How then could we devise one of those useful falsehoods we were talking about a while ago, one noble falsehood that would, in the best case, persuade even the rulers, but if that’s not possible, then the others in the city?
—Socrates in The Republic of Plato (source)
Fellow Philosophers,
Today we’re going to round out our conversation on Nietzsche, his book Thus Spoke Zarathustra, and the evolution of literalism and allegory as a vehicle for both instruction and propaganda.
If today had a clear theme, it would be to illuminate the long struggle between literalism and allegoricalism in religious, political, and societal stories.
The key difference between literal instruction and allegorical teachings is the reader.
In the former, the reader must necessarily believe that the story being told is both literally and absolutely true. In the latter, the truth of the tale is not dependent upon its historic accuracy, but rather its ability to teach, enlighten, and inform.
For example, Plato’s allegory of the cave is—for no one—confused as a true story of three men who are locked in a cave and forced to watch shadows. It is an unsettling allegory meant to illuminate the realities of ignorance.
Nietzsche was interested in addressing a similar problem-set in Zarathustra, even establishing this tension as the main through-line.
Nietzsche creates an analogy of a tightrope—one one end is the “ape-man” and on the other is what he calls the “ubermensch,” or superman—the one overcomes his nature for the simple.
The ape-man is in fact only capable of literalism and simple truths, while the ubermensch does not need myths, tales, or other-wordly promises to motivate and guide him through life.
This was not a new concept, it was in fact a well-worn path in philosophy. Not only is this belief the basis for political propaganda at large, it is a conversation originating all the way back in The Republic of Plato (reference the quote above).
Only, Plato envisions this penchant for literal belief in myths and stories as a noble endeavor, keeping average people in check so to speak, fearful of the gods and the dangers of moral corruption.
In many ways, Plato sees literalism like bed-time stories used to keep children from wandering into dangerous forests or talking to strange people.
This same notion is found squarely in this history of Christianity as well. Origen, an early church leader who was considered Orthodox in his day writes, (source)
I do not condemn [the authors of the Gospels] if they sometimes dealt freely with things which to the eye of history happened differently, and changed them so as to subserve the mystical aims they had in view; so as to speak of a thing which happened in a certain place, as if it had happened in another, or of what took place at a certain time, as if it had taken place at another time, and to introduce into what was spoken in a certain way some changes of their own. They proposed to speak the truth where it was possible both materially and spiritually, and where this was not possible it was their intention to prefer the spiritual to the material. The spiritual truth was often preserved, as one might say, in the material falsehood
The ancient greek scholar Strabo writes of this phenomenon (source)
At the beginning we must needs make use of such bait for children, but as the child advances in years we must guide him to the knowledge of facts, when once his intelligence has become strong and no longer needs to be coaxed. Now every illiterate and uneducated man is, in a sense, a child, and, like a child, he is fond of stories; and for that matter, so is the half-educated man, for his reasoning faculty has not been fully developed, and, besides, the mental habits of his childhood persist in him.
This idea that simple people need to believe in literal stories and intelligent people have the capacity to digest allegory is a tradition that is most directly tied to Plato and ancient Greek thought in general.
(*For what it’s worth, I also find this perspective a tad uncomfortable due to its paternalism and obvious inspiration of colonialism, as well as its evolution into dangerous political propaganda, and abuse.)
Nietzsche was the son of a Lutheran minister and would have undoubtedly sensed this tension—a desire for the natural evolution beyond the confines of pure myth and literalism against a backdrop of pressure to accept fundamental interpretations.
His tightrope analogy makes all the more sense now—as we see the child/ape-man on one end of the rope, and the fears and uncertainty of humankind on the other.
Walking that tightrope is both dangerous and frightening, and might lead to one’s end. But to the one who can make it, they have overcome the “human” and can say—to quote Nietzsche—that god is dead while still living a deep, loving, compassionate, and moral life.
This idea—that “god is dead”—is not an affront to religious beliefs. Rather, it is an “and.” It is the natural next step. It is a healthy growth into deeper senses of self and being.
In many expressions of faith around the world, this evolution—however—is threatening and ostracized.
In the Christian-world, for example, many people are experiencing what is being called “deconstruction.” For main-line defenders of literalism and fundamental interpretations of theology, this phenomenon is simply the result of a failure of certain people and churches.
Or, as a pastor I used to follow when I was younger recently said—it’s the result of folks who never experienced God, who were never genuine about their faith. (Well that hurts).
But historically speaking, “deconstruction” is most often the natural evolution for one who has followed the teachings of the faith for a lifetime. In fact, in Origen’s time understanding allegory as the meaning of Christianity was a secret only shared with an initiated, privileged few!
The inclusivity, compassion, self-giving love, self-confidence, and generosity of the Jesus character necessitates a growth outside the confines of the church as an institution.
Sadly, instead of celebrating deconstruction as an achievement—a graduation of sorts—it necessitates being ostracized and the labeled as an apostate (one who has abandoned the faith and damned themselves to hell.)
Fundamentalism is a sort of propaganda that destroys families and communities—it narcissistically demands that everyone be just like the leader. Even in small, inclusive Christian communities there is often little room for someone who denies a literal interpretation of Jesus’ death and resurrection but upholds its values.
I’m grateful for the template that a lifetime of christian teaching has given me. It has, in every way, led me right out of the tradition itself. Not because there is something wrong with Christianity, but because it appears that this is what it was meant to do.
I’m hopeful for a future-time in which deconstruction isn’t seen as a failure but an achievement. Where a growth in our capacity for love is respected and affirmed, not ridiculed and shunned.
Until then, we walk the tightrope.
Matt
**PS, I’m experimenting for the remainder of the year with a weekly writing cycle. Let me know your thoughts by replying to this email :)
References
richardcarrier.info/archives/17150
https://kenyonreview.org/2007/02/what-is-a-noble-lie/
http://uberfritz.blogspot.com/2012/02/walking-tightrope.html
https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/nietzsche/#LifeWork