In my student-days, for example, I found the university philosophers very ordinary men indeed, who had collected together a few conclusions from the other sciences, and in their leisure hours read the newspapers and went to concerts; they were treated by their academic colleagues with politely veiled contempt. They had the reputation of knowing very little, but of never being at a loss for obscure expressions to conceal their ignorance. They had a preference for those obscure regions where a man could not walk long with clear vision. One said of the natural sciences, “Not one of them can fully explain to me the origin of matter; then what do I care about them all?”— Another said of history, “It tells nothing new to the man with ideas”: in fact, they always found reasons for its being more philosophical to know nothing than to learn anything. If they let themselves be drawn to learn, a secret instinct made them fly from the actual sciences and found a dim kingdom amid their gaps and uncertainties.
—Friedrich Nietzsche, Untimely Meditations
Once we accept pragmatic truth, we realize that since both reality
and our drives are constantly changing, our beliefs and conceptual schemes need to be in flux as well in order to keep our health or power on the rise. Ironically, this move is based on a correspondence claim about the true nature of reality. The move from correspondence to pragmatic truth is made on pragmatic grounds—correspondence truth is rejected because it’s useless—and then the pragmatic move to Pluralism is made on correspondence grounds—the fact is that the world out there is actually chaos which therefore is constantly throwing new challenges at us, requiring an epistemological flexibility in order to prosper.
Lee Braver - A thing of this world
I am always happy when someone points out that a rejection of identity thinking isn’t the kind of radical subversion of correspondence theories of truth that it claims to be, or a ‘post-metaphysical’ alternative to traditional western philosophy. As I joked about before, it’s more of a substitution of one view of the nature of the cosmos for another.
He sank more and more into apathy; little interested him apart from dolls and other children’s toys. He still spoke occasionally, but
mainly to produce stock sentences in the style of a brainwashed schoolboy. Franziska made a record of some of them: ‘I translated much’. ‘I lived in a good place called Naumburg’. ‘I swam in the Saale’. ‘I was very fine because I lived in a fine house’. ‘I love Bismarck’. ‘I don’t like Friedrich Nietzsche’. It would be a mercy to think that he experienced at least a kind of vegetative contentment, but this seems not to have been the case. He suffered from his life-long curse of insomnia, and visitors downstairs were often disturbed by groans and howls coming fromthe upstairs bedroom. Towards the end of Franziska recorded him uttering ‘More light!’ (Goethe’s dying words) and ‘In short, dead!’ suggesting that that is what he wanted to be.
—The most heartbreaking part from Julian Young’s biography of Friedrich Nietzsche