Notes on Nietzsche 06: On the Death of God

 Book III, The Joyful Wisdom

“Have you ever heard of the madman who on a bright morning lighted a lantern and ran to the market-place calling out unceasingly: "I seek God! I seek God!"—As there were many people standing about who did not believe in God, he caused a great deal of amusement.” 

In the era of the objective man, anyone who dares to view the world somewhat subjectively is immediately looked upon with disdain. In a world where everyone is quick to renounce their faith in the divine (for doing so is almost regarded as an initiation ritual to gain membership into the ranks of intellectuals), one who seeks God is, as Nietzsche amusedly pointed out, a madman. The arguments given by the people to this madman who searches frantically for God are not too far off from the ones given by my atheist comrades. Perhaps, around three to four years ago, I too would have given some of these conceited arguments. 

“Why! is he lost? said one. Has he strayed away like a child? said another. Or does he keep himself hidden? Is he afraid of us? Has he taken a sea-voyage? Has he emigrated?—the people cried out laughingly, all in a hubbub.”

Atheists often like to amuse themselves by sparring with believers, for in my limited experience, most of the atheists I have met are rather quick-witted and articulate. Why must believers look for God? Does it not confer a certain loftiness on one, if one looks for God, as if it is this act of looking that justifies his existence? Would God not exist should one stop looking? Would it not be more humble to go about one’s business and keep to one’s tasks than undertake such a mighty venture as to look for someone who would exist (in the theist’s view) irrespective of whether someone makes it their business to look for him or not? If God indeed does exist, then why does he make it so difficult for us to find him? Is he not discriminatory if he chooses to appear before some, and be invisible before others? Or is he that careless, that he appears and disappears on pure whim? How is he different then, from us mortals?

I will not deny that I have been on the receiving end of many such questions. I will not even deny that I have often even hurled these questions and felt a certain sense of victory in being able to make their Gods appear smaller by my superior wit silencing their acolytes. But my well-framed, but rather arrogant arguments will not strike down anything more than a historical god, whose straw-filled, lifeless body had fallen already much before I stabbed it. I must stop giving in to my urge to feel stronger by stabbing a dummy and declaring him dead by my hand!

“The insane man jumped into their midst and transfixed them with his glances. "Where is God gone?" he called out. "I mean to tell you! We have killed him,—you and I! We are all his murderers! But how have we done it? How were we able to drink up the sea? Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the whole horizon? What did we do when we loosened this earth from its sun? Whither does it now move? Whither do we move? Away from all suns? Do we not dash on unceasingly? Backwards, sideways, forwards, in all directions? Is there still an above and below? Do we not stray, as through infinite nothingness? Does not empty space breathe upon us? Has it not become colder? Does not night come on continually, darker and darker? Shall we not have to light lanterns in the morning? Do we not hear the noise of the grave-diggers who are burying God? Do we not smell the divine putrefaction?—for even Gods putrefy! God is dead! God remains dead! And we have killed him!”

What a strange world it is, where having faith makes you a madman, where going beyond objectivity is considered blindness, where “enlightenment” is handed out to the faithless, and where you are not permitted to live a single moment less than objectively. The madman’s lament that we have killed God, should ring as a death knell in our ears, but instead, it sounds to the bystanders as the hysterical mutterings of a lunatic. The madman poses questions that gnaw at one’s soul, as the rest of our conscious attempts to brush it off with impatience, as one would an insect buzzing near one’s ears.

Indeed, how were we able to swallow the sea and tear the horizon asunder? How did we erase the world given to us and replace it with our subpar interpretation of the world of objects? We stand triumphantly waving in the air our spears still bloody with murder, but what will we do now? What will we do tomorrow, and day after and in the weeks that follow, when the lustre of our “achievement” fades? Will our education and objectivity deliver us, when put to the test to rescue us from our doom when we are plunged headfirst into the abyss whose depth we do not know because we have not hit rock bottom yet?

“How shall we console ourselves, the most murderous of all murderers? The holiest and the mightiest that the world has hitherto possessed, has bled to death under our knife,—who will wipe the blood from us? With what water could we cleanse ourselves? What lustrums, what sacred games shall we have to devise? Is not the magnitude of this deed too great for us? Shall we not ourselves have to become Gods, merely to seem worthy of it? There never was a greater event,—and on account of it, all who are born after us belong to a higher history than any history hitherto!”

Cynics and nihilists often quote Nietzsche to prove how their atheism is justified because Nietzsche triumphantly declared the death of God. But, in fact, Nietzsche was aghast and deeply grievous in this declaration, as evidenced by the reaction of the madman. "God is dead" is perhaps one of the most famous lines of Nietzsche. But rarely are the lines that followed this statement ever quoted. In our overwhelming arrogance, we brought about the death of God, believing that the whole of humanity is better off without him, and will be able to sustain itself in the aftermath. Nietzsche believes that we will need to become Gods ourselves, though that will offer little comfort to our wretched souls. But we must do something to justify our act, although, in all probability we will fail.

“—Here the madman was silent and looked again at his hearers; they also were silent and looked at him in surprise. At last he threw his lantern on the ground, so that it broke in pieces and was extinguished. "I come too early," he then said, "I am not yet at the right time. This prodigious event is still on its way, and is travelling,—it has not yet reached men's ears. Lightning and thunder need time, the light of the stars needs time, deeds need time, even after they are done, to be seen and heard. This deed is as yet further from them than the furthest star,—and yet they have done it!"—It is further stated that the madman made his way into different churches on the same day, and there intoned his Requiem aeternam deo (eternal rest). When led out and called to account, he always gave the reply: "What are these churches now, if they are not the tombs and monuments of God?"—”

Until the madman continues to be perceived as mad, his arrival is ill-timed. Man is not aware of the consequences of his act. Like more inconsequential acts that man carries out in his day to day life, he acts first and rues later. He blames it on fate, when in fact, much of fate (as per Jung) is the consequence of paradoxical views that are not made conscious. Indeed the gods fled down into the collective unconscious, the day we evicted them from the heavens. Now they remain silent, occasionally spewing strange symbols and images. They bide their time: listening, watching, waiting for a select few before whom they will deign to show themselves and rise once again, only this time, they will be reborn and remade in our image.