“The Masses think that the abstruse is profound, but that is not the case. The abstruse is often the incomplete, the unclear, and often the false. The highest wisdom is simple, clear, and goes straight through the head and to the heart.”–August Strindberg, En Ny Blå Bok (1908) [my translation]

“‘All truth is simple’–Is that not a compound lie?”–Friedrich Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols (1889)

So, this was going to be the showdown between two of the most controversial and influential writers, philosophers, scientists, artists and whatnots perhaps ever: Strindberg vs. Nietzsche. In the end it turned out to be a little bit of everything. A defence of good writing, a critique of good writing, morality, religion, an insight into two men’s lives and what a great thought requires (nothing).
In the last issue of the Zahir I advanced the idea that Good Writing consisted of simplicity and clarity. I defined Good Writing as a value which could be objectively assessed, since we assess good taste by recognising good things, and not the other way around. How else could there be such a thing as good taste? How else could there be such a thing as taste? This valuation, however, has implications for any (other) valuation and may, perhaps, imply that there could be objective truth about even more controversial values, such as ethics. Since the school of meta ethics discussing these sorts of question is quite distinguished, I will not here concern myself with a defence of the realist against the irrealist. After all, I have already taken the stance of the objectivist about values.
Someone may think that I was somehow wrong in expressing that opinion. I feel of course that I was correct–I still am–however, one implication I did not discuss. Great thoughts.
Do great thoughts need to be expressed through good writing? It somehow seems ridiculous to say they do. Although Esaias Tegnér’s words ring true–”What’s unclearly spoken was unclearly thought’ii–some writers have left legacies even though some of their best work is hardly readable. The best example of this that I know of is Friedrich Nietzsche. It helps of course that he was such an interesting personality as well. Some may even think insane.
Friedrich Nietzsche is undoubtedly one of the most fascinating men to have ever graced the planet. The German philologist has been called both the father of secularisation and of the holocaust. He remains to this day controversial. Cambridge philosopher G.E. Moore is known to have called him the greatest philosopher who ever lived.
Nietzsche challenged practically everything we have come to associate with moral virtue. We confuse weakness with ‘humility’ or ‘modesty’. We go about finding out what morality is the wrong way. The opposite of that which is ‘bad–for the weak!’ is confused with ‘goodness’. The entire morality of the Judaea-Christian tradition is dismissed as the morality of slaves. For Nietzsche, the truly virtuous was the strong, the self-reliant, the master. If this, the übermensch, is wronged, the wrong is immediately brushed aside. In fact, it is forgotten the instance it happened. The superman knows his worth, yet he never reflects on it. He would never compare himself to others, but go his own way. In contrast, the slaves (that is everyone else, the weak masses) see a strong person and think - he is strong and therefore better than us. This is bad for us, why he must be evil. And the opposite of that evil must be good, namely us! Yet this confused idea of the right gets it completely wrong by naming the ‘evil’ first and take ‘good’ to be the opposite. Not only this, but in repressing the truly virtuous into believing they are somehow evil for being strong, all the good things in life are repressed in the process. The church has ever condemned the pleasures of man, claiming them to be heathen and sinful. Life is a burden, not a blessing. We must suffer for our “sins”. “I would rather be a satyr than a saint, Dionysus is my role model”, Nietzsche exclaims. Away with this slave morality. Yet this view of morality is ever controversial, and bound to be misunderstood. Nietzsche knew this. “I know my fate. One day there will be associated with my name the recollection of something frightful–of a crisis like no other before on earth, of the profoundest collision of conscience.”
Yet for all this insight, which turns morality on its head and remains controversial (and therefore interesting) to this day, the style of Nietzsche’s writing is heavy and often obscure. The exceptions are the passages here referred to, and yet Nietzsche himself would probably disagree. Probably his most inaccessible work (out of many) is Thus Spoke Zarathustra. And yet, this is the book Nietzsche considered his best. Indeed, he considered it not only the best book ever written but “I have with this book given mankind the greatest gift that has ever been given it” (Ecce Homo). This in a chapter named “Why I am so wise”, the following three being called “Why I am so clever”, “Why I write such good books” and “Why I am a destiny”.
Strindberg meanwhile, was a man of the world. Although a difficult man.
August Strindberg was a gloomy, fiery, passionate and quite often angry turn-of-the-last-century Swedish author, playwright, painter, scientist, alchemist and traveller. He once complained that to get yellow peas in Paris one has to “buy them in spice shops, one by one!”. And that just to make some yellow pea soup to go with the Punsch on Thursday night. He is quoted as one of both Ingmar Bergman’s and Woody Allen’s biggest influences and Miss Julie is still being played on stages throughout the world, most recently brand new adaptations on Broadway and The Royal Dramatic Theatre in Stockholm. I am huge fan of the kind of gloomy-yet-sharp art created by the likes of Camus, Bergman and, say, the Cure. I adore Strindberg. His books, his plays his whole personality. Yet perhaps it is Strindberg’s letters that I like the most. They give an insight, often day by day, into the work of an author, public agitator, friend, enemy, father, husband and lover. I don’t know how many of Strindberg’s letters that have been translated, but starting this issue, I will pick a letter from the trove, translate it and try to give you the background story. It is often fascinating.
Strindberg is said to have written approximately three letters, every day, for most of his life. The more than thirty volumes already printed shows some evidence of this. Still, a hundred years after his death, new letters are being found and published. He was always at war, always (in his mind, partly) being mistreated and never received his pay cheque on time. “I’m at war with five publishers in Stockholm right now. Five, with capital, printers, newspapers and reptiles at their disposal. Is that not too much for a Strindberg?” He wrote to a friend in 1886. It was and it wasn’t, it turned out. When the Gothenburg Commerce Paper refused to print his letters–due to a temporary feud with the owners–he set about to write one letter every week until they finally answered him. It took over two years, such was his persistence. His constant moving however, suggests that he was never too happy with where he lived at the moment. He was fluent in at least Swedish, French, German and English and wrote and published in all languages. Like Nietzsche, he didn’t seem quite content with the world.
Although patently different in many ways, Strindberg and Nietzsche shared a great deal in common. Their peculiar attitude towards morals and Christianity in particular sets them apart. When Nietzsche exclaims in the seminal Ecce Homo: “I am the first immoralist: I am therewith the destroyer par excellance! … The unmasking of Christian morality is an event without equal, a real catastrophe … Have I been understood?–Dionysus against the crucified…”, his agony (ecstasy) is echoed by Strindberg:

“Jesus = Peasant; friend of the unintelligentiii; the spiritually poor, the idiots’ friend. No! Nietzsche! Ich! Die welt für mich! … I have one hell of a prejudice against Christianity. I am the Anti-christ! But Jehova–hey!–that’s my God. An eye for an eye … the Lord knows his own.”

This attitude towards morals was indeed something extraordinary, even an ‘event without equal’. Even if you don’t agree with them, any preconceived and accepted moral standard should be challenged. I confess that, however that is done, it does not have to be through ‘good writing’. In fact, if you can get the idea across at all–however it is done–you will have done a great deed, indeed. Even obscurity may, perhaps, be a good thing sometimes. A great thought however, should be separated from good writing. In Strindberg’s words:

“Ask me if Balzac has style! –Answer: I haven’t noticed, because you ought not! –Writers with small or no thoughts write so that their style is noticeable.”–August Strindberg, Lund, 1899.

Notes:

i. The original in Swedish reads thus: “Mängden tror att allt som är svårfattligt är djupsinnigt, men så är det icke. Det svårfattliga är det ofullgångna, det oklara, och ofta det falska. Den högsta visdomen är enkel, klar, och går rakt genom skallen i hjärtat.” Hellquist, Per-Anders (1994) August Strindberg En Bok För Alla.

ii. Esaias Tegnér is another Swedish thinker and writer active in Lund two centuries ago. A residue from my days past, at another University. [My translation, in Swedish: Det dunkelt sagda är det dunkelt tänkta] Perhaps better (but further from the Swedish version) “What’s said in an unclear/obscure manner, was conceived in an unclear/obscure manner.”

iii. Strindberg uses the word ‘obegåvad’ which lies between unintelligent and untalented.