Fear of life
Nietzsche’s descriptions of the
architectural metaphors of knowledge and culture, beautifully abridged by Sarah
Kofman (1972/1993, pp. 59–80), provide invaluable material for psychotherapy.
Whether understood as a progression or as each containing and implying the
others, the following images are found in his writings: beehive, tower,
pyramid, columbarium, and spider’s web. Mainly intended as metaphors describing
the trajectory of knowledge and culture, they are also, in my view,
inextricably linked to how we ordinarily understand the relationship between
the self and the world. To apprehend Nietzsche’s contribution in this way is to
see him as both physician of culture and psychologist of the individual psychic
domain.
a The
beehive of knowledge – where “our treasure is to be found” (Nietzsche,
1887/1996, p. 3) – represents the resolute and concerted activity of science.
Used by Nietzsche to indicate the orderly organization of cultural/scientific
ideas, it is still instinctual, and its beauty, though “not disinterested … is
symptomatic of … neediness” (Kofman, 1972/1993, p. 62). In the same ways as
bees build cells and fill them with nectar that has been gathered outside, so
science builds an empty structure and crams it with the world. Being a
semiology (system of signs) as well as a mythology (an extensive series of
narratives), all science can do is attempt to describe the world. It does not
and cannot explain it. Already with the beehive, only the first rung in this
series of architectural images, we find a theme that will remain constant
throughout successive stages. Having collected the nectar of experience from
the external world, we too, “spiritual bees from birth, [have] our hearts set
on one thing only – ‘bringing something home’” (Nietzsche, 1887/1996, p. 3). We
carefully preserve the treasure of experience gained in our forays into the
external world within a remarkable, precarious structure. This is in many ways
understandable and even legitimate. The problem arises once we gradually start
believing that the descriptions gathered and classified within the edifice of
knowledge – and within the cocoon of our self-construct – are not merely
interesting attempts at describing the world but constitute its very essence.
At the ‘beehive stage’, there are still signs of life: the link with the
natural world is still tangible, the treasure gathered is still nourishing.
This state of affairs soon changes, however, once the initial structure begins
to morph into the next – the tower.
b The
tower, or medieval fortress, boldly asserts itself as a stronghold of
knowledge. Here the link to nature (as with instinct and intuition) slackens
considerably. The tower’s purpose is to guard the treasure of knowledge against
life itself. Individually, “one must defend
oneself against everything which affirms life, whether within, or outside of
oneself” (Kofman, 1972/1993, p. 89). Collectively, the tower becomes a Tower of
Babel: it knits an intricately artificial language whose aim is to turn living
processes into an imaginary set of quantitative measurements. There is no doubt
that this has helped the preservation of the human species; we found shelter
and solace within this rigid, computable structure. But we also paid a high
price, for it separated us from the living world. How can we become immune to
the perceived dangers life poses for us? By playing dead, by being dead in
life: “The rigidity of the construction mimics that of a skeleton; it is only
by being always already dead in life that we can survive” (Kofman, 1972/1993,
p. 66). The skeletal rigidity provides inspiration for building the next
structure, the pyramid.
c If
some degree of uncertainty still lingered in the previous stages, parallel to a
traceable, if dimmed, echo of life – the pyramid presents us with the
certainty, hierarchy and perceived stability of a ‘true’ order, rational and
reasonable, confidently set against a ‘false’ phenomenal world of varying
impressions and unreliable appearances. Life itself is entombed within this
structure, in exchange for the great achievement of fathoming a new
“regulative” and “imperative” (Schrift, 1990, p. 89) conceptual world made up
of sensory impressions that have been captured, killed and skinned. Once turned
into mummies, they can now be more comfortably relied upon.
d The
move from the orderly and hierarchical mummification within the pyramid to the
next architectural structure is but a brief step. Whilst the pyramid is still a
noble tomb, where life, in some very impoverished form, is still at least
conceivable, the Roman columbarium (a room or building with niches for funeral
urns to be stored) preserves ashes of the dead, and can be compared, according
to Nietzsche, to concepts in science, which are merely the dregs of metaphors.
At this stage, all remnants or faint connections between life and the occupants
of this structure have been cut off. The structure is no mere depository of
concepts but ends up being the very place we inhabit. At the same time,
Nietzsche is genuinely in awe of the genius of construction shown at every
stage of this process. The building of several intricate temples and tombs of
knowledge, and of complex concepts about ourselves – they all deserve our
admiration. Even so, we would do well to remember that these structures rest on
an illusory base, one which is “made out of the very material of those it has
to shelter and protect” (Kofman, 1972/1993, p. 69). By the time all life has
completely and irretrievably vanished from the picture, the last metamorphosis
takes place.
e If
there was any doubt, up to this point, as to the profoundly reactive nature of
this process, the emergence of the spider’s web reveals the inherent
destructiveness of the entire project of acquisition of knowledge and of the
one-sided consolidation of the self-construct. The worthy industriousness of
the bees results in, and perhaps even conceals, the harmfulness of the spider’s
web, a harmfulness which, one must remember, is not rooted in animosity but in
“necessity” (Kofman, 1972/1993, p. 69). A spider’s web on a sunny day, seen
against the light, is a wondrous thing. It is easy to forget that the spider is
also a vampire that sucks the blood of midges it has attracted into its nets,
in the same way as the concept disfigures life, makes it pale and sad (ibid.,
p. 69). The act of converting the rich life of the world into an array of
metaphysical narratives, whether ‘religious’ or ‘scientific’, is motivated by a
nihilistic will. This is, in Sarah Kofman’s wonderful turn of phrase, “a sign
of a life which is afraid of life”, a life that is anxious of “being seduced by
sensuality because it would not be strong enough to bear its intoxication”
(ibid., p. 72); a life that advocates objectivity and detachment from the
senses because, despite a yearning for closer contact with the world, it is
unable to endure it. Parallels with Freud’s notion of the spider as symbol of
castration, representing the phallic mother, are unavoidable and deeply
resonant. It seems fitting to think of the enterprises of knowledge, science
and metaphysics as elaborate schemes unconsciously aimed at enfeebling this
uncertain and bountiful life to manageable and measurable levels.
Psychotherapy too, despite its
revolutionary beginnings, is fast becoming another implement in the hands of an
all-encompassing nihilistic project. This demonstrates the cunning of the
latter’s more recent incarnations, namely neoliberalism and its cultural
appendix, neopositivism. That it does so while managing to repeat mantra-like
the tenets of its once progressive endeavour can be seen, depending on one’s
sensibility, as ingenious, comical, or sad.
Bazzano, Manu. Nietzsche and Psychotherapy
(pp. 100-103). Taylor and Francis. 2019, Kindle edition.
Cf. Kofman, S. (1972/1993). Nietzsche and
Metaphor, trans. D. Large . London: Athlone.
