these questions don’t touch upon the core of our lives: the relationships with other people.

So, we often feel too embarrassed to write. We try to find various ways to “decorate” our writing with fancy words and phrases, not necessarily to promote some philosopher’s ideas, but simply to hide our own lack of intelligence and avoid being laughed at by others. But this attitude prevents us from objectively assessing our own thinking abilities. The only way to overcome this difficulty is to face up to our own level of thinking. We must tell ourselves: “This is my level of thinking. Trying to hide it won’t help. Instead, I should use writing as an opportunity to improve my thinking.”

Those who aren’t ashamed to write, such as many professional writers, tend to give off an impression of confidence, even narcissism. But in reality, they’re simply being honest about the quality of their own thoughts. If you’re too ashamed of your own thoughts, how can you face life at all?

However, is Nietzsche qualified to be considered a philology? Indeed, his academic career began in the field of classical philology, and his sense of language and his ability to manipulate words are undeniable. But isn’t he a bit too far removed from today’s language education, from the Chinese language and writing system, and from China’s national conditions?

Here are my reasons for choosing Nietzsche’s texts. First is their length. One reason Nietzsche is popular in our time is that his short, pithy writings suited the public’s increasingly limited attention spans. But this doesn’t mean that Nietzsche’s writings require little attention at all. Nietzsche advocated for the “art of slow reading,” in the hope—that is, of course, an unrealistic hope—that people would take the time to ponder each word and phrase carefully. His texts are short, but they contain a wealth of information. Any carelessness can lead to missing key points in their interpretation. Nietzsche’s pithy writing offers a balance between long texts and shorter, more concise statements. The threshold for engaging with these texts is low, yet they provide enough depth to cultivate and train one’s ability to focus for longer periods.

The problem of constantly losing focus when dealing with long texts isn’t related to individual willpower. The social environment is filled with countless distractions that steal our attention. Social systems themselves consume most of our attention. For example, most jobs require sustained attention for 6–8 hours a day, but at a lower level—about 40% of the brain’s capacity. This means one doesn’t need to be completely focused, but they also can’t afford to be distracted. The remaining 60% of the brain’s capacity can be used for things like checking the stock market, listening to podcasts, or browsing social media. In any case, it’s impossible to use this time for reading long texts. As a result, in today’s world, focusing on texts that require high levels of concentration has become a luxury, accessible only to those who have achieved financial freedom to some extent.

I don’t think reading a little of Nietzsche every day will solve this problem, as the tendency of attention to become scattered and divided is a long-term, irreversible process. But in terms of individual experience, I believe Nietzsche’s writings could provide some help in slowing down this trend and counteracting that sense of alienation that pervades society.

Reading Nietzsche is a way to gain insight into his life—life that embodied the greatest tragedies of the 19th century—and to understand his way of thinking. Writing about Nietzsche, on the other hand, involves integrating his ideas into one’s own thinking. The brevity and profundity of Nietzsche’s texts make them ideal for this kind of intellectual exercise. Nietzsche’s writings also meet the needs of both reading and writing practices, as well as the limitations of attention span in our time.

The second reason is Nietzsche himself. I learned very early on not to trust any philosopher’s “advice on how to make decisions”. There seems to be a pattern here: the more incisive a philosopher’s questions are, the worse their advice on how to act becomes. And vice versa. The rule of “philosopher-kings” often leads to unprecedented disasters, which illustrates this principle. I don’t know why this is the case. If this principle really holds true, then even philosophers’ answers to these questions cannot be trusted. It seems that the world doesn’t allow anyone to “get double” – those who ask questions shouldn’t be the same people who solve those questions. Otherwise, either those who solve problems choose easy problems to deal with, or those who ask questions come up with unsolvable problems and insist on having them solved.

Therefore, what determines the value of a philosopher isn’t whether his recommendations are useful or not, but rather whether the questions he raises are precise and insightful. Nietzsche was probably the most incisive critic of the modern world in modern times. Almost every aspect of our lives stems from the processes of modernization: mass-produced goods, specialized labor divisions, bureaucratic systems, global flows of talent, goods, capital, and information. There’s also the belief in science, which undermines all traditional “superstitions,” and the belief in progress, which makes it impossible to accept any stagnation or decline in living standards. In Nietzsche’s eyes, all these aspects were problematic. He explored every possible aspect of modernity’s flaws. As a result, while we live in a modern world, we also, without realizing it, learn from Nietzsche how to resent modernity and rebel against our own lives. The danger is that many people accept Nietzsche’s criticism while also adopting his recommendations. It’s no coincidence that Nietzsche’s philosophy provided ideological support for Nazi totalitarianism in the 20th century. Nietzsche is an inescapable part of modernity. Unless we decide to completely abandon modern life and return to a pre-modern way of living, we can’t escape his influence.

What is the purpose of language education? The contradictions mentioned in the “questions and solutions” above are just one example of this issue. Today’s language education seems to foster a black-and-white moral worldview, along with a realistic narrative perspective that assumes every story has a moral lesson and every character can be judged morally. In this way, everything in life is labeled as either good or bad. So what should we make of Nietzsche? Is he good or evil? Zhou Guoping's*** version of Nietzsche is good; Mussolini's version is evil. What’s more complicated is that, after Nietzsche declared “God is dead,” what remains as a basis for absolute good and evil?

We find it difficult to understand modernist literature because the concepts of good and evil depicted in it—as well as those in the modern world—are always ambiguous. It’s impossible to make a moral judgment about any of the characters in such stories. As a result, it’s hard to determine whether good or evil happens when fortune or misfortune befalls someone. Should language education continue to promote this simplistic view of good and evil? Won’t this only lead to greater confusion among those who receive this education, or, worse yet, make them believe they’re always right? If today’s language education fails to teach us to accept the ambiguity and complexity of moral issues, and to accept the permanent loss of the traditional concepts of good and evil that came with the idea that “God is dead,” then I consider it a complete failure of education.

Reading Nietzsche is simply a way of confronting this reality head-on. As the proponent of the slogan “God is dead,” no one is more suited to this role than he is: someone who should be read by everyone who struggles with moral issues in modern times.

Moral issues extend outward into political issues (Nietzsche’s political philosophy), and inward into linguistic issues (Nietzsche’s philology). It’s relatively safer to discuss the latter.

My expectations for this project are quite simple: For me, I hope my writing is relatively natural and unadorned, free from unnecessary complexity or elaboration. For readers, it should be easy to read and understand. In this way, Nietzsche’s ideas can gradually permeate our everyday thinking, through the questions I pose and the answers I give in subsequent articles. Nietzsche advocated the “art of slow reading,” sometimes also referred to as “rumination.” This involves allowing words and sentences to linger in the mind, allowing them to take root and flourish. By reflecting on how language is used, we can also reflect on life itself—its moral, political, and cultural aspects. Or, in Nietzsche’s terms, on life driven by the will to power.

Let’s read Nietzsche!

* Yu Dan is a once popular Confucius commentator who simply translated his doctrine into some sort of self-help bullshit.

** Zhu Xi, a 13th century Chinese scholar.

*** Zhou Guoping is a contemporary Chinese philosopher who interprets Nietzsche aesthetically and apolitically.